In the dungeons, beings of every imaginable race and origin meet and interact with one another. Some of the strongest friendships and alliances in the universe have been forged in the dungeons, as well as the most bitter, hate filled rivalries.

  Excerpt from scholar Ze Cante's treatise on the dungeon universe.

  “UrgMiZinNeh, I believe you can help us with one of our current difficulties,” Mezirma said, putting a hand on Urg's shoulder with a friendly smile.

  Jeremy waited for his stat sheet to show he was part of the new adventure party. “Uh, Mezirma, I clicked yes to join your group, but nothing is showing up on my stat sheet.”

  “That's nothing to be concerned about,” Mezirma said, producing a dagger. With no warning, he slipped it underneath Urg's jaw, through her neck, and then pulled it out, slitting Urg's throat as he did so. Blood exploded from her neck, showering everything nearby, including Jeremy.

  All Jeremy could do was stand there, mouth open in disbelieving shock as Urg attempted to stop the bleeding with her hands, coughing and choking on her blood as she slowly collapsed in front of him, a look of frightened, horrified disbelief on her face.

  “I changed my mind,” Mezirma continued as if nothing was happening. “You don't meet even the most minimal standards for joining our party. Also, we don't get experience from killing adventurers who are members of our party. Not that we'll get much experience from killing a first-level rogue, but waste not, want not.”

  In a flash, Jeremy remembered he had a healing potion. He grabbed it from his pack and tried to go to his friend. Mezirma stopped him, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him in the air. Jeremy struggled, reaching for his knife. Mezirma laughed and threw him across the passageway hard enough to send him slamming into the dungeon wall. The shock of impact was so bad it was seconds before the shock turned to pain.

  He became dimly aware of a change to his stat sheet.

  Your request to join the Mezirma/Boxtar/Toris/Srini adventure party has been denied and your invitation rescinded. Better luck next time.

  “There are strong adventurers and dead ones,” Mezirma said, like he was commenting on the weather.

  Jeremy saw stars, couldn't catch his breath or move, and he'd lost his healing potion. I'm sorry, Urg, he thought. I failed you.

  “And you are not even weak,” Mezirma continued, walking over to Jeremy and looking down on him. “You're an insect. And your companion. Beastkin? They're letting animals into the dungeon now. But I guess we can use the extra food. The question is, what do we do with you? I'd let you join us, really, but you're not a good candidate.”

  “I'd better butcher this thing before it dies and the dungeon absorbs its body,” Srini said, grabbing Urg by the shoulders and dragging her away.

  “Get her skin, too,” Mezirma said. “It should make a nice rug.”

  Jeremy struggled to raise his head. “You said we were among friends.”

  Mezirma let out a high-pitched giggle. “As your friend, Jeremy, I'm putting you out of your misery. It's the nicest thing I can do for you. And my two fighters need to work on their tracking and hunting skills. I am going to count to sixty. Then they'll come for you. If you get away, you live.”

  There was laughter from the two fighters.

  “One. Two. Three. Four.”

  Jeremy struggled to his feet, stumbled over to the healing potion that had landed nearby, and picked it up. He looked over at Srini, dragging Urg away. Urg was unconscious but still alive because she was breathing, and blood still spurted from her neck, leaving a red trail behind her.

  If he could get to Urg now, maybe he could save her... But he couldn't. He was no match for any one of these high-level adventurers, and there were four of them. Urg, I'm sorry!

  “Eight. Nine. Ten.”

  He limped away, drinking the healing potion. He threw the empty bottle at Mezirma. A last act of defiance, only to see it bounce off an invisible shield, not even reaching the spellcaster.

  “Thirteen. Fourteen,” the spellcaster continued.

  He felt the itch of the potion taking effect. He ran.

  Sprinting down the red path the way he'd come, he knew where the traps were, but to get away, he needed to leave the path and risk the adjoining hallways.

  “We can see your footprints!” one of the laughing fighters shouted from behind him.

  Thanks for the information, Jeremy thought, turning down a hallway at random.

  Squeaking noises. Without thinking, he turned in the direction of the noise and attacked the monster before it could summon its friends. He stabbed the monster octopus again and again, causing green slime to spray everywhere.

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  The fighters wouldn't need their tracking skill to follow him now, but this and a tiled floor in the distance gave him the beginnings of a plan. He grabbed the now-dead octopus, hoping it didn't vanish before he could use it. He slashed his hand with the knife, then ran to the trap, leaving a trail of blood and green slime like he was being attacked by a dungeon monster, careful to bleed in front of the trap before racing across, stepping only on the red tiles.

  Now for the tricky part. To do something about his footprints. He grabbed his cloak from his pack and threw it on the floor next to the trap. He stepped on the cloak and then hurled the dead octopus monster at a white tile as hard as he could.

  Boom!

  The stone block crashed to the floor in front of him. He ran to the end of his cloak, careful his feet didn't touch the floor, threw down his pack, stepped on it, picked up his cloak, and threw it down in front of him again. By repeating this process, he was able to reach a darkened passageway nearby without his feet touching the floor. The healing potion was still active, so the wound in his hand closed, but he could still feel blood on his skin—his, Urg's, and the dungeon monster's. He huddled deep in the shadows, hardly daring to breathe.

  Heavy footsteps approached the stone block.

  “My dad says you're not a real adventurer until you kill someone in the dungeon and get a black mark. Anyway, beastkin are cannibalistic monsters, so it's okay to eat them, not that I want to. I'm sure they taste terrible,” an approaching voice said. “Straight into a trap,” the voice laughed. “He fell into a trap, running from us. Thought even a new worlder, beastkin lover would do better than that.”

  “Sad to be him,” the second voice said. “Did we get experience? I'd like to level up sometime this year.”

  “He was running from us when he got dead. So, yeah, obviously, we got experience. Check the other side, make sure he didn't get away somehow.”

  “Why do I have to check?”

  “Because I'm the smart one and I say so.”

  “The annoying know-it-all one, maybe,” the second one grumbled. There were sounds of someone climbing over the stone block.

  Jeremy activated Sneak and held his breath.

  “New worlder is dead. He didn't make it to the other side.” Sounds of the fighter returning the way he'd come. “Suppose the stone block crushed his dungeon effects chest?”

  “At his level, he wouldn't have one,” the first voice said. “The dungeon took everything. First law of the dungeon. The dungeon always gets its share.”

  “Knew he was weak, but I thought we'd get some experience for killing him.”

  “He was only Level 1, and the experience is divided among the four of us,” the first one said. “Of course we didn't get much.” Footsteps walking away. "'I didn't know dungeons existed,'” he said, mimicking Jeremy. “'I don't want to kill monsters. I just want to go home.' We did him a favor.” They both laughed.

  Jeremy huddled in the shadows, tears running down his face. His friend had been murdered in front of him, and he could do?... nothing. He could do nothing. I'm sorry Urg. I should have kept my distance and watched them for a while before approaching. My stupidity got you killed.

  He sat there for a long time, not wanting to do anything. He couldn't go back to the red path. If those adventurers found him, it would be suicide. If Mezirma had been telling the truth earlier, the four of them would be leaving for the upper floors of the dungeon, meaning the upper floors were the last place he could go if he wanted to live. The monsters would kill him if he stayed, and the adventurers would kill him if he left.

  As if to add insult to injury, he felt something on his stat sheet.

  YOU HAVE LEVELED UP!

  The octopus creature he'd killed must have pushed him to Level 2.

  He didn't care.

  ***

  The beast-kin children informed the adults that the dungeon portal nestled between the giant forest trees had vanished. This could only mean the young female adventurer, UrgMiZinNeh, was dead.

  Two of the forest people, her parents, collapsed, huddling together, weeping at the death of their only child. Their grief flowed outward, covering the entire tribe with sadness.

  The tribal chief stood nearby, also saddened by what had happened but unable to do or say anything to make it better. “We could have sent ten of our strongest, most capable child warriors,” he said to the small, shaky, fragile-looking shaman standing next to him.

  “They would not have survived this dungeon. The gods demanded a sacrifice." The shaman's quavery voice was hoarse from inhaling large amounts of smoke from burning medicinal plants. "And the young girl was the most suitable candidate. We all must make sacrifices if our tribe is to survive."

  “Is what you foresee that bad?” the chief asked.

  “Yes.”

  ***

  In the end, Jeremy grew sore from sitting on the dungeon floor for so long. He stood up, activated Sneak, and crept down the darkened hallway.

  Sneak soon went up to 2, Detect Traps to 2.

  He saw one velociduck monster waddling down a side passageway, but it didn't see him and continued on its way. Soon after, he stopped for a bit, ate a food bar, drank some water, and then kept moving.

  His Sneak skill was prone to quitting on him if he lost concentration or ran out of mana, and it was hard to tell if it was working or not. Despite this, Sneak went up to 3.

  The hall became darker.

  He had the creepy feeling that someone was following him and heard a giggle in the distance. Not knowing what else to do, he kept going.

  Something snarled at him and emerged from the darkness. It was larger than him and looked like a clown, an alien clown, its four eyes reflecting the meager torchlight.

  So much for Sneak.

  He ran.

  He'd always been afraid of clowns, thanks to all the evil clown horror movies his brother made him watch when he was younger. He knew, abstractly, that most clowns were friendly entertainers who weren't out to kill and eat children. But that was back on Earth. In this warped dungeon universe, he suspected this was not the case.

  As he looked for an escape, more clowns joined the first. Twenty, then over fifty, giggling and snarling, chasing him through darkened pathways. He spotted a well-lit room in the distance and ran for it. The room's entrance looked like a giant open mouth with many sharp teeth. He turned and looked for another escape route, but there were none. The clowns had cut him off, herding him. Seeing no choice, he ran through the door.