Dungeons

  Enormous structures stretch beneath the surface, ranging from a few hundred meters to thousands of miles within the earth, often found as ruins or crypts claimed by a rare creature known as the Dungeon Slug. Once, a group of adventurers pondered a pressing question: Why do dungeons manifest? They understood that these mysterious places could be destroyed by smashing their spherical cores, but who or what originally created them? In a fortunate twist of fate for our age, jealousy and sexual tensions arose among this group after their discovery. This led to the formation of the adventuring party known as Explorer, dedicated to unraveling the mystery of caves and tombs that inexplicably sealed themselves, only to reemerge somewhere else with a tiny door.

  During their investigations, Explorer stumbled upon a captivating creature aptly named the Dungeon Slug, a small, cream-white being resembling a shell-less mirecian sea snail, yet more closely related to slime due to its peculiar movement and voracious appetite. One day, a member of Explorer found a hole bored into the wooden counter of their undisclosed headquarters. After excavating it, they succeeded in creating the first regulated dungeon. This process revealed that Dungeon Slugs undergo a metamorphic transformation, evolving into what are now commonly referred to as Dungeon Cores; the very hearts of dungeons.

  As the month progressed, numerous findings were documented, describing how cirrus appendages erupted from the earth to seize various subjects: a Level 5 deceased Horned Rabbit, several samples of decayed flora, a fallen ever-oak log, and even a disgruntled researcher's iron-carp sandwich. Later that same month, a door appeared on a nearby hill, revealing a brand-new Horned Rabbit Dungeon, an expansive realm dotted with rolling hills, flower fields, and, of course, Horned Rabbits. While much remains unknown about this phenomenon, one thing is clear—adventurers are not exempt from the process, and indeed, dungeons featuring zombies and skeletons exist, don’t they?

  - excerpt from Dungeons, on the topic of Dungeon Slugs by Serril Zale

  “ID?”

  Sebas' eyes came into focus as his attention was hooked by the request for his identification. He sluggishly held up the posh copper plate on his neck, showing it to the bright-haired man in front of him.

  “You only have permission to use the first floor of the dungeon, please refrain from trying to enter the second floor.”

  Sebas’s face hardened as he tried to comprehend the words told to him in his diminished, sleepless mental state. “Permission?”

  “It’s in the plate’s information, it lets us know what Level you are, and it gives a decent gauge of your character. Generally what your plate lets me know is despite being weaker than a sock filled with rocks, you have the capabilities to hold yourself upright without falling over. ”

  Sebas grabbed at the copper amulet, and when he finally collected it in his maladroit digits, he saw that his neck ornament held his name, “Sebas Aren”, and “LV” with the number three etched into the plate.

  “Forgive me for assuming, boy, you don’t strike me as rich and equipped… or cunning; any slimes, boars, or anything else would take chunks out of you.”

  Sebas looks down at his ragged, undersized, and tattered clothes, empty dagger sheathe missing its matching sharp dirk, and a general lack of any sort of potions or utility consumables. Sebas nodded at the man’s reasoning and said “That’s fair,” and added on “Will that not keep me off of any would-be unscrupulous gentlemen or women’s radar of criminality?” He slurred the question out at the man, eyes half-lidded.

  “Yes, we do have the occasional problem where someone’s appearance makes them seem like an easy mark… but you don't seem like there's much to take… maybe your belt.”

  Sebas glanced at the man’s Bronze plate and noted that he wasn’t a weakling, barely able to read the name “Elimir,” no last name, level thirty-one.

  The man’s grin made Sebas sheepish when he held it up closer for him to properly read it, Sebas held it in his hand, viewing the word “Guardian” at the bottom of the plaque.

  Letting go, he made a small harrumph.

  “It’s fine to look, but be careful with your eyes, some people don’t like everything about them bein’ known' to someone who looks like a thieving urchin.”

  Sebas squinted at the accusation, feeling offended despite its truth. He rolled his eyes at the comment, choosing not to scoff.

  “Is there anything I need to know about the monsters in the dungeon?”

  The large man tapped a sign behind the guild’s booth with a knuckle, a mural; a rabbit with two curved horns, one long at the base of the scalp, with its smaller counterpart sitting atop its head. Bold red circles were painted around the body of the creature; it showed the weak points being the underbelly, and the hind legs, while the horns, marked with a blue X were said to be extremely durable and sought after, not to mention dangerous to the adventurer. Finally, an arrow pointed to the nape of the horned rodent’s neck, with a comical image of a disembodied individual holding a horned rabbit by the neck scruff. Sebas might have laughed at it if he had been fed, rested, content, or any mixture of the three.

  Instead, he only blinked his lidded eyes at the mural and turned to the guard, “Thanks, Elimir.”

  “That’s Sir Elimir to disrespectful brats who stare at my ID plate, especially the copper plates that have to do their time, giving us bronzes the respect we deserve,” Elimir said with a smug face, that did not compliment the unkempt stubble stuck to his nose.

  Sebas stared up at the man with a sour expression and mumbled, "Sir Elimir," as he pushed against the black iron door. The door featured cross patterns on the left and right sides, with the panels stretching from floor to ceiling and split in two by a one-inch-wide mullion. Its sheer size made it difficult to open, compounded by the dark metal and a stopper made of clumped dirt.

  Sebas strained himself before he turned to the attendant for assistance, the blonde man vaulted the wooden counter, and effortlessly forced aside the metal doorway.

  “I still don’t know if a level three adventurer with little to no equipment will be sufficient in a horned rabbit dungeon, don’t make me fill out a death report, urchin.”

  Sebas approached the man again, his sour expression attempting to undermine Elimir's smug smile.

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  “Quit looking at me with those dead little eyes.” The smug attendant gave a wry laugh before closing the door behind him.

  Sconces made of metal sat embedded into the walls, illuminated the walls with a yellow flame, and led to a bright light in the distance, reminiscent of sunlight.

  The last thing he had expected was an underground forest grotto, where the ceiling expanded farther than he could see. A giant ceiling made of light yellow stones seemed to glow, creating a glorious faux sun.

  Sebas inhaled the invigorating dungeon air. It hit him with aspects of the forest, earthy and wet plant life in its scent. Despite the lack of a decent meal and inadequate sleep for the past few days, the air of the underground world filled him with vitality. His mind raced with plans for making a temporary base in the rolling hills or perhaps making a grotto for himself.

  Overcoming the comfort of the atmosphere within the cavern, Sebas started to examine the grass beneath his feet. The grass underground was noticeably darker than the grass above. He began to stretch his body, just as his old sword instructor had taught him, holding an invisible sword within his numb palms.

  [Notice: Skill: [Lowest-Rank Swordsmanship] has been activated]

  A trickle of light filled his hands but failed to take the shape of his skill’s aura, making a formless tendril when his [Swordsmanship] skill activated, dissipating and collapsing without a sword to bind to. The only fortunate aspect of his aristocratic background was that he had access to a basic education, which included reading, writing, and, most importantly, the freedom to learn whatever he wished. However, this world, if there were even others like it, was not a fair place; many people struggled for much more than just the ability to read, write, and defend themselves.

  Sebas shook his head and looked down at his lack of a weapon; the bluish light that sat within his hands. He scowled at the skill and mentally dismissed its activation.

  [Notice: Skill: [Lowest-Rank Swordsmanship] has been deactivated]

  His vision fell on his calloused hands and broken knuckles, flexing them in front of him. He listened to the cracks in his knuckles as they settled into small ridges. He slung his fists out at the air in front of him and swiped with open hands, stomping forward to uppercut the air with his outstretched hands, swiping with his broken and chewed fingernail claws.

  Sebas tapped his flexed toes against the ground, his broken shoes squeaking softly as he bounced up and down in front of an invisible opponent. After a moment, he paused his sparring with shadows and focused on the knee-high grass around him, contemplating the lurking dangers within it. He realized that the terrain was not advantageous for him, so he scanned the area cautiously. Small creatures with knife-like foreheads could be lying in wait, either anticipating predators or hiding from them. He needed to remain vigilant. His gaze landed on an ashen pine tree, its bark blackened and woods the underside was a hazel hue. He looked up at the cone-shaped top of the tree as he unconsciously began to trudge toward it.

  He thought of climbing the foreboding tree in his dilapidated state; He planned to sit atop the strong branches of the mighty ash, peer down from above like a hawk, and swoop down to capture an unassuming rodent, like a hawk. It would be a grand idea if Sebas was not: Sleep-deprived, an idiot, or the weakest human currently on Starrous, if not during the entirety of documented history.

  Sebas turned on his heel as he heard rustling in the brush behind him, quickly bending down on his left knee in an attempt to anticipate an attack. His eyes darted around, scanning the grass, with each swaying sprig that twitched catching his attention. The eerie silence of the dungeon sent a shiver down his spine, igniting an invisible dread that raised the hairs on his neck. There was seldom wind, no clouds- nothing to make the artificial world feel "real." Even the beasts that defended their "home" were not true creatures; their very existence contributed to a tension that could devolve into horror if left unchecked.

  Sebas's eyes were wide as he heard the faint sound of tiny limbs scurrying in the grass around the mound where the tree stood. A small cracking of branches and rustling leaves echoed in his ears, making him hyperventilate as his muscles tensed. Suddenly, a glowing horn leaped out at him, accompanied by a screaming rabbit connected to it that roared pathetically at Sebas. Despite its feeble appearance, the sight terrified him to his core. Having never fought a "real" monster before, his body instinctively succumbed to fear, causing him to slump slightly as he attempted to flee. His leg buckled under his weight; a combination of fear and sleeplessness overwhelmed him, and he fell to his knees.

  In a split decision, Sebas shoved his hand outward reflexively, covering his head from the glowing skill aura that blinded him. Within the three seconds, it took for the horn to embed itself into his palm, and jut out of the back of his hand, blood splattered through the gaps of broken flesh as the rabbit slung its head around in jerking motions, spraying across Sebas face, blinding him in his eyes, dyeing his vision a sickly light red. Only for its weight to yank Sebas’ hand downward and send a shock through his mind as he felt what he thought was an old training wound, yet that injury no longer existed on his hand, and upon realizing it, he bawled out at the delayed pain assaulting his mind.

  Sebas reached against his belt for his knife, the knife he sold for a rack of four ribs, his grip only on air while the rabbit jerked its head to dislodge its horn from his palm. Anger welled up in his head, frustration from the “rough” couple of months that befell him, his hyperventilation got worse, and he felt cursed.

  Sebas chanted [Skill] in his mind, each iteration louder as his rage thundered with his adrenaline-filled pulse drummed against his ears, he forced his grip on the small rodent pierced into his hand, but his face grimaced with his mouth gaped open as the pain forced him to stop. He bared his teeth and picked it up by the ears and scalp, reeled his fist back, and launched his arm into the wooden log repetitively while his mind screamed at him: “It hurts.”

  “It Hurts.”

  “It Hurts.”

  “It Hurts. It Hurts. ItHurts. ItHurts. ITHURTSITHURTSITHURTS.”

  Sebas slung the gripped rabbit to the ground, his hand since dyed its white-brown fur a sickly crimson. His bloodstained eyes looked down at the creature before him, while its blood-covered horn looked up at him with equal defiance.

  Sebas launched into action first, and sent his foot down on the creature, it being much faster, forced his shoe to rip as its horn tore through the rotten leather that hadn’t fit for a long time. Sebas’ arms darted out for its legs, grabbing only whisps of hair before it stood out from him within the grass.

  Sebas watched as the horn on the creature glowed with aura again, flicked its head to the side, and stood ready, charging an attack to kill him. Sebas watched as it leaped again, its glowing horn stabbed into his wrist this time as he defended. The pain caused him to scream and only intensified as he ripped the hare from his arm, his hand placed as a restraint to block the blood from flowing out.

  The rabbit stood in a wide stance, breath nearly visible from its labored respiration, its horn shone with white light, aimed at Sebas’ heart. He stood with his braced hands outstretched as the creature flew forward and stabbed into his left palm again slightly left of the hole in his palm. Sebas looked down at the torn chunk of flesh that fell off of his palm with gritted teeth, his eyes leered at the creature he held by the head with his left broken hand and grasped the head with his right. Sebas stared at it and watched as the horn lost all color. His chest rose and fell as he looked at the creature that latched onto his thumb with a vice, square-toothed grip.

  Something inside of him screamed. Sebas opened his maw in front of the rabbit, and a strand of saliva bridged his teeth as it opened.

  His teeth glowed with a deep ruby aura, making them appear sharp and threatening to those nearby as his mental connection to his skill’s activation was established. The rabbit struggled and screeched in his grip, kicking his hand as his fingernails dug into it, and his mouth satiated his primal urge to breach the skin of the creature. His teeth squeezed into its neck, and he jerked his head to break the neck of the rabbit with a loud crunch.

  [Notice: Kill confirmed, Level 1 Horned Rabbit]

  [Experience Points have been collected]

  [Congratulations]

  [Level 3 Human -> Level 4 Human]

  [Access. 5 Stat Points are available for Distribution.]

  Should Sebas have let the horned rabbit win?