A young dungeon core forms next to a lovely village, full of lovely people who would likely understand its plight of not wanting to murder them all if only it had a mouth with which to speak. Instead, everything goes horribly, terribly wrong. Its literally a crystal, it can't be having a panic attack, can it? This is the story about a village, a dungeon, its desire to provide light and laughter and life. It tries to choose the talents and perks to bolster its life-mana alignment every time, to further its cause. So how is it that it wound up with an undead army and some insane boosts to death-aligned mana? How did everything go so wrong? [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]