Darkness clung to the dungeon corridors like a lingering memory, drifting slow and heavy as dust. Each step Friezzar took left faint echoes whispering along the stone—the sound of wood tapping against ancient floors, steady but unsure.
He did not know the meaning of footsteps.
He did not know the meaning of movement.
Only that something inside him urged him forward.
An instinct, faint yet persistent.
A wordless pull.
Seek.
The puppet's hollow eyes glowed faintly, casting soft circles of light onto the floor. Broken runes, long dead, flickered at his presence. Cracks in the walls pulsed as if reacting to him—as if recognizing him.
The energy he had devoured earlier still hummed inside his frame. It warmed him, strengthened him, filling the hollow emptiness that had clawed at him the moment he had awakened. But it was fading, slowly.
And something inside him… something deeper…
hungered again.
The hollow ache returned, subtle but sharp, like a splinter driven into the core of his being.
He didn't know why.
He didn't know what it meant.
But his body—the wooden limbs carved with faint elegant lines—began to move more purposefully.
Seek. Feed. Grow.
The Dungeon Stirs
The Forson Labyrinth was no ordinary dungeon.
Even dying, decaying, and mostly abandoned, it contained the remnants of a powerful sorcerer's experiments. Runes still marked the walls, etched deep into stone by hands that sought to command forces beyond common Arcana.
Some runes glowed faintly as Friezzar passed by, responding as if they recognized the puppet—not as a stranger, but as something belonging to the dungeon itself.
Thin trails of mana drifted through the air, curling toward him like smoke.
He paused.
A wisp of energy brushed against his wooden fingers—gentle, curious. The puppet tilted his head, watching it swirl around him like a small living thing.
Then it sank into his chest.
A soft pulse of warmth.
Friezzar shuddered.
It was the closest sensation he had yet experienced to… comfort. Like warmth from a distant fire. Like the echo of a touch. His small wooden hand pressed against the glowing lines on his chest, feeling the faint tremor of life within.
And then—
click.
The sound broke the stillness.
His head turned abruptly toward the noise.
A tunnel to his right.
The air was thick there.
Heavy. Warm.
A scentless vibration coursed through it.
Not scent—he had no nose.
Not sound—he had no ears.
But he felt it.
A presence.
Alive.
And glowing.
The hunger sharpened.
First Encounter
The puppet moved toward the tunnel, steps uneven but growing steadier. His wooden fingers brushed the stone wall, steadying himself, feeling the cold surface beneath his smooth palm.
The tunnel opened into a collapsed chamber. Rubble coated the floor like fallen teeth, gnawed by time and erosion. In the corner, fused with shadows, something shifted.
Friezzar stood still.
Motionless.
Silent.
Watching.
A creature slithered across the stones—larger than the last monster he had devoured. Its body resembled a serpent, but segmented like an insect, with dozens of tiny legs scratching the ground in a rapid tick-tick-tick. Its translucent skin revealed pulsing veins of dull green light—Arcana condensed into thin strands.
The puppet's eyes fixated on that glow.
The hunger inside him flared so suddenly he staggered.
The serpent noticed the movement. It reared up, legs clicking, mandibles spreading to reveal needlelike fangs dripping with dull venom.
Friezzar tilted his head.
He did not know fear.
He knew only the pulse.
Feed.
The serpent hissed and launched forward—fast, whipping through the air with surprising agility, aiming straight for the puppet's neck.
Friezzar's head snapped to the side at the last moment.
Not out of instinct.
Not out of training.
But because the monster's glow shifted in that direction, and his body followed the glow like a plant following light.
The serpent slammed into the stone instead, cracking the surface.
Friezzar slowly crouched, studying it.
The creature thrashed, pulling itself free, scraping at the ground with a shrill hiss.
Its glow intensified.
Friezzar lunged.
This time, his movements were faster—sharper—guided by the lingering essence he had absorbed. His carved wooden fingers gripped the serpent's body, pressing hard enough for cracks to form beneath its translucent skin. The creature writhed, screeching.
The puppet tightened his grip.
And again, the whisper rose within him—
Devour.
Light seeped from the cracks in the monster's body.
Then burst.
Essence flooded into Friezzar's chest, a brilliant torrent of green energy, swirling through his wooden frame like liquid fire. The serpent's body crumbled into dust, fluttering away on the stale dungeon air.
The puppet gasped—not with lungs, but with the entire force of his being.
His runes blazed.
His joints shrieked as they shifted.
Cracks sealed.
New lines etched themselves along his limbs—thin, elegant, glowing faintly.
His vision sharpened even further, hollow eyes brightening with new awareness.
The hunger dulled again.
But now… something else rose.
A flicker of sensation.
A soft tremor in his consciousness.
Strength.
He felt stronger.
He felt… more.
More than he was moments before.
And he wanted—
No… he needed—
To grow.
His head lifted toward the darkness, eyes burning brighter.
Something stirred deeper in the dungeon.
Something powerful.
Something ancient.
The dungeon itself.
It had felt the devouring.
It had recognized its long-silent vessel feeding once more.
The ground trembled gently.
A voice—not words, but pressure—moved through the stone.
Welcoming.
Commanding.
Waiting.
Friezzar felt it.
And he stepped deeper into the labyrinth.
Learning to Move
As he walked, the puppet studied the world around him.
He examined his hands—finger joints moving more smoothly now.
He pressed on the ground—soft vibrations rising beneath his palm.
He watched dust fall when he brushed a wall—entranced by its fragile descent.
Curiosity blossomed, raw and unrefined.
He crouched and poked a moss-covered stone.
He lifted it.
He dropped it.
He lifted it again.
He could not think in words.
He did not have language.
But his mind was forming shape and structure—slowly, painfully, beautifully.
He took another step.
His foot slipped on loose pebbles.
He wobbled.
He froze.
He corrected his balance carefully, slowly, delicately.
It was the smallest victory.
But to him, it was everything.
What Watches in the Dark
Beyond the chamber, deeper tunnels branched into a web of forgotten architecture.
And something in the shadows was watching him.
Not a monster.
Not a human.
Not alive, not exactly.
Eyes—carved into stone statues—flickered with faint blue light as he passed. Once guardians, now remnants of the sorcerer's will, these sentinels observed the puppet with ancient recognition.
Somewhere in the labyrinth, a dormant mechanism unlocked with a click.
The dungeon accepted him.
The puppet walked onward, unaware of the doors opening for him, unaware of ancient systems awakening after centuries of stillness.
He stopped suddenly.
Something shifted ahead.
Another glow.
Another presence.
Bigger.
Heavier.
Stronger than the last.
His hunger responded instantly.
Feed.
Grow.
Become.
His wooden fingers curled into a fist—
not by command,
but by instinct so primal it felt like breathing.
He stepped forward.
The dungeon air thickened, humming with energy.
This monster was different.
Stronger.
A test.
A threat.
An opportunity.
Friezzar walked toward it, hollow eyes flickering with quiet determination.
He did not know purpose.
He did not know fate.
He did not know the world outside these walls.
But he knew one thing with perfect clarity—
He would devour again.
And with every devouring, he would change.
Become.
Evolve.
His journey had only begun.