Riven kept his eyes fixed on the tablet, watching as the symbols pulsed and rearranged themselves. He didn’t dare take his gaze away until he was sure the interface had stabilized. The dungeon was in a precarious state, and he didn’t want to miss any important prompts or warnings. One wrong tap, one misstep, and the entire structure could collapse again, taking him down with it.

Finally, the screen settled, presenting him with new configuration options:

[Dungeon Availability: Set one or more active floors to begin attracting humans.]

[Begin Configuration]

He let out a small sigh of relief, though his mind still buzzed with tension. The tablet seemed ready to configure the dungeon for its new, emergency state. He had only the top floor available right now, but perhaps he could manipulate some settings to slow the incoming adventurers, give himself more time to regroup. Before he tapped to begin the configuration, though, he found his attention wandering to his surroundings.

The dungeon’s usual dark stone walls and torch-lit corridors were gone, replaced by a vast, gridded void that stretched endlessly in all directions. The space around him was made up of luminous, intersecting lines of light, forming a faint grid that extended outward like the framework of an invisible structure. He’d only ever seen drawings of this place in ancient tomes he’d studied while training to be an apprentice dungeon master. It was the skeleton of the dungeon—the raw foundation, where demonic architects first laid out the plans, casting spells that would bind and shape the dungeon’s very essence.

‘Mesmerizing,’ he thought, feeling a strange sense of awe.

This wasn’t just an empty void; it was the foundation of an empire. He knew, even from his limited studies, that these grids represented the height of demonkind’s ingenuity. This “void,” if you could call it that, had been the foundation of the Golden Age of demons. A time when the creation of dungeons allowed his kind to expand across realms, seeding worlds with magic, and harvesting mana from the life that flourished—or perished—within their walls.

Back in the old days, demons had to invade worlds directly, waging brutal wars against whatever barbaric populations they found, capturing them, enslaving them, using their bodies as crude vessels for magic. It was… effective, but inefficient. The dungeons had changed everything. With dungeons, the barbarians came to you, drawn in by the promise of treasure, of power, of secrets they could never fully comprehend.

It was beautiful!

Sure, it took longer for a dungeon to cultivate the magic it needed, but it was safer, and ultimately more profitable. Demons could seed worlds, plant their dungeons like seeds in soil, and watch as the mortals flung themselves into danger over and over again. Mana flowed into the dungeon like an endless river, each soul that passed through feeding the network, nourishing it. Even if they survived, they left a bit of their energy behind, an unknowing offering to the dungeon and its master.

The realm Riven had been assigned to was called “Aerth”… or something along those lines. A strange place, with a patchwork of sentient species, but primarily populated by humans. Humans. His lip curled slightly at the thought.

‘This is going to be a bit difficult…’ he mused with a sigh.

Humans were interesting, in a grotesque sort of way. They were gluttonous, cunning, adaptable—and dangerous. They weren’t physically powerful, not compared to demons or some of the other creatures he’d read about, but they possessed a raw tenacity that made them particularly valuable… and particularly annoying.

Riven had learned that, anatomically speaking, humans were one of the most successful seeding projects demonkind had ever developed. Their bodies were, by some cosmic accident, almost perfect hosts for magic. Human anatomy allowed magic to replicate within them easily, which meant that even the lowest-ranking adventurer was walking around with a bit of mana waiting to be harvested. They didn’t even realize it, but every dungeon they entered, every monster they fought, every spell they tried to cast—it all funneled a little bit of that precious mana back into the dungeon.

But that same natural affinity for magic made them dangerous. Some humans—even the occasional low-level adventurer—could wield magic with surprising skill. Not many, but enough. He’d read about human “mages” who didn’t wield magic like drunken baby warmargles (a creature infamous among demons for its clumsy, uncontrollable magic emissions). Instead, these rare few wielded it with precision and purpose, developing spells and abilities that could pose a real threat.

And unlike most other mortal species, humans had a very particular advantage: they reproduced at an alarming rate. They swarmed across their realms, growing in numbers with each generation. Most were weak, foolish, or easily tricked by the dungeon’s illusions and traps, but every now and then, one would rise above the rest. One who could read between the lines, who could spot traps, resist illusions, harness magic like a true weapon. Ones like those adventurers who had just ransacked his dungeon and left his master dead.

‘Well… maybe that wasn’t all their skill…’ guilt ridding his thoughts.

Those adventurers hadn’t even made it halfway up the dungeon before they drank the concoction and ran through the rest of the dungeon at a frightening pace… he saw them on one of the monitors…sure… but he didn’t think they would make it all the way up.

So… he didn’t warn his teacher…

Riven clenched his jaw, a bitter taste filling his mouth as he remembered Sorvax’s lifeless eyes, the way his body had slumped in that final, silent glare. This was all his fault. And now, with the dungeon in shambles and the mana quota for this location still needing to be met, he would have to be the one to fix it.

He shook himself, glancing back at the tablet and tapping the screen.

Riven hesitated, glancing down at the tablet in his hands. The prompt [Set Dungeon Ownership] blinked on the screen, waiting for his input. He swallowed, looking around the empty void as though expecting Sorvax’s spirit to manifest and give him permission.

“Uh… Sorvax… my lord… I’m sorry, but I, uh… I need to own your dungeon. Do you… mind?” he asked the silence, his voice shaky. It felt wrong to even consider it. This dungeon was Sorvax’s legacy, his life’s work. And yet, if he didn’t claim it, the dungeon would collapse entirely, wasting all of his master’s efforts and leaving Riven vulnerable and powerless.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

He held his breath, waiting for an answer, half-hoping to hear Sorvax’s deep, disdainful voice chide him from beyond the grave. But only silence filled the void, a cold, empty nothingness that pressed down on him. He looked down at the tablet, the silence his only answer.

‘I’m going to take that as an “I don’t mind, my amazing apprentice. You’re ready!”’ he thought to himself, trying to inject a little enthusiasm into the voice in his head. It didn’t entirely work, but he tapped the button anyway.

The moment he selected himself as the dungeon master, the tablet’s display shifted, and he felt a faint tingle run up his arm, like a ripple of magic recognizing him, binding him to the dungeon. The screen changed, displaying a layout of floors from a horizontal perspective, but only one—the very bottom floor—was active. All the others were greyed out, inaccessible. He tapped the only available button to bring up the configuration options for that floor.

[Select First Floor]

→ [Type: Combat, Utilities, Safe-Zones]

‘Well… I do like living, so I’ll put a combat floor between the management floor and the entrance portal,’ he mused, rubbing his chin. The last thing he wanted was to give adventurers a straight shot to his personal chamber. He selected Combat, and a new set of options appeared.

[Combat Floors: Normal, Advanced, Boss]

[Input Mana: 0/1,000]

[Available Mana: 1,282]

Riven’s shoulders sagged in relief. Thank the Lords, he thought, shuddering at the idea of needing to fend off adventurers by hand until he could gather enough mana to create even a basic floor. But with the available mana, he could afford to put together something functional right now.

He selected Normal and allocated the necessary mana, watching as the grid around him responded to his command. The air shimmered, fragments of white materializing out of the darkness to slowly assemble into stone walls, floors, and ceilings. The void reshaped itself, crafting the beginnings of a new dungeon floor with rough stone corridors and shadowy alcoves. It was simpler, barer than Sorvax’s dungeon had been, but it was something—a foundation he could build upon. This would serve as his new home, and the first of many floors in a new dungeon on Errth.

As the floor finished forming, he felt a pang of sorrow mixed with pride. Sorvax had once stood here, starting from nothing just like this. Sorvax, the proud, the terrible, had been a hero among demonkind. He had built this dungeon with his own hands, fighting off endless waves of adventurers and carefully cultivating the delicate balance of life and death that kept the mana flowing.

Riven blinked, feeling his eyes grow wet. He swiped quickly at his cheek, muttering to himself, “Get a grip. Sorvax wouldn’t want you getting all mushy.” But a part of him felt that tear was justified—a tribute, perhaps, to the legacy of his teacher. Even if he’d never truly appreciated Sorvax’s methods, he could now understand the weight of responsibility his master had carried.

The room around him looked different from Sorvax’s old throne room, which had been filled with trophies, dark artifacts, and the ominous glow of collected mana crystals. This chamber was sparse, utilitarian. The same general layout was there—a raised platform for the throne, the faint glow of the mana crystals embedded in the walls to power the various traps and constructs. But it was empty of the treasures and trophies that had adorned Sorvax’s domain.

“This is my start,” he muttered to himself, feeling a strange surge of pride despite the emptiness.

With the instincts that only a true dungeon master could possess, Riven moved through the new corridors, instinctively feeling his way toward the hall he knew would lead to the portal room. It looked eerily similar to the hall he’d hidden in just hours ago, crouched in that crate as the adventurers made their way past him. He shuddered at the memory, then continued toward the portal.

The dungeon hadn’t opened yet for the day’s “harvest,” but the floor elevator portal still functioned for managerial duties, and now, as the dungeon’s official master, he had access to it. He patted the tablet fondly—it was his master key now, the ultimate tool that allowed him to control the dungeon’s layout, traps, and creatures. Holding it gave him a new sense of power, even if it was a power that came with heavy responsibility.

He stepped into the portal and selected the first floor, the only floor besides his personal suite that was currently active. When he arrived, he found himself in a dimly lit stone corridor, its silence pressing in around him. The floor was… bare, a long stretch of empty stone hallways with nothing to stop the humans that would soon pour in. If he didn’t act quickly, this floor would be nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

“An empty floor will just slow them down,” he muttered. “But creatures… creatures could actually stop them.”

He tapped on the tablet again, navigating through the menu until he found what he was looking for:

[Shop]

→ [Creatures]

The screen filled with options, a seemingly endless list of creatures he could summon to fill the empty floor. Everything from cheap, expendable skeletons to towering, fire-breathing dragons was listed, each with a price tag that made him wince. A dragon, while tempting, would burn through his mana reserves in seconds. No, he’d need to start small—something manageable that would still keep those filthy humans at bay.

But as he scrolled through the options, his excitement waned. A sinking realization hit him: he had no real experience setting up creature defenses. Sorvax had always handled that, carefully balancing each floor to ensure the right mix of danger and allure. Too powerful a creature would kill too many humans, and they’d stop coming—drawn to safer dungeons or easier targets. Too weak a defense, and the humans would reach his management floor, potentially contaminating his precious space with their filthy presence.

“Dungeon management is all about balance,” he whispered, recalling Sorvax’s voice, the way his master had drilled that lesson into him. “You create a challenge, not an execution. You lure them in, let them think they’re winning… and then, just when they’re in too deep to turn back…”

A pang of sorrow hit him, sharper this time, as he pictured Sorvax’s weary, disdainful gaze. Another tear prickled at the corner of his eye, and this time, he let it fall. His master had been relentless, merciless in his training, but he’d also been a genius. A true architect of suffering and temptation, a legend among demonkind. Sorvax had started with nothing, just like this, and he’d built a masterpiece.

But now, Riven was on his own.

He wiped his cheek and took a deep breath, steadying himself. One step at a time, he thought. He didn’t need to build a perfect dungeon today. He just needed a floor that would keep him safe long enough to gather mana and learn.

He selected a few of the cheapest options—skeletons and low-level goblins, simple creatures that wouldn’t cost him too much mana but would at least provide a basic defense. He set a few traps along the corridors—pitfalls, tripwires that would trigger swinging blades, and pressure plates for dart traps. Basic stuff, but enough to give the humans a challenge.

It’s not much, he thought, looking around the freshly configured combat floor. The skeletons creaked to life, taking up their positions along the corridors, their empty eye sockets glowing faintly with an unnatural light. The goblins snarled and shuffled into hiding spots, waiting eagerly to pounce. It was a meager defense compared to Sorvax’s more elaborate floors, but it would have to do.

“This is just the beginning,” he muttered, feeling a glimmer of determination flare in his chest.

He stared down at the tablet one last time, his hand trembling slightly. It was all on him now—the dungeon, its defenses, the survival of his master’s legacy. He wouldn’t let Sorvax down.

“Rest well, my lord,” he whispered, glancing up as if Sorvax could somehow hear him. “I’ll make sure they pay for what they did to you.”

With that, he straightened, gripping the tablet tightly. He had work to do, and the humans would be arriving soon.

Let them come.