When he entered the chamber, the ceiling had seemed like a natural formation -rough, dark, and cavernous. Mineral deposits glistened faintly, giving the impression of a wide, unremarkable expanse. But it wasn’t until Jack reached the midpoint of the chamber that he realized his grave error. As a single drop of fluid landed on his now exposed forearm.

It was cold at first, an innocuous sensation that barely registered. But then it began to burn, as it ate its way into his bare flesh.

Jack’s nerves screamed as the substance tore through the protective layer he wore, the acidic sting burrowing into his flesh with excruciating precision. He yelped, instinctively swiping at the fluid, only to smear it further across his skin. The pain intensified, a fiery agony that made his vision blur.

Gritting his teeth against the urge to panic, Jack fumbled at his belt, his trembling fingers finding the vial he needed. With a sharp pull, he unstoppered the top and shook out a generous handful of a fine, white powder -a bicarbonate-based concoction he likened to baking soda. The alchemical powder met the acidic burn with an audible hiss, the searing pain subsiding instantly into a faint, bearable throb.

He exhaled in shaky relief, but the moment was short-lived. Jack’s eyes drifted upward, drawn by some gut instinct, and his stomach dropped.

The ceiling wasn’t stone.

It was alive.

A writhing mass of tendrils, black and glistening, undulated above him like a grotesque sea of living vines. They moved with deliberate, predatory intent, their surfaces pulsing faintly as though feeding on the energy of the core.

His presence had not gone unnoticed. The drop that had burned his arm was a warning, but now the tendrils were stirring in earnest, shifting and coiling as though tasting the air.

Jack’s heart pounded as he realized the room wasn’t empty. It had never been empty.

His mind raced as he pieced together the implications. The boss they had defeated outside had not been the only one. He suddenly remembered the rest of his training.

Though dungeon cores were often left exposed after the boss was defeated, there was always a final line of defense -a warden, a trap, or some nightmarish amalgamation of both. Jack cursed himself for underestimating this one. The moment of triumph had dulled his edge, and now the seconds between survival and obliteration stretched impossibly thin.

The vial in his hand was a grim reminder of his dwindling options. Without hesitation, Jack unstoppered the containers in rapid succession, his fingers moving with practiced efficiency despite the tremble of adrenaline. The viscous, quicksilver-like liquid spread across the pedestal and stone floor, pooling into a shimmering, chaotic mirror.

One last vial. Jack punctured its top with the tip of his dagger. The hiss of escaping pressure was sharp and violent, like a snake’s warning. Holding his breath, he covered the hole with his thumb, gave it a hard shake, and then released the contents in a forceful spray. The liquid arced into the air, colliding with the puddle on the floor. The resulting chemical reaction was immediate and volatile -foam began to expand outward, crawling like a living organism as it solidified into a rigid, shimmering lattice.

No turning back now.

Jack lunged forward, his hand closing around the dungeon core. The pulsating crystal throbbed with energy, its warmth almost hypnotic. It wasn’t just warm -it was alive, vibrating in his grasp as if the core itself resisted his touch. He suppressed a wave of nausea, fighting the compulsion to stare into its alien light, and instead yanked it free from the pedestal.

The room reacted with violent purpose. The foam’s hissing intensified as acrid vapor billowed upwards, swirling like an angry ghost. The tendrils above writhed in response, their retreat halting as they surged downward with renewed aggression. They struck out, faster than he anticipated, recoiling only momentarily when the fumes seared their surface.

The sound of Sys chiming in was as infuriating as it was oddly comforting.

Sys Notification: Emergency Quest – Escape the Heart of the Dungeon

By assaulting the core, you have awakened the final warden, and it is very, very angry.

Objective: Escape the heart chamber before you meet a grisly demise.

Rewards: You get to live, and maybe someone will write a mediocre ballad about your bravery.

Also, some sweet experience points.

Good luck, Jack!

“Of course. Always with the humor,” Jack muttered under his breath, but he was already moving.

The moment the core left its pedestal, the entire room seemed to convulse. The tendrils lashed down with terrifying precision, moving in coordinated waves. The gas no longer deterred them -it enraged them. Jack ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding the whip of one barbed pseudopod that embedded itself in the stone where he’d just stood.

The tunnel loomed ahead. He sprinted for it, clutching the core with one hand while his other gripped his dagger, its edge glinting with black ichor from earlier skirmishes. His movements were erratic, zigzagging to throw off his pursuers, but the tendrils adapted, their strikes becoming unnervingly accurate.

One finally found its mark. It coiled around his ankle and yanked, sending him sprawling onto the stone floor with bone-jarring force. The core skittered out of his grasp, rolling to a stop a few feet away. Pain erupted in his leg as the tendril’s acidic surface burned through his clothes and into his skin.

“Not today!” Jack snarled, raising his dagger and slicing through the sinewy appendage. The severed piece recoiled violently, spraying ichor that hissed where it splattered on the floor. Jack ignored the agony in his ankle, crawling forward to reclaim the core. He tucked it under his arm and stumbled toward the tunnel.

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Phase two, he thought grimly. Time to light things up.

He pivoted, hurling a dagger toward the fragile vial he’d carefully positioned earlier. The blade struck true. The vial shattered with a sharp pop, its contents releasing a volatile surge into the gas-filled chamber. The reaction was instantaneous.

A deafening explosion rocked the heart chamber, a fiery plume engulfing the pedestal and spreading outward in a shockwave that sucked the air from the tunnel. Jack threw himself forward, feeling the searing heat lick at his back as the pressure wave slammed into him. The walls of the tunnel seemed to ripple, groaning under the force of the blast.

His victory was short-lived. however.

The tendrils, though scorched and battered, continued their relentless pursuit, now writhing with even greater ferocity. The explosion had thinned their numbers but hadn’t stopped them. Jack’s breath came in ragged gasps as he scrambled forward on hands and knees, the core clutched tightly in one hand. His silver dagger dragged against the stone, its once-sharp blade showing the wear of its recent use.

The sound of the tendrils was like nails scraping on stone, a relentless skittering that grated against his nerves. They filled the chamber behind him, a writhing, roiling mass of corruption that seemed to defy the destruction he had unleashed. The tunnel felt like it was closing in, the walls pressing closer with each passing second as he crawled toward freedom.

Almost there, almost there.

A sharp sting across his back made him yelp. One of the warden’s tendrils had grazed him, its barbs tearing through his flesh and raking against his bone. The pain was sharp and intense; but he couldn’t afford to stop. Not if he wanted to survive.

Jack gritted his teeth and pushed forward, his entire body screaming in protest.

The welcoming darkness that stretched ahead was a faint beacon, cutting through the suffocating pressure. Jack surged toward it, his muscles trembling with exhaustion. The warden’s tendrils clawed at him, desperate to drag him back into the chamber, but he didn’t look back. His only focus was the path ahead -the promise of air, safety, and survival.

As he wove his way through the tunnel, and into the now familiar stretch of draping tendrils, the tunnel structure behind him collapsed, sealing off the heart chamber in a deafening roar of stone and dust. Jack lay there for a moment looking back, gasping for breath, his body trembling as the adrenaline ebbed away.

In his hand, the core pulsed faintly, its energy undiminished despite the chaos. He looked at it and couldn’t help but laugh -a breathless, delirious sound that echoed in the now-silent tunnel.

Phase three, complete. Somehow, he’d made it out alive.

Now to take it home.

A contraction of the tunnel walls terrified him into motion once more. And like a shot of pure fear, he bolted forward.

The acidic tendrils of the tunnel he found himself in reacted sluggishly to his presence, their movements hesitant as they encountered the faint traces of the protective concoction still clinging to his skin. It bought him precious seconds, but he knew it wouldn’t last. His protection was all but gone, and the core’s energy seemed to agitate the dungeon into further fits of frenzy.

Jack pushed himself harder, his limbs trembling with exhaustion as he forced his body to keep moving. The air in the tunnel grew thinner, the acrid vapor and dust from the tunnel behind him creeping into his lungs. Each breath burned, but the alternative was unthinkable.

The light at the end of the passage was faint, but it was there -a pinprick of hope in the suffocating darkness. Jack focused on it, his mind a singular blur of determination and desperation. The sounds of the tendrils grew fainter behind him, their pursuit hindered by the narrow confines of the tunnel.

Finally, he burst out into the open air, collapsing onto the ground of the ruins as the cool breeze washed over him. He coughed violently, his lungs heaving as he fought to purge the toxic fumes from his system. The core lay in his hand, its pulsing light a grim reminder of what he had just endured.

Lord Arlington and the Blessed Raya were already moving toward him, their expressions a mix of relief and alarm. Jack tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat, his body too drained to form coherent sentences. Instead, he held up the core, his fingers trembling as he offered it to them.

The Blessed Raya’s smile was as unsettling as ever, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and something Jack couldn’t quite place. Lord Arlington nodded grimly, his hand resting on Jack’s shoulder in silent acknowledgment.

“You did well, Jack,” Arlington said, his voice steady despite the tension in his eyes. “Rest now. We’ll take it from here.”

Jack nodded weakly, his body finally succumbing to exhaustion as the weight of the ordeal settled over him. The world blurred at the edges, the last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the core’s sickly glow, cradled in Raya’s hands.

Jack gained his first class that day -his first true class. It wasn’t simply handed to him; it was earned. Lord Arlington had made that clear from the start.

“There’s a rule among true dungeon divers,” Arlington had told him, his tone measured but firm, “If you reach the dungeon core yourself, you’re granted the opportunity. No one can take that from you, not even the gods.”

Jack had seen how many ignored this rule, claiming the glory for themselves regardless of who bled to make it possible. But not Lord Arlington. He stood apart in a world brimming with opportunists, a man who believed in rewards for effort and compensation for results. It was an ethos as rare as it was honorable, and it was why Jack respected him above all others.

When Arlington handed him the tools to claim his first class, the moment felt monumental -electric with promise. Jack’s heart pounded as he stepped toward the core, its pulsing energy radiating a dark, hypnotic glow. The others stood back, thirty strong, their faces a blend of wary respect and quiet anticipation. No one interfered. This was Jack’s moment.

And then it came. The whisper.

It snuck into his mind like a thief in the night, slithering through his thoughts with a sickly, sweet voice that coiled around his resolve. It promised him everything -endless rewards, unthinkable power, a chance to go home. The vision of his old life flickered at the edges of his mind, tantalizingly close. He could almost hear his mother’s voice, see the streets he once roamed.

Jack hesitated. His hand tightened on his new nail-spike blade -a gift from his lord for claiming the heart- as he stared into the core, its depths alive with malevolent potential. Lord Arlington had warned him about this moment. “The temptations will come,” he had said. “No matter how prepared you think you are, they will come. That’s when you’ll know whether you have the heart of a dungeon diver, or whether you’ll let yourself become an avatar.”

Jack’s gaze flicked to Arlington, then to the surrounding party. Their expressions were unreadable, their trust implicit. The weight of the decision was his alone. And while technically there was no wrong choice, losing himself to become an avatar was not the path he wanted.

He turned back to the core. Its green-black crystalline form pulsed with each whisper, each insidious promise. Jack inhaled deeply, forcing the visions from his mind.

With a grim determination, he raised his weapon -a tool specifically designed to destroy cores- and brought it down.

The core shattered, and its power engulfed him, a blinding surge of energy that consumed his senses. For a moment, he was weightless, untethered from the world. Then, the system’s voice echoed in his mind, cold and precise.

System Notification: Class Selection Unlocked.

Class choices are determined by types of experience gained.

Choose your basic starting node.

Scout

Thief

Alchemist

Fighter

Mage

Due to your unique nature, additional class choices are available.

Moon Touched Trickster (Fae’Ri Rogue prestige class)

Dual Edged Pathfinder (Fae’Ri Ranger prestige class)

Sylvan Forager (Fae’Ri Survivalist prestige class)