The dungeon’s entrance loomed behind Jack, its oppressive aura fading into the distance as he stepped into the first chamber. A cold, still air greeted him, carrying a faint metallic tang that made his nostrils flare. Before him stretched a labyrinth of jagged stone, its walls etched with glowing runes that pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat in the darkness.

The room was alive. Jack could feel it in the way the air vibrated against his skin, how the stones beneath his boots seemed to shift with every step. The labyrinth wasn’t static; it was shifting, breathing, and waiting. “Alright, dungeon,” Jack muttered, gripping his machete tighter. “Let’s get this over with.”

The moment he spoke, the temperature dropped. Whispers rose around him, faint at first, like the murmur of a distant crowd. Then they grew louder, layering over one another until the air buzzed with disjointed voices. They spoke in tongues he didn’t understand, yet the words clawed at the edges of his mind, needling at his resolve.

The shimmering veils of energy hanging between the labyrinth’s walls distorted his vision, stretching and twisting the narrow pathways. It was disorienting, like looking through warped glass. He moved cautiously, his boots crunching on loose gravel as he navigated the corridors. Every few steps, the runes on the walls flickered, rearranging themselves when he wasn’t looking directly at them.

He stopped, letting out a low breath. “Not today, dungeon,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the nearest rune. It swirled like ink in water, then stabilized as if mocking his focus.

The whispers rose again. A flicker of movement caught his eye. He whirled, machete raised, only to find an empty corridor. His jaw tightened. He wasn’t alone, but whatever was here wasn’t playing fair.

As he advanced, the sound of whispers grew louder, their tones weaving into a fragmented melody. The runes on the walls flared in response, casting shifting patterns of light that danced across his path. He caught flickers of motion at the edges of his vision - phantom images of himself, his steps mirroring his own, their forms translucent and ephemeral.

The visions tugged at his memory, stirring fragments of a past he’d long buried. He saw himself standing at the head of a grand hall, Shalondra by his side, her silver hair glinting like moonlight. He saw the two of them battling through dungeons just like this one, their blades carving through enemies as if guided by fate itself.

Is this real? Or just the dungeon playing tricks?

The question lingered as he pressed on, the phantoms vanishing as quickly as they’d appeared. The runes along his machete glowed brighter now, resonating with the runes etched into the walls. It was as though the dungeon was unlocking parts of him, peeling back layers he hadn’t realized he’d sealed away.

The realization struck as he stepped into a larger chamber. The air here was denser, the magic pooling like an invisible fog. Jack felt it immediately - a subtle, almost imperceptible pull at his core. He closed his eyes, focusing inward, and felt the energy flowing toward him, seeping into his being.

It was like breathing after holding his breath for far too long. The energy wasn’t just magic; it was something purer, something primal. It filled the cracks in his soul, reigniting the part of him he’d thought lost when he left the Otherworld.

System Notification: Core Meta Class Reactivated – Dungeon Master.

Jack’s eyes snapped open as the notification flashed across his HUD. His breathing quickened, adrenaline flooding his system as memories surged to the forefront of his mind. The title wasn’t just a designation - it was a responsibility, a role he’d once wielded with terrifying efficiency.

“Dungeon Master,” he murmured, the words heavy with meaning. “Guess it’s time to remind this place who’s in charge.”

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As he pressed deeper into the labyrinth, the flickering figures began to appear. They were translucent, humanoid shapes that shimmered in the corner of his vision. Some stood motionless, their faces obscured by shadow, while others moved with purpose, their footsteps silent but deliberate.

Jack froze as one of the figures passed directly in front of him. Its shape was hazy, like smoke barely holding form. It turned its head toward him, though it had no discernible features, and tilted slightly as if observing him.

“You’re not real,” Jack said firmly, though his grip on the machete tightened. “Just another trick.”

The figure twitched and then vanished, leaving behind a faint trail of light that dissipated like mist. Jack’s pulse quickened, but he forced himself to move forward. The whispers pressed harder now, filling his ears with nonsense and fragments of memory that weren’t his own.

Each step seemed heavier than the last, the labyrinth pulling at his will as if trying to drag him into its depths. He rounded a corner, only to find himself back where he started. The labyrinth was shifting around him, playing games.

Jack stopped and pulled out his deck of Prismata cards. His fingers moved instinctively, flipping through them until he found what he was looking for: a utility card labeled "Echo Sense." Its design shimmered faintly, depicting a sonar-like wave rippling across a darkened space.

“Alright, let’s see if this works,” he muttered, activating the card. He wagered that he had plenty of excess energy, or experience, that he could use. Though even with the fights outside, he’d only taken down two boss level creatures. His pool of reserves was not infinite, of that he was sure.

A soft vibration pulsed through his hand as the card linked to his energy. The dungeon responded immediately, the walls seeming to shudder at the intrusion. A wave of blue light radiated outward from Jack, washing over the labyrinth and momentarily illuminating its structure.

The card mapped the space in his mind, revealing the twisting paths and dead ends. Traps glowed red like distant embers, while the correct path shone faintly gold, flickering as if daring him to follow.

“Gotcha,” Jack said, slipping the card back into his pocket. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

He moved quickly now, trusting the card’s guidance. The whispers intensified, and the phantasmal figures grew more aggressive. They appeared directly in his path, blocking his way or reaching out as if to grab him. Jack swung his machete reflexively, the blade passing harmlessly through them, but the act of fighting them off sapped his focus.

“Stay calm,” he muttered to himself, taking a steadying breath. “They’re just illusions. You’re not losing it.”

The dungeon didn’t appreciate his newfound confidence. The runes along the walls flared brighter, casting the labyrinth in a harsh, flickering light. The shimmering veils of energy warped further, creating mirages that blended into the real world. Jack stumbled as the ground beneath him seemed to tilt sideways, though he knew it was only an illusion.

One figure materialized directly in front of him, larger and more solid than the others. It resembled a knight clad in fragmented armor, its form shimmering as though made of shattered glass. The figure raised a jagged blade, and though Jack knew it wasn’t real, he ducked instinctively as the weapon swung toward him.

“Not funny,” he growled, slashing upward with his machete. The blade passed through the figure, but the impact sent a shockwave down his arm, jarring him. “Okay, maybe a little real.”

The knight lunged again, and Jack dodged, rolling to the side. He swung at the figure’s legs, and this time, the machete struck something solid. The knight shattered into fragments of light, which dissipated into the air.

“Great,” Jack muttered, rising to his feet. “Even your illusions have bite. Can’t you just send more Arachnae my way? That way I don’t have to deal with this guessing game of ‘Real or Not.’”

The corridor stretched before Jack, its walls rippling with shadowy tendrils that danced in his peripheral vision, taunting his focus. The air smelled faintly metallic, thick with the taste of magic and the stale breath of something ancient and watchful. Each step he took was calculated, his machete held at the ready, its faint hum a steady counterpoint to the tension in the air.

But even as his senses stayed sharp, scanning for traps or lurking enemies, his mind worked overtime, pulling at the threads of the mystery that surrounded this dungeon.

His boot hovered mid-step. Something glimmered faintly on the floor, the telltale shimmer of a rune-etched pressure plate. Jack crouched, narrowing his eyes as he traced the faint lines with the tip of his machete. A single misstep, and he had no doubt the whole corridor would erupt in flame or something equally unpleasant.

He exhaled, reaching into his cloak's dimensional pocket to retrieve a small obsidian shard - a tool he’d kept handy from his days in the Otherworld. Carefully, he slid the shard under the edge of the plate, lifting it just enough to disrupt the spell etched into its surface. A faint hiss escaped, like air escaping from a balloon, and the shimmer faded.

“One down,” he muttered, straightening. “How many more of you bastards are waiting for me?”