Malgorath chose the Forest Biome the way a king might choose to eat dirt in public.
With stiff dignity.
With barely-contained fury.
With the faint, trembling hope that perhaps the dirt would apologize.
The System Screen hovered in front of him, bright and annoyingly cheerful.
[FLOOR 2 CREATION]Select Biome (Tier 1 Available):
Forest
Hills
Shallow Caves
Abandoned Village
Malgorath stared at the list as if he could intimidate it into offering "Dragon Eyrie" out of fear.
It did not.
Splurg stood beside him with a clipboard and the calm expression of a goblin who had accepted reality the way one accepts gravity: not happily, but with understanding.
Malgorath jabbed a claw at Forest.
The System chimed.
[FOREST BIOME SELECTED]Cost: 120 DPFloor 2 Layout: INITIALIZINGRecommended: Early encounters (wolves/goblins), branching paths, waypoint placementTip: Provide counterplay to hazards for sustainable raid loops.
Malgorath's jaw tightened at the word sustainable.
"Of course," he muttered, "the System continues to speak like a clerk."
The air shivered.
A ripple moved outward from the System Screen like a stone dropped into water. The dungeon map expanded—Floor 2 slot glowing faintly, empty at first, then filling with outlines.
Stone corridors faded into an open canopy.
The second floor was born.
Not with fire.
Not with thunder.
Not with the roar of dragons.
With… leaves.
Green seeped into the blankness. Trees unfolded as if sketched into existence by an artist who had heard rumors of forests but never actually visited one. A sky appeared overhead—dim, enchanted, alive with drifting mist and a pale moon that never changed position.
The ground turned into damp soil, scattered with dead leaves and twisted roots. Ferns sprouted in clusters. Vines hung like ropes.
A forest.
A perfectly respectable forest.
A perfectly insulting forest.
Malgorath stood on the threshold—an observation platform at the edge of the new floor—and stared.
His imagination tried one last time to rescue him.
It offered a vision of emerald dragons sleeping atop ancient trees, their breath turning the forest into glittering poison fog. It offered a waterfall of molten gold. It offered a canopy of scales.
Reality offered a squirrel.
Not a real squirrel—an ambient illusion squirrel that scurried across a branch and vanished when it reached the end of its programmed path.
Malgorath's eye twitched.
Splurg leaned forward eagerly. "Oh! The canopy looks nice. We can do ambush routes in the underbrush. And the ground is uneven, so wolves will—"
Malgorath raised a hand. "Splurg."
"Yes, Master?"
Malgorath's voice was low, dangerous, strained with the effort of not screaming. "We will not call this… Forest."
Splurg blinked. "But that's what it is."
Malgorath snapped, "WE WILL NOT."
Splurg nodded quickly. "Okay. What do we call it?"
Malgorath straightened his ceremonial armor as if preparing to announce a new era.
He spread his arms toward the trees like a prophet revealing a holy land.
"Behold," Malgorath declared, voice booming into the empty floor, "THE VERDANT DOMINION OF THE EMERALD DRAGON!"
Splurg paused. "There's… a dragon?"
Malgorath's smile was sharp. "There will be."
Splurg glanced at the System Screen. "Master, dragons are locked."
Malgorath's smile did not move, but something behind his eyes cracked.
"There will be," he repeated, louder, as if volume could unlock content.
Splurg decided not to fight this battle. "Yes, Master. Emerald Dragon. Sounds scary."
Malgorath nodded, satisfied. "Good."
He turned back to the System Screen and began tapping options like a tyrant ordering decorators.
[AMBIENCE SETTINGS]
Wind: Light / Medium / Heavy
Creature Calls: Birds / Wolves / None
Magical Effect: None / Mist / Glowing Fireflies / Spectral Whispers
Special Audio: Locked (Tier 2+)
Malgorath scowled at Locked and selected Heavy Wind and Spectral Whispers.
Then he found an option labeled:
[BOSS FLOOR THEME AUDIO: CUSTOM INPUT (Limited)]
Malgorath's eyes lit up.
"Splurg," he whispered, "I will give them dragon roars."
Splurg tilted his head. "Master… do we have dragon roar audio?"
Malgorath waved dismissively. "I will create it."
He selected Custom Input and began chanting.
A grand chant. A dramatic chant. A chant that sounded like a demon attempting to swallow a thunderstorm.
The System recorded it obediently.
Then processed it.
Then played it back.
The result was not a dragon roar.
It was Malgorath's voice, distorted, echoing through the forest like a dying flute caught in a chimney.
BWAAAAA—HAA—KHHH—BWOOO…
The enchanted trees seemed to flinch in embarrassment.
Splurg stared, mouth slightly open.
Malgorath stood frozen.
Then he nodded slowly.
"Yes," Malgorath said, voice strained. "Perfect. Terrifying."
Splurg, loyal, nodded. "Very… unique."
Malgorath added ocean wind ambiance by miscasting the wind spell again.
It did not sound like ocean wind.
It sounded like someone trying to whistle through a cracked skull.
A constant eerie wheeeee—ooo—wheeee—ooo that drifted through hollow tree trunks like the forest was complaining about drafts.
Malgorath pointed. "You hear it?"
Splurg nodded cautiously. "Yes."
Malgorath smiled. "The Emerald Dragon breathes."
Splurg stared at him for a second, then wrote on his clipboard: Master is coping. Do not interrupt coping.
The forest biome finished stabilizing.
The System Screen chimed.
[FLOOR 2 READY: INITIAL POPULATION INCOMING]Recommended: Select primary monster set.Options:
Goblins (Tribal)
Wolves (Pack)
Boars (Aggressive)
Slimes (Low Threat)
Splurg's eyes lit up. "Goblins and wolves are perfect."
Malgorath, still bitter, pointed at Goblins as if selecting them was an act of revenge.
Goblins (Tribal).
The air shimmered.
In the shadows beneath trees, shapes began to form.
First came movement.
Then giggling.
Then the unmistakable sound of a creature chewing something it definitely shouldn't have.
A cluster of goblins emerged from the underbrush, blinking in the new moonlight like they'd just been promoted into existence.
They were… goblins.
Short. Sharp. Wide-eared. Mismatched leather scraps. Weapons that looked like they'd been made from stolen kitchen tools. Eyes gleaming with that particular goblin joy that suggested they would happily stab you and then argue about whose knife got more blood.
But there was something else.
These goblins weren't just mischievous.
They had attitude.
They looked around, took in the forest, sniffed the air, and smiled in unison.
"Fresh floor," one goblin whispered, almost reverently.
Another licked his lips. "New meat soon."
A third goblin—taller, scarred, with a necklace of teeth—grinned at Splurg.
Then his eyes widened.
"WAIT," the goblin shouted.
All goblin heads snapped toward Splurg like sunflowers toward light.
Splurg blinked. "Uh…"
The scarred goblin's ears perked. "YOU'RE… YOU'RE A GOBLIN!"
Splurg nodded slowly. "Yes."
The goblins exploded.
They swarmed him in a chaotic wave of enthusiasm, crowding around him, grabbing his hands, poking his armor, staring at his clipboard as if it were a holy artifact.
"BOSS GOBLIN!"
"BIG BOSS!"
"LOOK AT HIS PAPER!"
"HE HAS A CLIP THING!"
Splurg stumbled backward, startled but not displeased. "Uh—hi. Hello. Yes. Please don't bite me."
One goblin sniffed him. "You smell like management."
Splurg blinked. "Thank you?"
Malgorath stepped forward, chest puffed, arms spread.
"GOBLINS!" Malgorath boomed, voice echoing through the trees. "YOU STAND IN THE PRESENCE OF MALGORATH—"
The goblins did not look at him.
They were too busy staring at Splurg.
Splurg cleared his throat, raising his clipboard like a shield. "Okay. Um. Welcome to Floor 2."
The goblins quieted instantly.
Malgorath paused mid-speech, stunned.
Splurg continued, voice gaining confidence as he slipped into a role he hadn't known he wanted.
"You'll be working here," Splurg said. "You'll patrol. You'll ambush. You'll try to kill heroes—"
The goblins cheered.
Splurg nodded approvingly. "—but not all of them. We need survivors to come back."
The goblins groaned in unison.
A goblin raised his hand. "Do we get to eat the heroes?"
Splurg considered. "Sometimes."
The goblins erupted in cheers again.
Another goblin raised his hand. "Can we eat the ones who die?"
Splurg nodded. "Yes."
The goblins began chanting something that sounded like a dinner prayer.
Malgorath stared at Splurg, slowly turning the color of rage.
"Splurg," Malgorath hissed, "I am right here."
Splurg glanced at him, then back to the goblins. "Yes, Master."
The scarred goblin leaned close to Splurg and whispered loudly, "Is that your assistant?"
Malgorath's soul attempted to exit his body and file a lawsuit.
"I AM NOT—" Malgorath began.
Splurg raised a hand. "Quiet, everyone. The Demon Lord will speak."
The goblins immediately turned toward Malgorath with polite expectation.
Malgorath seized the moment like a drowning man grabbing a rope.
He stepped forward onto a fallen log like it was a podium.
He spread his arms wide.
He inhaled.
And he delivered the most terrifying speech he could muster.
His voice rang through the forest with echo enchantment and sheer ego.
"GOBLINS OF MY DOMAIN!" Malgorath roared. "YOU HAVE BEEN SUMMONED INTO MY VERDANT EMPIRE! HERE, YOU WILL SERVE ME! HERE, YOU WILL SHED BLOOD IN MY NAME! HERE—"
He pointed dramatically at the canopy.
"—YOU WILL HEAR THE ROAR OF THE EMERALD DRAGON!"
Right on cue, the custom audio triggered.
BWAA—HAA—KHHH—BWOOO…
The goblins stared upward.
A long pause followed.
One goblin whispered, "Is the dragon… sick?"
Another goblin whispered back, "It sounds like my uncle when he chokes on soup."
Malgorath's eye twitched violently.
He continued anyway, voice rising.
"YOU WILL HUNT HEROES! YOU WILL SHATTER THEIR HOPE! YOU WILL—"
A goblin raised his hand.
Malgorath stopped, affronted. "What."
The goblin asked sincerely, "Do we get lunch breaks?"
Malgorath stared.
Splurg whispered, "Yes, schedule matters."
Malgorath's lips peeled back. "YOU… DO NOT NEED LUNCH BREAKS."
The goblins frowned.
Splurg cleared his throat. "Actually, Master—rotating rest keeps them from getting sloppy. Sloppy goblins die too fast, and dead goblins cost DP to replace."
Malgorath's jaw clenched.
He forced himself to nod like this had been his idea.
"Yes," Malgorath declared. "Lunch breaks… are… granted. Because I am merciful."
The goblins cheered.
Another goblin raised his hand. "Who do we report to?"
The goblins all looked at Splurg.
Malgorath snapped, "ME."
The goblins blinked.
Then looked back at Splurg.
Splurg smiled politely. "You report to me for patrol schedules and training. You report to Master Malgorath for… terrifying inspiration."
The goblins nodded, satisfied.
Malgorath stood on the log, speech ruined, aura crushed, staring into the forest like it had betrayed him.
Then Splurg clapped twice.
"Okay!" Splurg said brightly. "Orientation time."
The goblins straightened in unison.
Splurg's ears twitched, pleased.
Malgorath's horns twitched, furious.
Splurg turned the next hour into something Malgorath had never imagined a dungeon could contain:
Organization.
He drew patrol routes in the dirt with a stick.
"Okay," he said, pointing. "You three patrol this path. You—yes, you with the tooth necklace—take a wolf pack route here. Ambush points: behind that fallen tree, under those roots, and inside that hollow stump."
The goblins listened like students.
Malgorath watched like a man witnessing heresy.
Splurg continued, voice calm and practical. "Rules. One: Do not fight heroes alone unless you're baiting them. Two: If heroes panic and flee, let at least one escape. We need survivors. Three: Don't waste arrows on armored targets unless you're aiming at joints. Four: If a hero drops, you can eat them after combat."
The goblins nodded enthusiastically.
One goblin raised a hand. "Can we take trophies?"
Splurg considered. "Yes. But keep it tasteful. Too many trophies slow you down."
The goblin nodded gravely, as if accepting sacred doctrine.
Malgorath leaned toward Splurg and hissed, "Why are you teaching them like soldiers."
Splurg whispered back, "Because trained goblins kill better. Better kills mean better fear. Better fear means more DP. More DP means faster leveling. Faster leveling means you get your dragon."
Malgorath's rage paused mid-boil.
His greed leaned forward.
"…Continue," Malgorath said stiffly.
Splurg's training drills began.
He had goblins practice "wolf herding" tactics: wolves chase heroes toward goblin archers, archers pepper legs, spear goblins finish.
He had them practice "false retreat": one goblin runs, heroes chase, trap triggers, wolves hit from the side.
He had them practice "noise discipline": no giggling during ambush, giggling only after successful stabbing.
The goblins took to it like they'd been born for it.
Because they had.
Malgorath, watching all this, tried to salvage dignity by declaring himself the "Grand Strategist of the Emerald Dominion."
No one asked what that meant.
Splurg ended orientation by assigning roles.
"You," he told the scarred goblin, "are team lead. Keep your squad from dying stupid."
The goblin puffed his chest. "YES, BOSS SPLURG!"
Malgorath's eye twitched again.
Then Splurg pointed at Malgorath. "And that is Master Malgorath."
The goblins clapped politely.
Because Splurg told them to clap.
Malgorath forced a smile so hard it looked painful.
He leaned toward Splurg and whispered, "They will learn to fear me."
Splurg smiled pleasantly. "Sure, Master. Once they stop confusing you for my assistant."
Malgorath made a strangled sound and stalked back toward the observation platform, cape snapping dramatically like it was trying to escape him.
Behind him, the goblins returned to their assigned routes, whispering excitedly about heroes, lunch breaks, and whether the Emerald Dragon sounded like soup-choking.
Splurg watched them go with satisfied pride.
Floor 2 wasn't epic yet.
It wasn't dragons.
It wasn't oceans.
It was goblins and wolves and trees.
But it was structured.
It was alive.
It was ready to kill professionally.
Splurg glanced at the System Screen.
[FLOOR 2 STATUS: OPERATIONAL]Monster Cohesion: ImprovingAmbush Efficiency: HighPredicted Raid Satisfaction: Moderate (good)Recommendation: Add signature hazard (controlled lethality).
Splurg nodded slowly.
"A signature hazard," he murmured.
Malgorath, overhearing the phrase, spun around instantly.
"Yes," Malgorath declared, eyes blazing with renewed delusion. "A signature hazard! Something terrifying! Something legendary! Something that makes them speak of the Emerald Dragon's wrath!"
Splurg smiled sweetly.
"Yes, Master," Splurg said. "We'll make them speak."
And in the forest, goblins laughed softly—quiet now, disciplined now—sharpening spears and asking Splurg whether heroes tasted better with salt.
Floor 2 had begun.
Not with dragons.
With HR.