They told us dungeons would save the world.
At first, it seemed true. The first Gates appeared three years ago—giant rifts of distorted light, hovering like oil-slick tears in the air. Inside were impossible places: ruins of cities no one remembered building, forests that moved, oceans suspended upside-down. And monsters. Always monsters.
But we learned to fight back. To extract mana, forge dungeon-steel, grow crops in cursed soil. Gates became opportunity. Governments signed contracts with corporations. Entire economies sprang up around dungeon diving.
And they needed people like me, expendables.
We were the disposable ones. Low-rank, low-cost, fresh off conscription. No one would miss us if we didn't come back. They dressed us in cheap armor, handed us borrowed weapons, and promised easy credit if we survived ten dives.
Ten.
This was my first.
The Gate pulsed when we stepped through. Cold washed over my skin, and then heat. I blinked, and the world was different.
No sky. Just endless stone above, stretching like a cathedral ceiling into blackness. Red moss clung to the walls, glowing faintly, casting everything in a dim, bloody haze. The air smelled of copper and rot.
The instructors said this was a "shallow" dungeon. No threats. No monsters. Just a scouting op to test our nerves.
They lied.
I don't remember the attack. Just the aftermath.
I woke up alone, face-down in something wet and warm. Not mine—someone else's blood. I scrambled to my feet, heart hammering, fingers trembling around my sword.
Silence.
No, not silence. Breathing.
The dungeon was breathing.
The walls expanded and contracted, just slightly, just enough to feel it in my bones. The floor pulsed beneath my boots, a soft rhythm like a heartbeat beneath stone.
Then I saw Harlan.
Well—what was left of him.
His legs were still here. Still armored. Still twitching. The rest of him had been dragged away, smears of red leading to a wall that now looked smooth and solid. But a second ago, it had been... open. Like a mouth.
I couldn't move. Couldn't scream.
My squad's gear was scattered around the hallway. Ari's rifle cracked in half. Juno's helmet dented like a crushed can. There were no bodies—just signs of panic. Drag marks. Blood.
All their comms were dead. No signal. No extraction countdown. I was alone.
I wanted to vomit, but nothing came up. My stomach had been empty since before we entered the Gate. They didn't feed us. Said it "helps keep you light on your feet."
Now it just made me feel hollow.
Then, I heard it.
Not out loud.
Inside me.
A whisper. Smooth, cold, and endless.
"Do you want to survive?"
It wasn't a question.
It was a demand.
My lips moved before I could think."Yes."
The pain hit instantly.
Like a knife driving into my chest. I dropped to my knees, screaming, clawing at my own ribcage as something inside me tore open.
Blood dripped from my mouth, but it wasn't just blood.
It was black.
Thick. Tar-like.
My vision blurred. My limbs spasmed.
Then I saw it.
A floating screen. Glitching blue light, letters forming in the air.
[DEVOURER PROTOCOL: ACTIVATED]WARNING: Species classification—Modified.Current status: Aberrant (Human-Tier).Feed to Maintain Stability.Feed to Resist Mutation.Penalty for Starvation: Irreversible Corruption.
I couldn't breathe. My pulse thundered in my ears.
Was this some kind of dungeon curse?
No.
It felt deeper than that. Like the dungeon was reshaping me.
No—rewriting me.
I stumbled to my feet, shaking. My hands didn't feel like mine. They twitched, cracked, reknit. My nails were darker now. Sharper.
I touched my face.
My cheekbones were higher. My skin was cold. I didn't recognize myself in the reflection on Juno's cracked visor.
And worse—I was hungry.
Not food-hungry.
Something deeper. Hungrier.
I turned, drawn by instinct.
Toward the wall. The one that had eaten Harlan.
It was open again.
Not a mouth—but a passage. A tunnel of pulsing flesh. The moss inside glowed brighter, redder.
I should've run.
Instead, I stepped forward.
It wasn't just a passage. It was alive.
The walls flexed as I walked, veins pulsing under translucent membranes. The air was thick and hot, humid like breath. My footsteps were muffled by soft, spongy flesh.
Then I saw it.
The creature.
Harlan's killer.
At least... I think it was.
It was hunched. White-skinned. Bones like blades. Its eyes were hollow holes that oozed light.
It turned toward me and froze.
And I knew something.
It was hungry too.
But it was afraid.
Of me.
I didn't wait.
I lunged.
It screeched, raising a limb to strike, but I moved faster than I should've. My blade sank into its chest—and then my hands kept going.
They tore. They devoured.
Black veins ran down my arms as I tore chunks from its twitching body. I didn't think. I just ate.
Flesh. Bone. Something deeper.
And as I consumed it, the hunger lessened.
The pain eased.
And something inside me clicked.
[New Trait Acquired: Adaptive Shell (Lesser)][Minor regeneration unlocked.][Devour Count: 1]
I dropped the bones, breathing hard.
My tongue tasted blood. My vision was clearer. My wounds had closed.
This wasn't just survival.
This was power.
I collapsed against the fleshy wall, shaking.
I should feel sick. Terrified. Horrified at what I'd done.
But I didn't.
I felt alive.
And I knew something else.
This dungeon wouldn't let me out.
Not as I am.
If I want to leave...
I'll have to eat my way to the surface.