The stone corridor trembled beneath their feet, dust raining from the cracked ceiling. Lucas didn't need the warning chime to know things were going south. The entire dungeon groaned like it was alive, and angry.
"Backtrack now!" Rourke's voice echoed from ahead, deep and commanding. "The floor's about to collapse!"
Lucas gripped his sword tighter and followed the others, boots slipping on blood-slick stone. Behind them, shrieks rose as more spinecrawlers emerged from the shadows. Their brittle legs clicked against the walls like teeth chattering.
"We're not going to make it at this pace," Kael snapped, his tone colder than the steel at his side. "Drop the deadweight."
Lucas didn't think he meant it... until Kael's sharp eyes flicked toward him.
He stumbled slightly, a cut on his thigh slowing him down. It wasn't fatal, but it made him lag. He tried to pick up speed, forcing himself to push harder. "I'm fine. Just keep moving."
Kael didn't slow.
Neither did the others.
The corridor narrowed into a jagged ramp where the support stones had started to crumble. Just a few more meters and they'd reach the junction. From there, it was a straight run to the entrance.
Lucas was almost there when the torchlight ahead flickered.
Then vanished.
"Wait!" he called, limping faster. "I'm right behind—"
He never finished the sentence.
The platform beneath him groaned. Then, with a sound like bones snapping, it gave way.
---
He hit the next floor hard.
His body slammed into the stone, sending pain lancing up his back. The air was knocked from his lungs in a violent gasp. His sword clattered somewhere in the dark, too far to reach.
For a moment, he just lay there, blinking up at the darkness.
No system alert.
No reset countdown.
No torch respawn.
Just silence.
He tried to sit up. Every muscle in his body screamed. His leg was bleeding worse than he thought, and the ache in his ribs told him at least one was cracked. His gear was half-ruined, armor dented from the fall, and the contents of his pack were scattered around him like spilled guts.
Lucas bit down hard on his lip and forced himself to move. He'd survived worse hits in his life. Back when he first joined Rourke's guild, he was the guy who stayed behind to cover retreats. He wasn't the strongest or the fastest, but he didn't break when things got messy.
This time, though, they didn't wait for him to hold the line.
They just left.
---
He found a jagged piece of metal... maybe part of an old sword, and clenched it tight as something shifted in the dark. Eyes glinted just beyond the ruined stone arch.
Rotfangs.
At least three of them.
Lucas didn't wait. He charged forward before they could circle. The first hissed and lunged, but he sidestepped and rammed the shard into its neck. It squealed, thrashing, spraying blood across his chest as it collapsed. Another came at him from the side. He turned, too slow, and felt teeth sink into his arm.
He screamed and slammed his elbow into the rat's face. It released him just enough for him to drive the shard upward. The last one paused at the edge of the fight, watching, as if unsure whether to attack.
Lucas didn't give it the chance.
He kicked forward and stabbed, again and again, until the beast stopped moving.
By the time it was over, he was soaked in blood and shaking from adrenaline. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, and he nearly collapsed next to the corpses.
---
He sat there in the dark, chest rising and falling.
Still no reset.
The dungeon wasn't reloading.
No flickering torches. No cleared floor message. No party recall.
He'd fought in this dungeon before. He knew the pattern. When a raid failed, the system rolled back the instance. Reset timers. Repaired damage. Wiped enemy spawns. That was the rule.
But it hadn't happened.
Which meant either the system was broken...
Or it thought he wasn't worth saving.
Lucas stared into the dark, jaw tight.
His hand bled where the rat had bitten him. He tore a strip from the edge of his ruined shirt and wrapped it tight around the wound. His leg still burned. His ribs ached. But he was alive.
Barely.
No rescue was coming.
No reset.
And if that was true... if he was stuck in here, alone, in a dungeon that didn't reset anymore...
Then he had to adapt.
Had to survive it as-is.
No magic fix.
No second chances.
Just him and whatever he could scavenge.
Lucas leaned back against the stone wall, shard still in hand, and closed his eyes for one breath. Just one.
When he opened them again, they were colder.
Harder.
He wasn't going to die here.
Not like this.
"Let the dungeon rot with me," he whispered.
Then he stood.
Lucas didn't waste time sitting around. The warmth of battle had already drained from his limbs, leaving a deep ache in its place. His fingers were stiff with dried blood, and his left arm throbbed from the bite. Infection would come if he didn't find clean cloth or antiseptic herbs.
He turned his attention to the corpses. The Rotfangs stank, but they weren't useless. A well-placed slice across the hind leg let him peel away a section of the hide. It wasn't pretty, but it was thick enough to bind his arm. Crude. Ugly. But enough.
He tied the strip in place, then got to work.
From the rat's jaw, he pried out two sharpened fangs and a bit of sinew. His shard was still usable, but he didn't like the way it wobbled in his grip. He wrapped the handle with what cloth he could salvage and anchored the base with a tooth tied by tendon. Not a proper dagger... but closer than nothing.
There were no item windows. No skill pings.
But it felt like progress.
---
The chamber was wide but claustrophobic, built of uneven stones with strange grooves. Lucas followed the far wall and found an old tunnel half-collapsed. Dust shifted around the edges, disturbed recently.
Something had passed through here.
He hesitated.
Normally, he'd wait for the tank to call point, the scout to clear ahead. But there was no one else. No guild. No orders. Just instinct and what little training he'd kept from years of mid-tier raids.
Lucas adjusted the grip on his makeshift blade and pressed forward.
---
The tunnel narrowed the further he went, the stone damp and covered in thick moss. The air grew heavier with rot. It wasn't long before he saw bones.
Not monster bones.
Human.
Some half-picked clean, others still clothed in shreds of old armor. One skeleton had a faded guild crest on the chest... he didn't recognize it.
Lucas knelt beside it, brushing moss away from the corpse's belt. A small pouch remained intact. Inside: a broken whetstone, two rusted bolts, and a small, dull knife.
He pocketed everything.
Further on, he found a cracked lantern. No oil, but the housing was intact. If he could find a spark source, he could get light again.
That became priority number one.
---
The next chamber opened like a forgotten shrine.
A circular pit carved into the floor, ringed by columns shaped like hunched figures. Carvings lined the walls, old, worn symbols etched in a language he didn't understand. They glowed faintly in the dark, more pulse than light.
At the far end, a brazier burned low with flickering blue flame.
Lucas stepped carefully, testing the floor. No traps triggered. No creatures stirred. He knelt beside the brazier and studied it.
The flame wasn't natural. It pulsed like it had a heartbeat. But it was warm, and most importantly... it was real.
He held his hands over it to warm his fingers, then removed the cracked lantern from his belt. After a few careful attempts, he transferred a piece of the blue flame into the lantern's core using a stick wrapped in moss.
To his surprise, the flame caught.
Dim, but steady.
Light returned.
For the first time since the fall, he could see the full length of the chamber. The carvings on the walls weren't just symbols... they were maps. Old raid paths, maybe. Lucas moved closer, studying them. One looked familiar.
His team had passed through this route earlier. If the map was accurate, it meant there was a forgotten passage nearby... one that bypassed the blocked tunnel.
Hope flickered.
But only for a second.
Because the moment he turned, he heard the snarl.
---
A new monster stepped out from the side corridor.
It was nothing like the Rotfangs. This one moved low, covered in dull gray fur, its jaw split too wide and lined with crooked teeth. Its legs bent backward, and its claws scraped the stone with every step.
It wasn't just hunting.
It was waiting.
Lucas didn't run.
There was no point. He wouldn't outrun it, not in this shape. Instead, he backed toward the brazier, keeping the fire between them.
The creature circled slowly, trying to flank.
Lucas grabbed one of the broken columns and shoved. It toppled, dust exploding in a cloud. The creature lunged through the smoke.
Lucas braced and slashed.
The shard caught it across the face, tearing through flesh just above the eye. It screeched, crashing into him, claws raking across his ribs. They both went down, tangled. Lucas stabbed wildly. The knife from the corpse belt drove deep into its neck. It thrashed once, twice—
Then went still.
---
Silence returned.
Lucas rolled away, clutching his side. His shirt was torn. Blood soaked through the bandages and pooled at his waist. His heart pounded so hard it hurt.
But he was alive.
He'd killed it.
Alone.
No party. No buffs. No healer standing by.
Just him.
He took the creature's claw... long, curved, sharp, and set it aside. Then, leaning against the wall, he began to breathe again.
There was no reset coming.
But maybe…
Maybe that wasn't the end.
Maybe it was the beginning.