Time, in Malgorath's dungeon, was not measured in days.
It was measured in boss deaths.
In the steady rhythm of the Mausoleum Sentinel collapsing into armor and bones. In the soft, cheerful chime of the System as it translated screaming into numbers. In the chalk marks Caderyn left like mildew—always reappearing no matter how often Malgorath ordered skeletons to scrub them off.
Weeks passed.
The fog of Floor 1 thickened, thinned, thickened again. The cemetery forest grew trampled paths where boots had run the same routes. The Broken Chapel rest point became a rumor among adventurers—"the blue fire room," "the goblin mercy crypt," "the place you rest before you die again."
Malgorath told himself it was all proof of his legend.
Splurg knew it was proof of retention.
And the Waypoint…
The Waypoint turned Malgorath's "realm of dread" into a schedule.
Some hero parties came at dawn. Some at midnight. Some timed the boss respawn like fishermen timing a tide.
And each time the boss fell—whether cleanly, messily, or with someone's intestines decorating the mausoleum floor like festive ribbon—the dungeon grew.
Not in grandeur.
In levels.
Malgorath hated the word "levels." It sounded too much like stairs.
But he loved what levels meant.
He loved the idea that somewhere, hidden behind the System's smug menus, waited his rightful destiny.
Floor 2.
Floor 3.
Floor 10.
A hundred floors.
An empire of biomes and terror.
A kingdom where dragons would kneel and oceans would boil and heroes would enter and weep and beg and—
The System Screen chimed.
Splurg looked up from a pile of spare ribs (skeleton ribs, not hero ribs—those went to DP).
Malgorath paused mid-victory pose, cloak draped perfectly over one shoulder.
The notification unfurled slowly, with the deliberate drama of something that knew it was about to ruin Malgorath's day.
[DUNGEON LEVEL UP]Progress: 98% → 100%Condition Met: Sustained DP Influx + Boss DefeatsCongratulations![DUNGEON LEVEL 5 ACHIEVED]
Malgorath froze.
His eyes widened.
Then they glittered like a starving demon staring at a feast.
"It has happened," he whispered, voice shaking with reverence.
Splurg's ears perked. "Finally."
Malgorath turned toward Splurg, gripping his shoulders with sudden intensity.
"Splurg," Malgorath hissed, "witness me."
Splurg blinked. "I'm… literally here, Master."
Malgorath released him and spun toward the System Screen like a man greeting the love of his life.
"OPEN," Malgorath commanded, raising a hand dramatically as if the interface would respond better to theater.
The System Screen, unimpressed by theatrics, opened anyway.
[UNLOCKED: FLOOR CREATION MODULE]New Feature: Floor 2 Layout Slot AvailableNew Feature: Waypoint Expansion EligibleNew Feature: Boss Loot Table (Optional)Warning: Biome availability depends on dungeon tier.
Malgorath stopped reading at "Floor 2."
He didn't need the rest.
He didn't want the rest.
He wanted his destiny.
He wanted—
His mind exploded into fantasy.
In Malgorath's imagination, the System Screen did not hover politely.
It bowed.
A choir of unseen demons sang as it unfolded like a royal decree. The dungeon ceiling cracked open, revealing a sky of swirling crimson. Dragons circled overhead—massive, ancient, their scales like burning mountains.
They descended.
They landed before Malgorath.
They bowed their enormous heads, their breath scorching the stone.
"MASTER," they rumbled, voices like earthquakes. "WE HAVE WAITED."
Malgorath stood atop a throne of skulls—his true throne, not a tree stump with a tapestry. His horns were larger. His armor was darker. His cape was longer and definitely had a second cape attached for extra villain physics.
Heroes approached in endless lines, trembling, offering tribute.
A sea roared below him—black water, endless, filled with krakens and leviathans. The ocean itself spelled his name in boiling foam.
MALG0RATH.
The world shook in fear.
Malgorath raised a hand.
And entire continents flinched.
"This," Malgorath declared in his fantasy, voice echoing across the cosmos, "is Floor 2."
Reality returned like a slap.
Splurg was still holding a rib.
The mausoleum still smelled like dust, old magic, and recently spilled hero.
And the System Screen was still hovering politely, waiting.
Malgorath blinked hard, as if the dragons might still be behind his eyelids if he tried hard enough.
Then he tapped the Floor Creation Module.
[FLOOR 2 CREATION]Select Biome (Tier 1 Available):
Forest
Hills
Shallow Caves
Abandoned Village
Note: Unlock higher-tier biomes by increasing dungeon level.
Malgorath stared at the list.
His eyes moved slowly from Forest… to Hills… to Shallow Caves… to Abandoned Village.
His mouth opened.
No sound came out.
Splurg leaned closer. "Oh."
Malgorath stared harder, as if the list might flinch and become respectable.
It did not.
He tapped the screen again, violently, like shaking a vending machine that had stolen his coin.
The list stayed the same.
Malgorath's voice emerged in a whisper that sounded dangerously calm.
"Where," he said, "are my oceans."
Splurg cleared his throat. "Locked."
Malgorath's eye twitched.
"Where," he repeated, voice rising, "are my dragons."
Splurg pointed. "Locked."
Malgorath's second eye began twitching out of solidarity.
"Where," Malgorath hissed, "is my kingdom of kraken storms and bone hurricanes."
Splurg read the menu. "Also locked."
Malgorath turned slowly toward Splurg, and for a moment his expression was deeply, profoundly wounded—as if the universe had promised him a crown and delivered a damp hat.
"This," Malgorath said, gesturing at the biome list like it had insulted his ancestors, "is infant content."
Splurg shrugged. "It's Tier 1."
Malgorath's voice cracked into a sudden roar.
"TIER ONE?!" he bellowed. "I AM A DEMON LORD! I HAVE KILLED HEROES! I HAVE BUILT A MAUSOLEUM! I HAVE A BONE CHANDELIER!"
Splurg nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, Master. On Floor 1."
Malgorath's rage swelled like an overflowing cauldron.
He jabbed a finger at the System Screen.
"SYSTEM!" Malgorath shouted, as if the interface were a living clerk hiding his good options. "YOU INCOMPETENT, UNDERFUNDED, MEDIOCRE MENU OF DISAPPOINTMENT! HOW DARE YOU OFFER ME 'HILLS!'"
Splurg winced. "Master, please don't insult it. The System remembers things."
Malgorath snarled, "Then let it remember my wrath!"
The System Screen chimed gently.
[TIP: Level scaling ensures dungeon growth remains balanced.]
Malgorath leaned forward, eyes blazing.
"BALANCED?!" he spat. "I AM NOT HERE TO BE BALANCED! I AM HERE TO BE—"
He gestured wildly, searching for the word that meant "legendary" and "terrifying" and "the subject of songs."
"—ABSOLUTE!"
Splurg held up a hand, calm as a bookkeeper watching a tantrum.
"Master," Splurg said patiently, "it's like… a ladder."
Malgorath froze. "A ladder."
"Yes," Splurg said. "You're on rung five."
Malgorath's face contorted. "Rung five."
Splurg nodded. "You can't jump to the top without climbing."
Malgorath hissed, "I can jump wherever I want."
Splurg smiled sweetly. "Not according to the System."
Malgorath's hands trembled. He looked like he wanted to strangle a menu.
Then his eyes snapped back to the module.
"Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "If Floor 2 must be… humble… then I shall make humility scream."
Splurg's ears perked. "That's the spirit."
Malgorath scowled. "Do not encourage me in this moment."
Splurg, still calm, tapped a different option on the unlock list.
"Master," he said, voice brightening, "look. Boss loot table."
Malgorath paused mid-fury.
"Boss… loot?"
Splurg nodded. "It's an optional feature. If you enable it, the boss drops treasure when defeated."
Malgorath's eyes narrowed, suspicious.
"Treasure," he repeated slowly. "For heroes."
Splurg nodded. "Yes. It encourages them to fight the boss again."
Malgorath recoiled. "Why would I reward them for killing my champion?"
Splurg shrugged. "Because it makes them come back. And stronger heroes make better DP."
Malgorath stared, offended by the logic.
Then his greed—always lurking behind his pride like a second brain—leaned forward.
"Treasure," Malgorath murmured. "They will crave it."
Splurg smiled. "Exactly."
Malgorath's eyes gleamed. "They will risk more."
Splurg nodded. "Exactly."
Malgorath's grin sharpened. "And they will die harder."
Splurg's grin matched it. "Exactly."
Malgorath turned back to the System Screen with renewed purpose.
"Enable," he commanded.
Splurg quickly added, "But Master—make it good enough to matter, not so good it attracts high-tier raiders too early."
Malgorath waved dismissively. "Yes, yes. I will bait them expertly."
Splurg quietly adjusted the settings while Malgorath pretended to be the one doing it.
[BOSS LOOT TABLE: ENABLED]Floor 1 Boss: Mausoleum SentinelLoot Tier: MinorPossible Drops:
Healing Potions (x1–3)
Gold Pouch
Enchantment Shard (common)
Weapon Upgrade Token (rare)
"Bone-Laced Trinket" (flavor)
Malgorath pointed at "Bone-Laced Trinket."
"That one," he said. "It sounds important."
Splurg blinked. "It says flavor."
Malgorath waved. "Flavor is important."
Splurg did not argue.
The next boss kill proved the feature worked immediately.
A hero party arrived through the waypoint—blood already dried on some of their armor, faces set with grim determination. They reached the mausoleum. They fought the Sentinel. They lost a spear fighter when a skeletal hand grabbed his ankle, crushed it, and pulled until the foot tore free with the boot still attached—leaving raw tendon strands snapping like wet thread.
The spear fighter screamed as he crawled away, dragging a leg that ended in ragged meat and exposed bone, his own blood slicking the stone like oil.
The cleric tried to heal him.
The wound laughed at healing.
He died anyway, eyes wide, mouth still shaping the word "help" even after the breath stopped.
Malgorath watched the death with satisfaction so practiced it barely registered.
Then the boss fell.
And when the Mausoleum Sentinel collapsed, the System made a new sound—a bright, tempting chime.
A small burst of light appeared over the corpse.
A treasure drop.
The surviving heroes froze.
One whispered, "Is that… loot?"
Another said, voice trembling, "The boss dropped loot."
They approached like nervous animals approaching bait.
The loot manifested as a small chest of bone and iron. It clicked open.
Inside: gold. A potion. A shard that glowed faintly.
The heroes inhaled sharply, hungry and horrified.
"This is…" the mage whispered. "Worth it."
Splurg watched from the console and smiled with quiet delight.
Malgorath leaned back, smug.
"Do you see?" Malgorath whispered to Splurg. "Now they will speak of my generosity."
Splurg didn't correct him.
Hours later, the System Screen flashed again—this time with the undeniable finality of a milestone.
Floor 2 Creation: UNLOCKEDWaypoint Expansion: ELIGIBLEBiome Tier: 1
Malgorath stared at the "Tier: 1" again and visibly fought the urge to scream.
His voice came out strained. "Splurg."
Splurg looked up. "Yes, Master?"
Malgorath pointed at the biome list again as if accusing it of treason.
"Forest," Malgorath said, spitting the word like a curse. "Hills. Shallow caves. Abandoned village."
Splurg nodded. "Yes."
Malgorath's eyes narrowed. "Which of these," he demanded, "is closest to 'Dragon Domain.'"
Splurg said gently, "None of them."
Malgorath's nostrils flared.
Then he straightened his ceremonial armor, lifted his chin, and forced a regal tone into his voice.
"Very well," Malgorath declared. "If the System insists on offering me humble soil, then I shall plant terror in it."
Splurg smiled. "That's actually a great way to think about it."
Malgorath continued, louder, for dramatic effect even though only Splurg could hear him.
"Let the world laugh at my 'Forest'!" Malgorath proclaimed. "They will not laugh when the trees themselves scream!"
Splurg nodded approvingly, already imagining goblins and wolves and ambush routes and sustainable difficulty curves.
Malgorath stared at the Floor 2 module, fingers hovering over the options as if they might bite him.
He expected god-tier greatness.
He got baby biomes.
But he had Level 5.
He had more DP than he'd ever seen.
He had a boss loot system baiting heroes into returning.
He had a waypoint turning his dungeon into a repeatable loop.
And somewhere out there, Caderyn Smith was probably sharpening his sword, already planning tomorrow's run like it was a hobby.
Malgorath's eyes glittered with a dangerous new resolve.
"Fine," he whispered. "If I cannot have dragons yet… I will build a forest so cruel that even dragons would hesitate to nest in it."
Splurg's smile widened.
"Yes," Splurg murmured. "Now you're thinking like a dungeon."
And Malgorath, still fuming at the menu, didn't realize that was the closest thing to a compliment he'd ever actually earned.