2 Months Later

William was on his fifth cup of coffee. Multiple candles lit up his desk and the several stacks of paper he'd managed to accrue over time, all related to the activity of the first to eighth floors over the past two months. The moon shone through the upper window to his left, but the only thing that could be seen to denote his exhaustion were the dark circles and bags under his eyes. His mind however, was buzzing with activity, trying to figure out what had been going on since the purge of the first, and second floors.

For a full month, everything seemed to go back to normal. Two months after that, he was sitting here reading reports that conflicted with the normal rate of monster sightings and dungeoneer deaths. At first it was just a small rise or fall in the numbers for dungeoneer groups lost on those floors, but then the amount of groups lost was sharply reduced for the third floor, along with monster sightings, while the fourth floor had higher casualty reports, but less monster sightings as well. Furthermore, chests were being found empty on both floors.

The goblins on the third floor were becoming less and less in number, which for a lesser analyst, might seem like a simple floor shift on their own. The ones that were still living were tougher, after all. Some bore scars, others carried better weapons, and a few days ago there was a group of twenty sighted, seeming to be preparing to fight, instead of just wandering around.

The orcs of the fourth floor were also fewer in number. There weren't any of the weaker variants like before, which was leading to a higher casualty rate for the less experienced groups. Instead, any groups that went out were starting to band together, due to the rumor that the orcs were getting stronger.

"Quality over quantity?" William was muttering to himself as he cross referenced reports from a few months before with the reports he was getting nowadays. While some would say it was a sign of madness, it always felt better to bounce ideas off of the void. "No, no... That'd mean a change for the first through fifth floors, at least..." He looked at the scant few reports he had actually recieved about the second and fifth floors. Neither had shown as much activity, although the skeleton population had been reduced since the purge, and it seemed like it wasn't recovering any time soon. The slimes hadn't changed at all, from what he could figure out. He couldn't quite discern the situation on the second or fifth floors, as it was really only a few sheets of paper that he'd managed to get a hold of.

"I don't have enough data... Should get the scribes to send me more reports in the morning..." He kept mumbling to himself between each sip of his coffee, which he kept warm by placing it on a small alchemical wire frame, which he let sit over one of the candles on his desk. The flame was just enough to warm his coffee without damaging the ceramic mug.

It had always been easier to work at night. Less people bothered him about needing reports right away, less people trying to make small talk with him. He'd never been very good with people, but he could always pick out the changes in a dungeon if the information was given to him. Night seemed to be best for this, as William could devote his entire focus to solving one question at a time, instead of having to solve multiple at the same time from a select few pieces of information. A few years back, he'd been given all the information for a recorded year, and was able to explain the reason for the fifteenth floor shifting in regards to difficulty, loot types, and layout.

It was that same event that caused him to think that dungeons, Catastrophe dungeons in particular, had at the very minimum, some level of intelligence. If he took it even further, it could also mean that they were sentient things. Granted, the moment he proposed this theory to the other analysts in the area, most had mocked him, stating that he'd been working too hard, and had gone a little mad in the process.

Of course, those same analysts were now in positions lower than him, whereas he was the senior analyst for the city, and for the dungeon. William allowed himself a moment of smug satisfaction at remembering their expressions when he'd been given the post. Then, he sank back into his research, trying to figure out why the third and fourth floors had changed so much in such a short amount of time, while the first, second, and fifth floors had barely changed at all.

"The purge worked, the unique monster died... Nothing would've been able to survive that sweep... But, why do I still feel uneasy?" He scratched the back of his head before taking another sip of his coffee, only to realize he had emptied it yet again.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

He stood up to get some more, grabbing the pot he'd been using all night as he went. Using a low level fire spell, he brought the water to a boil as he added in the ground coffee beans. As he slowly mixed them in with a wooden bookmark, he stared at the shelves around him, finding his gaze lingering on a familiar book. Granted, it didn't have a name, but most analysts had made their own names for it. For William, he called it the Book of Catastrophes, or B.o.C. for short.

That book had recorded several detailed experiments done with the Catastrophe dungeons, along with behavioral changes that they had shown in the past. It also contained records for some of the catastrophes that had occured during particular dungeon breaks. Monsters during those times showed higher intelligence, a capacity to learn, increased strength, and that they didn't work together with other monsters unless something of supreme power was driving them all forward.

"It hid its strength, Peter."

Those words flashed through his mind for but a moment, when a splash of burning pain appeared on his hand, which held the pot. Stifling a yelp, he tightened his grip despite the fact that his mind was yelling at him to let go, and looked down to see a droplet of boiling water sizzling against his skin, which he hurriedly wiped off before it could do any more damage.

The coffee was done at this point, so he set the pot down on a heat resistant tablecloth he'd bought from the market a long time ago. After all, he didn't want to singe the wooden shelving. Grabbing his mug, he poured the coffee until it was just about full, and went back to his desk. Albeit, this time he took the B.o.C. with him. It might not shed any light on the current situation, but looking at it would remind him of what he was dealing with.

He couldn't treat the first few floors like they were nothing special at the moment. After all, that feeling that something was wrong had never gone away, even after the purge was confirmed to have been completed. Peter and the others seemed to agree that the problem had been dealt with, but William felt he couldn't agree with them.

If they did turn out to be right, then that would be great. It would mean that all he had done would've been a few wasted months, watching floor shifts. Of course, if he was right, then that would be an entirely different story. That would mean that a unique monster was left alone to grow and mature, and that it would have some sort of major strength behind it. At that point, they would need more than a few teams in order to bring it down, depending on how it had grown. If it was an army, then they might be able to take care of it with a few highly skilled teams and some others keeping the army at bay. If it was alone, then it would be simpler, likely needing just a few highly skilled teams working together in order to beat it. If it was both... Then it would be a nightmare to fight it at all, unless every single team in the city was working together to kill it. Even then, they might lose a few of the weaker teams.

"What am I saying, of course I'm wrong. I have to be. There's no way such a thing could have survived the purge. This is just a floor shift, nothing more." He said the words, but they didn't change what he was thinking, considering that he was still staring at the B.o.C.

He'd spent the last few months trying to convince himself that he was wrong, because the alternative was worse, and he hadn't had any data to support his slowly growing fears. The dungeon had been quiet up until two months ago, but the few reports he actually got ended up doing nothing to relieve him. It was only a few weeks ago that the numbers had shifted drastically. Whatever happened had happened suddenly, without any prior warning whatsoever.

He took another sip of his coffee, hoping to drown his worries in the sweet, warm, caffeinated beverage. While it helped push back the embrace of sleep that had been trying to claim him for the past three hours, it didn't do much else. Setting it back down on the wire frame, he looked over the reports again. Casualties among the more experienced adventurers had almost doubled as the number of orcs went down. Any groups that were encountered were filled with battle hardened, grim faced nightmares, who took advantage of the fact that some dungeoneers were weaker than others. This left some teams with less people than they started with, and completely wiped out others.

The goblins of the third floor had taken to using anything they could get their hands on, and throwing it at anyone who got close enough. Any dungeoneers who made it into melee range were swarmed, with some focusing on killing them, while the rest kept anyone else away. They were becoming more and more creative with ways to kill people, and they were getting better at it as well.

It was at that moment that one of the scribes opened the door, her eyes bleary, as she tried to stifle a yawn, and failed. Rubbing one of her eyes, she walked over, reached into her pack, and placed a skull, a few bones, and a war cleaver on the desk, in between the reports. "Some dungeoneers said they found this on the fourth floor, after killing a skeleton. They didn't know if it was something special, so I figured I'd just bring it to you, since you're always up at night." She spoke through another yawn, before turning around and leaving.

William just stared at the skull, his coffee forgotten.