Riven approached the study door with slow, reluctant steps, each creak of the wood underfoot amplifying the dread that twisted in his stomach. He didn’t want to see what lay beyond. Some part of him hoped that perhaps his mind was exaggerating the damage, that maybe Sorvax was just angry rather than injured. But he knew better. His teacher’s weak, rasping voice had told him all he needed to know.
When he finally nudged the door open and stood in the doorway, the full extent of the devastation took his breath away.
Sorvax the Terrible, once so fearsome and imposing, lay slumped in the corner of the room, sprawled across what looked like the remains of his ornate, claw-footed desk. His once-immaculate robes hung in tatters, dark fabric torn and stained with blood that oozed from a deep gash on his forehead, streaking down his cheek and pooling on his collar. His eyes, usually so sharp and filled with a menacing red glow, were half-lidded, dull with exhaustion and pain. He looked… small. Defeated.
The study itself was a mirror of his condition. Bookshelves had been ripped from the walls, their contents strewn and trampled across the floor. Precious tomes lay open, pages torn and smeared with soot, as though someone had gone through them in a frenzy, looking for something specific. A few books still smoldered, sending wisps of acrid smoke curling toward the cracked ceiling. Drawers had been yanked from his desk and emptied, the wood split as if struck by brute force, and what little furniture remained intact was either overturned or splintered beyond recognition. The air was thick with the scent of burnt leather, old paper, and sulfur.
“My Lord!” Riven cried, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself. He rushed forward, his heart hammering as he took in the battered, weakened state of his once-mighty master.
He wanted to comfort Sorvax, to assure him that everything would be alright, though he had no idea how. Demons were resilient by nature, but healing was a slow process, even with powerful magic. For a demon as ancient and powerful as Sorvax to look like this… it meant he’d expended nearly all his strength just to survive. And though demons could heal from almost any wound, their magic was less effective on their horns. Riven’s eyes darted briefly to Sorvax’s horns, which jutted from his forehead—scuffed, but thankfully unbroken.
But just as he surged forward, his foot caught on something solid. He stumbled, nearly face-planting onto the stone floor, but managed to right himself at the last second. He glanced down, realizing he’d tripped over a shattered piece of bookshelf. A blush of embarrassment crept up his neck as he straightened, trying to compose himself and continue toward Sorvax.
Then, just as he took another step, his boot hit a thick, leather-bound book that had been tossed to the ground. Thud. He went sprawling forward, arms flailing as he tumbled face-first onto the hard floor. His hands and knees scraped painfully against the scattered debris, and he hissed in pain, quickly pushing himself back up.
‘Argh… that second fall hurt a lot more,’ he thought bitterly, wincing as he rubbed his sore knee.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sorvax watching him, a look of barely concealed disdain etched onto his bruised face. Even in his weakened state, his master’s eyes seemed to radiate an exasperated scorn, as if to say, This is the fool I’ve entrusted with important tasks?
‘At least he can’t punish me for my insolence, considering he can’t even raise his hands,’ Riven thought, a twinge of dark humor slipping through his anxiety. He didn’t dare voice it aloud, of course.
By the time he finally reached Sorvax’s side, the elder demon was gasping for air, his chest rising and falling in shallow, labored breaths. Riven leaned in closer, desperate to hear whatever Sorvax might have to say. The sight of his master’s battered form made his chest ache with guilt. This was his fault. He’d been the one to mix up the potion recipe, the one who’d turned a group of incompetent rookies into something dangerous. He’d never meant for any of this to happen, but intent mattered little in the face of the consequences.
“My Lord! What have they done to you?” Riven’s voice cracked, his eyes wide with desperation. “No! Don’t die! Please!”
He was leaning in close, hands on Sorvax’s chest, his face hovering just inches away from his master’s own. But before he could continue his panicked pleas, Sorvax’s eyes flashed with a familiar, irritated glint. Despite his weakened state, his teacher’s voice came out in a low, venomous growl.
“Get… off my chest, you fool!” Sorvax wheezed, a note of barely-contained rage in his words.
Riven jerked back as if burned, his face flushing a deep shade of red. He’d been so caught up in his worry that he hadn’t even realized how close he’d gotten, practically pinning Sorvax down in his attempt to show concern. He scrambled backward, giving his master some space, feeling thoroughly chastised.
“S-sorry, my lord,” he stammered, looking down at the ground, too ashamed to meet Sorvax’s gaze.
Sorvax let out a pained sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was faint but held an edge of steel. “You’ve… you’ve made a mess of things, Riven. A grievous… mess.”
Riven’s stomach twisted painfully. He forced himself to look up, meeting Sorvax’s tired, bloodshot eyes. The fury in them was tempered by a bone-deep exhaustion, but it was still there—a simmering anger that made Riven’s insides churn.
“Yes, my lord,” he whispered, his throat tight. There was no excuse he could offer that would make this right. He had failed, and now they were both paying the price.
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Sorvax took a shaky breath, wincing as the movement aggravated his wounds. “Those adventurers… they took everything we’ve gathered. Every crystal, every relic. A month’s worth of mana reserves, gone.” His gaze hardened, a flicker of his old wrath breaking through. “All because of your incompetence.”
Riven felt the words like a blow, each syllable driving home the weight of his mistake. He wanted to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, but his voice wouldn’t come. He could only nod, his face pale and drawn.
“Listen… closely,” Sorvax whispered, his voice dropping to a tone so low that Riven had to lean in again, careful this time not to touch him.
Just as Riven leaned in, straining to catch his master’s faint words, Sorvax's hand shot up—moving with a speed and strength that seemed impossible for someone on the edge of death. Before Riven could even react, a heavy slap cracked across the side of his face, snapping his head to the side and sending him stumbling back.
“Ouch!” he yelped, more from shock than pain. The strike had been surprisingly forceful, but it was the sheer unexpectedness of it that knocked him off balance. He stumbled, falling backward onto the cold stone floor, his hand coming up to his stinging cheek.
Wide-eyed, he looked back toward Sorvax, bewildered. His master—the mighty Sorvax the Terrible, his boss, his teacher, the demon lord he served—lay slumped against the remnants of his shattered desk. His face was still twisted in that familiar expression of disdain, his eyes half-closed as if he were glaring at Riven from the edge of death itself. But his chest… it had stilled. There was no rise, no fall. The faint glow of magic that usually pulsed beneath his skin had faded to nothing.
Sorvax was dead.
“No! My lord!” Riven’s voice trembled as he shouted, the words echoing through the wrecked chamber. He felt a surge of panic, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked at Sorvax’s still form, desperately hoping for some sign of life, for some final twitch or breath that would prove he was wrong. But there was nothing.
Suddenly, the room began to tremble, a deep rumble that seemed to come from the very bones of the dungeon. Tiny rocks and clumps of dust began to rain down from the cave-like ceiling, the vibrations growing stronger with each passing second. Outside the doorway, he heard the heavier thud of larger rocks hitting the ground, the unmistakable sound of walls beginning to crack and crumble.
“The dungeon is collapsing!” he shouted, the realization striking him like a bolt of lightning.
In the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something familiar, half-buried beneath the rubble—Sorvax’s tablet. The same enchanted tablet he always kept close, the device he used to control the dungeon’s inner workings. Riven’s heart skipped a beat. He knew that tablet well; it acted as the central console for the dungeon, managing everything from trap resets to mana distribution. Without Sorvax here to funnel mana into the dungeon’s infrastructure, everything would begin to fail. The dungeon would enter emergency reserve mode, conserving power by sealing off all floors except the top.
And the top floor… was his floor.
A shudder of fear ran through him as he imagined it: the dungeon swarming with humans, eager to claim the spoils left behind by Sorvax’s death. They’d find him in no time—and likely kill him on sight.
Eyeing Sorvax’s lifeless body with a mixture of guilt and dread, he edged around it cautiously, as if expecting his master to spring back to life and slap him again. But the corpse remained still, unmoving in the corner, its face twisted in that final, disdainful expression. Riven gingerly reached down and picked up the tablet, a slab of dark brown stone about a foot wide, etched with demonic symbols that glowed faintly under his touch.
‘Alright… how does this thing work?’ He swallowed, trying to calm his racing thoughts as he examined the tablet. It was lighter than it looked, but the aura of power radiating from it was unmistakable. The device was ancient, inscribed with powerful runes and spells to interface with the dungeon’s vast network of magic. It was the kind of artifact that only someone like Sorvax could wield with ease.
Clutching it to his chest in a way that felt strangely protective, Riven tapped the center of the stone’s flat surface, where a cluster of unreadable symbols pulsed gently. At his touch, the runes rearranged themselves, shifting and sliding across the surface until they formed the familiar screen:
Dungeon Management Menu
[Dungeon: Sorvax’s Dungeon]
[Floors: 113]
[Daily Upkeep: 105,042 MP]
[Available Mana: 1,282 MP]
[Time Before Collapse: 21 Minutes]
Riven’s eyes widened as he scanned the information, his heart nearly stopping. 21 minutes. That was all the time he had before the dungeon would fully collapse. He’d heard stories of dungeon collapses before—rare, grim tales told by demons who had barely escaped with their lives. When the magic supporting a dungeon failed, everything crumbled, entire floors collapsing in on themselves like sandcastles swept away by the tide.
‘Down with the ship, as they say,’ he thought, a flicker of grim humor slipping through his panic. He’d never actually been on a ship, but they sounded interesting… vessels that somehow floated on liquid, held together by wood and nails.
‘Good thing I’m not a ship captain!’
He pressed a button below the statistics, desperately searching for anything that looked like an emergency reset.
[Reset Dungeon]
→ [Are you sure?]
→ [Yes]
→ [Really?]
→ [Yes]
→ [Be serious, really?!]
→ [Yes]
‘Gosh! Who designed this thing? I’m on a schedule!’ Riven thought, gritting his teeth as he frantically tapped through the confirmation prompts. Each new screen felt like a taunt, as though the dungeon itself were mocking his desperation.
He glanced back up at the countdown.
Time Before Collapse: 18 Minutes
The tremors grew more violent, and he felt the floor shudder beneath his feet. Dust poured from the ceiling, and cracks began to spiderweb across the walls, widening as the dungeon’s magical supports faltered. Just as he confirmed the final prompt, the whole room started to change.
The surfaces around him began to bleach, their colors fading to a stark, blank white. The intricate carvings, the bookshelves, even the rubble itself—all of it started to disintegrate, breaking apart into tiny white shards that floated up and away, leaving a black void in their wake. The room dissolved around him, fragment by fragment, as though reality itself were peeling away.
It was… oddly beautiful. Riven stood transfixed, watching as the walls and floor disappeared in pieces, revealing a vast, empty darkness beyond. He was left standing on a single invisible platform, the only solid ground in a seemingly endless void.
The symbols on the tablet flickered, then glowed brighter, casting a faint light over his face. The dungeon was resetting, reconfiguring itself. Everything was being stripped down to its core, the dungeon’s mana redirected to rebuild the foundational floors and stabilize the structure.
Riven could feel the raw, chaotic magic swirling around him, like the heartbeat of a living entity. The dungeon wasn’t just stone and traps; it was a web of demonic power, carefully maintained and fine-tuned. And now, he held its lifeline in his hands.
The tablet’s screen pulsed, new messages flashing across the stone surface:
[Dungeon Reset Initiated]
[Dungeon Restriction in Effect: 0 Floors Active]
[Dungeon Availability: Set one or more active floors to begin attracting humans.]