My Charity System made me too OP

A tower-wide network schematic lit up—webbed across dozens of floors. At the center sat a node marked:

Refrain – Phase II Initiation Approved

Target Floor: 353

Pulse Weaponization Channel: ACTIVE

Delivery Vector: Strain-Class Choir Echo

The Second Voice glanced at the node and spoke with disdain. "So we burn the rhythm now? Scorch it out and rewrite from ashes?"

The First Voice finally descended into the circle. The pressure in the chamber deepened.

All the others fell silent.

Then came the words—cold, sharp, and precise.

"They have passed the first echo.

Now we show them the shape of silence.

Phase II proceeds.

Floor 353 shall not be broken.

It shall be converted."

The glyphs changed again.

A new figure appeared.

Not a Choir soldier. Not a Voice.

But something in between.

No mask.

Only red eyes.

Breathing rhythm.

And absorbing it at the same time.

Codename: Hollow Refrain

Deployment Status: Pre-Launch

Target Directive: Aris Vale – Assimilation or Termination

Echo Reinforcement: Clef-Units 001 through 004

Pulse Anchor: Prime Verse Scaffold // Floor 353

In the shadows, the Third Voice whispered, almost reverently—

"She dances with rhythm still. But when the Hollow comes… she'll drown in it."

Back in the Tower, unaware of what was building above, Aris stood beside Leon in the Sovereign Hall's upper observatory.

They watched the pulse lines of Floor 353 begin to dim.

Kael's voice echoed through the comm.

"We've got movement. Choir presence confirmed. And something else…"

He hesitated.

"It's not just a threat this time. They're building a stage."

Leon looked to Aris.

"No time to rest."

She turned, baton already clipped to her side.

"Then let's cut the next verse short."

Floor 353 – South Sector Landing Pad

The air was hot.

Not warm—pressurized, like the entire floor was holding its breath.

The moment the shuttle touched down, Aris stepped out first, followed by Leon, Roselia, and Kael. Their boots clicked against scorched metal, the platform's edges still glowing with faint traces of energy discharge.

Kael checked his scanner and frowned. "Local pulse network's fractured. Half the floor's systems are running on Choir frequency."

Leon scanned the rooftops. "No gunfire. No patrols. Too quiet."

From behind a collapsed cargo loader, a voice called out:

"Don't move."

A group of seven figures rose from behind cover—armor dented, eyes sharp. Their leader, a broad-shouldered woman with burn marks across her left arm, stepped forward with a repurposed pulse rifle.

She didn't lower it.

"State your designation. Now."

Aris raised her hands calmly. "Aris Vale. Sovereign Vanguard. We're here to intercept the Refrain before it completes."

The woman blinked.

Then lowered her weapon.

"No one told us the Vanguard was coming."

Leon stepped forward. "Who are you?"

"Captain Meyra Cale," she said. "Floor 353 resistance. Or what's left of it."

They moved into cover—an old rhythm workshop, its ceiling half-collapsed but still insulated enough to block Choir scans.

Inside, Kael worked quickly to sync what little local data was left to his own equipment. Roselia patched into the floor grid, trying to track signal spikes.

Meyra laid it out fast.

"They arrived two weeks ago. First it was silence worms—those tempo parasites. Then, tempo inversion units. Then... they stopped hiding."

Leon raised an eyebrow. "Why this floor?"

"Because of what's under it," Meyra said. "Floor 353 is where the Tower once tested overload pulse weapons—things powerful enough to clear entire sectors. Long abandoned."

Kael spoke up. "Unless someone found a way to restart them."

"They didn't just restart them," Meyra replied grimly. "They're turning them into tempo nukes."

Suddenly, Roselia's glyph flared.

"Incoming rhythm burst! Northeast sector, near the Echo Core."

Kael's eyes widened. "That's the Refrain scaffold."

A tremor shook the floor.

Everyone turned as a thunderous, slow beat rolled across the sector—not from any machine.

It was a footstep.

And then another.

And another.

Rhythmic. Measured. Heavy.

Roselia's lips parted. "That's not Choir cadence."

"No," Aris said softly, stepping to the broken window.

She looked out into the red-lit haze.

And saw it.

A figure—taller than any Choir soldier—stepping through the ruined streets.

Its body glowed with pulse scars, and where its heart should have been, rhythm swirled inward instead of out.

It wasn't fighting the Tower's pulse.

It was devouring it.

Kael stared.

"What is that?"

Aris tightened her grip on her baton.

"The Hollow Refrain."

The tempo thundered louder now.

One step at a time.

The Choir wasn't trying to win with silence anymore.

They were rewriting the rules.

And unless Aris and her team stopped them here, the Tower's rhythm would never be the same again.

The air inside the ruined street boiled with pressure.

Not from heat—but from overload rhythm, warping the environment around the Hollow Refrain with every step it took.

Buildings near the Echo Core twisted slightly, their structures humming in dissonant tones. The Tower's natural pulse—once steady—was breaking in fragments like a vinyl record scratching across memory.

Aris stood on the open causeway, her team fanned out behind her.

The Hollow Refrain stopped less than thirty meters away.

It didn't speak.

It listened.

Roselia whispered, "It's absorbing our rhythm signatures. Even standing still."

Kael checked his pulse reader. "It's not attacking. It's… reading us. Mapping our combat rhythm down to the sub-beat."

Leon raised his weapon. "Then we move before it finishes the song."

"No," Aris said. "I go first."

She stepped forward.

The Hollow Refrain's head lifted.

Where a face should have been, there was only a concave mask of shimmering black crystal—rippling with pulses that echoed back her own movements a half-second behind.

Then it moved.

Aris charged—no warning.

She struck first, baton swinging high.

The creature mimicked the motion instantly, turning her strike against her.

She twisted mid-air, shifted stance, and landed with a sweep.

It mirrored again—half a second delayed.

Just enough to be predictable.

She hit once—glancing off its shoulder. Again—blocked.

Then it shifted.

The pulses around its body collapsed inward, forming a localized rhythm vacuum.

Her third strike passed through empty space—her rhythm didn't register.

She landed hard.

Roselia gasped. "It just nullified her strike's tempo signature!"

Kael shouted, "It's weaponizing reverse rhythm! It absorbs tempo and erases the echo from history!"

Leon moved next, rushing in low, switching between blade and ranged strikes.

The Hollow Refrain didn't mimic this time.

It shifted phase.

Leon's blade passed through it—but on the return swing, the creature solidified and caught his arm mid-motion.

With a single pulse, it shattered the weapon.

Leon staggered back, arm numb.