I’d closed Lynette’s door behind me and was no longer distracted by the guide's instructions. My knees buckle under the weight of the unbearable truth. Earth is gone, wiped out, as if it was nothing more than a doodle erased from existence. My chest tightens, squeezing the air out of my lungs, pinning me down like the sky has decided to crush me.

I try to breathe, but the air feels thick, like molasses in the winter. Each inhalation is a labor, barely enough to keep me from blacking out. Sweat beads on my forehead; my skin is on fire, like the flames are licking from the inside out.

My hands shake, clenched into fists so tight my knuckles go white. I want to scream, to shatter the silence that amplifies my horror. But the scream is stuck in my throat, a mute testament to the enormity of my loss.

Everything around me blurs—the walls, the pathways, all fade into insignificance. Even those incessant notifications that seem to hound me have gone quiet, as if the universe itself is waiting for me to snap.

Uninvited memories flood in—my family laughing around a non-existent dinner table, my sisters whose faces I'll never see again, my dogs waiting forever for a master who's never coming back. Each memory cuts, and I'm bleeding out, my identity spilling into an unfillable abyss.

Tears blind me, but it doesn't matter; what's there to see? The scope of this reality is too massive, too horrific to fully absorb. My home, my world, is now just a void, an unpatchable tear in the fabric of existence. And I'm just a remnant, floating in a space that no longer recognizes me.

Finally, the scream that's been building in me breaks free. It rips through my lips, a guttural sound echoing in the emptiness. As the sound reverberates around me, my legs give way. I crumble to the ground, an embodiment of despair.

I lay there, shaking, sobbing without sound. I am a shard, a splinter of a world that has shattered into uncountable pieces. And as I lie here, immersed in a darkness more profound than any dungeon, I realize this is my new reality—a reality I don't know how to navigate.

I don’t know how long I laid there, but when I finally took a breath under control I wiped my eyes where tears and sweat had gathered. I felt wobbly on my knees and finally was able to look around. The Dungeon followed a path going left and right of me. It was a flat stone road with hewnstone walls that curved at the top forming a tunnel. I could see that there was alleyways jutting from side along this pathway and even though this area had dim light because of the torches I could see that areas beyond were pitch black.

Resolved I pushed off and walked forward turning to look at the door seeing a neon sign above it. There was a lady blinking on a pole and next to it was a weird language yet I could still read it. ‘Tutorial Guild’ There was a haptic buzz and…

New Achievement: You’ve discovered and read an official dungeon sign.

Wow. You can read. Whoopie.

REWARD: All official dungeon signage will now be highlighted and easier to spot. Nearby guilds will appear on your minimap.

Figuring it would be a good idea to view the minimap to get a good idea of where to go. I opened it. A sea of black known as the fog of war greeted me. The only thing I could see was the Tutorial Guild and down the hall there was a red X of a dead mob. As I walked towards it more of the map started to uncover. Then when I saw the pulverized creature I cringed.

Lootable Corpse. Pop Weasel. Level 1. Killed by Crawler Warren G. with an assist by Crawler Naia. Inventory is empty.

My mind immediately snapped to the idea of following these X’s so I could meet up with my friend. Which was as good of a plan as any. I had no idea who this Naia was, but it sounded like he’d found a party. There were so many random directions the dungeon would split off. Alleys that bend around corners that I could see myself aimlessly. So I followed the breadcrumbs.

Five minutes into my jaunt through the gloom, my map flashes with three red dots circling an X time to get serious. I yank a torch out of my inventory and light it up. A flick of the wrist sends it sailing down the hall, cutting through the murk like a beacon. It's there that I spot them: three giant rats.

Giant Rat. Level 2

It’s a rat, but bigger.

They're busy gnawing on one of those Pop Weasel cadavers I've been tracking. But the moment the light hits them, they pivot and start barreling toward me.

“Well shit” I mutter..

Adrenaline hits me. My fingers come together to make a snapping sound and form into a finger gun as I activate my Fire Bolt spell. Whoosh! A red ribbon of flame bursts from my fingertip and slams into the lead rat. The critter lets out a banshee wail as its health bar dives into the red, then vanishes.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The remaining rats pause, giving each other a look that says, "Did you see that?" almost as clearly as I'm thinking it. But I've got no time. Another snap, another bolt of fire. Rat number two goes down as easy as the first.

Rat three however goes up like a bonfire. Like I'd poured accelerant on it. I had to pause for a moment.. Actual, honest-to-God magic. A smile cracks my face. I walk to the corpse and touch them and their inventory pops up. I collect Rat Pelts, Rat Meat, and—thanks to a well-cooked specimen—Cooked Rat Meat, which promises a +5 to the Regeneration skill for 20 seconds.

A blinking notification catches my eye. A cascade of achievements and experience points flow across the screen, sans loot boxes. My Fire Bolt skill jumped a level, and my mana points have dwindled down to a trifling three out of 21. They're replenishing slowly—too damn slowly. Lynette was spot-on: I need mana potions, or a good whacking stick, stat.

As I retrieve my thrown torch, something glimmers above the flame. I hesitate, then reach out. Instead of scalding me, the fire winks out like a snuffed candle, and a surge of energy bolts up my arm. My mana points leap to 8.

Well, I'll be damned. My Aspect said I could absorb fire. A quick glance at my skills menu confirms it. Time to update my resume: Martin, professional crawler, amateur mage, and walking fire extinguisher.

Absorb Element (Fire) Level 1

Toggled On

The parameters of how this skill will level is based on your class.

Restores mana based on the amount of flame available.

A whole torch netted me a measly three mana points. It wasn't a windfall, but in a scrape, it could mean the difference between a spell and a funeral. So, I made a mental note and moved on.

The dungeon's rat population was apparently booming—each corpse I found attracted more of the vermin. I was down a few torches by the time I ran out of roadkill to follow, courtesy of my absent friend Ren. On the flip side, I'd hit Level 3 and cranked my Fire Bolt skill up to Level 4. Hey, if life gives you rats, make... firebolts?

While I’d netted more Bronze and Silver Boxes the crowning achievement was more literal: a Gold Magic Item Box, the dungeon's version of a gold star, awarded to one of the first 100 crawlers to push their Fire Bolt skill to Level 3. Finally, the universe recognized my pyromaniacal talents.

Trying to suss out which way Ren had bolted, I consulted my minimap. Another X. Lovely. Making the turn, I was blindsided by a tableau straight out of a nightmare. Bathrooms had been a recurring feature in this labyrinth, each a claustrophobic chamber barely fit for a human. But the spectacle outside this particular loo was... different. This was a horror movie. There was a part in the bottom half of what looked like a girl's waist and legs laying a pool of chucky viscera and blood while her torso was nowhere to be seen. Well that wasn’t true. It was in bits and pieces all over the walls and roof of the dungeon. It was like somebody set off a bomb right in front of her.

The stench washed over me like a tidal wave, my stomach protesting vehemently. A palpable thrum kicked off in my chest, the familiar shortness of breath looming over me. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to breathe, resting a steadying hand against the cool dungeon wall. For several heartbeats, I simply stood, waiting for the world to right itself again.

I picked a direction, any direction that would put distance between me and that nightmare. I felt a weird tingle in the back of my mind. Like I was suddenly being watched, It wasn't until a jolt of pain seared through my leg that I let out a yelp, instinctively kicking whatever had latched onto me. Twisting around, I found myself face-to-face with a pair of ominous creatures. Just like that, their red dots sprang to life on my minimap.

Anklebiter Weasel. Level 4

Ah, the illustrious Anklebiter Weasel! Nature's answer to the age-old question: "What happens when you combine a fuzzball with the relentless tenacity of a door-to-door salesperson?" Picture this tiny, fur-covered dynamo as it darts through dungeons with the grace of a squirrel, the cunning of a con artist, and the boundless energy of a caffeinated jackrabbit. It's essentially a pocket-sized tornado of weasel-wrath, hell-bent on making your dungeon-crawling experience, shall we say, ankle-bitingly memorable.These pint-sized troublemakers have an uncanny knack for sneaking up behind you just when you thought the coast was clear. They're like stealthy little ninjas of the rodent world, except instead of throwing shurikens, they're nipping at all the things that make you tick.

"Mother Fucker!?" I bellowed. These monstrosities were like ferrets on steroids, only they were a nightmarish shade of orange and boasted rows of needle-like teeth. My health meter plummeted past the halfway mark. Flicking my wrist to snap, I loosed a fire bolt at one. The spell found its mark, setting the critter ablaze. It yowled, cartwheeling across the floor in a pitiful display straight out of some animated farce.

But its partner wasn't playing for laughs. Faster than lightning, it pounced, bowling me over. Gnashing teeth aimed for my face, I managed to grab its scrawny neck in a futile effort to hold it at bay. No dice. I pummeled the thing with desperate punches, but its health bar only ticked down incrementally. Finally, I couldn't hold it back any longer. I threw up an arm in defense as its fangs sunk into my flesh. Pain erupted, blinding and immediate.

I slammed on the health potion hotkey; my health gauge surged back to slightly above the halfway point, but it was plummeting fast. Muttering an incantation, I cast a healing spell and marveled as my life bar ticked upward. The creature, now realizing it couldn't feast on my arm, relented. It lunged again, fangs bared. I swung at it reflexively.

Then something uncanny happened. My fist went into its open maw and kept going, stopping only when its jaws clamped around my forearm.

"What in the—" I managed to get out.

The creature twisted and writhed, its health bar steadily draining as it choked. A hiss caught my ear, and I turned just in time to see its flaming companion, health still in the red. Another quick fire bolt and it was toast. As for the arm-choker, a few vigorous slams against the hard dungeon floor finished it off. I lay there, panting like I'd run a marathon.

"Well, that was educational," I muttered.

Moments later, finally extricated from the creature's death grip, I clicked on the hotkey for my cooked rat meat, kick-starting my health regen. Then I busied myself with looting the weaselly vermin.

Weasel Teeth x5

Poor Weasel Skin x2

Anti-Flea Spray

I stared at the eclectic assortment. Too beat to process the randomness of it all, I shoved the loot into my inventory. Then, as if guided by some cosmic mercy, my eyes landed on the most beautiful icon my map had to offer: a safe room. Relief cascaded through me as I pressed forward, yearning for the sanctuary where I could finally catch my breath.