Stepping past the dissipating corpse of the final dungeon boss I approach the ornate pedestal at the back of the room. A jewel the size of a human head rests atop the pedestal, perfectly round; the insides swirl with a grotesque darkness, resembling oil. The light of the gem is faded, a sign that the mana within has finally run dry.

Who would have thought that the feared Demon King, the overlord of all evil, was but a shiny stone? The enemy of all life was not a man, but a dungeon core. A parasite of the land that was able to grow far beyond anyone’s expectations. Our failure to discover the problem in its infancy led to the death of billions. The world itself nearly falling to the core’s influence.

Generations of work led to the culmination of myself and my companions. A group of one-hundred, born through selective breeding and trained to the peak of mortal power. We were called heroes. The fate of the world rested on our shoulders. One-hundred brave men and women cut swathes through the armies of evil and entered the Demon King's’ Lair. Our sole goal was to slay the Demon King and bring peace to the land.

Now, I stand before the Demon King. I stand before the stone that nearly ended the world as we know it. I stand before the wretch that killed my ninety-nine companions. I want to feel angry, to feel sad, but all I feel is tired and empty.

My sword ignites in holy fire and I bring it down upon the core. Cracks appear at the point of impact, spreading swiftly across the surface of the orb. A sound like shattering glass signifies the destruction of the first layer of the core. The dungeon shakes madly in response and space begins to warp. When the dust settles I can’t help but smile grimly to myself. One layer destroyed, one floor of this accursed place purged from existence, one comrade finally lain to rest.

One down, only ninety-nine more to go.

…

One-hundred swings. One-hundred could barely be considered a warmup for a dedicated swordsman. One-hundred swings to end the suffering of millions, and avenge the death of billions. I am surrounded by a wasteland. The dungeon is no more, leaving only the scarred land behind. Nature, like all things, will heal in time. The density of mana in this place will probably cover these mountains into lush forests in ten to twenty years now that the core no longer holds dominion of this place.

The only things in the wasteland right now, however, are myself, an ornate pedestal, and a shiny, clear pebble. If I didn’t know better, I would think it was nothing more than a glass marble. Unlike a glass marble, this little stone refuses to break. One-hundred swings to destroy the dungeon, yet the core refuses to shatter. It clings to existence, and I doubt nothing short of a god could sever it from this world.

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I sigh dejectedly. I can’t destroy it and I can’t just leave it here. Eventually the core will re-awaken and begin to absorb mana again. I will have to take it to the mages’ council and ask them to figure out a way to dispose of the core.

I swipe up the core and pull out a scroll from one of my pouches. A recall scroll, one of the few left in existence. The art of making such scrolls were lost during the Demon King’s initial invasion. Three-hundred years ago the dungeon core expanded its influence into the human lands without anyone noticing. Its shadow stretched into the magic city of Forn, the center of magic history and knowledge.

The city was brought to ruin in less than an hour when massive amounts of monsters were spawned within the cities walls. A massive amount of knowledge was lost that day. The elves created warding stones to prevent such things from happening a second time, but what was lost could not be regained.

I tore the scroll in my hands and space warped around me. In the blink of an eye I found myself atop the beacon rune of the royal capital. I take a deep breath to gather my bearings, then proceed out of the building. It is time to tell the people that the world has been saved.

…

It has been six months and the mages’ council was unable to destroy or seal the dungeon core, much to our dismay. The small stone proved to be indestructible and any seal would just be absorbed for mana by the damned whenever it decided to finally wake up. That left us with one option.

We would hide the core, in one of the most uninhabitable places on the planet. Situated between the Iron Mountains where the dwarven kingdom resides and the Great Woods where the elven kingdom resides, are the Dead Lands. One of the six hazard lands. Where the other five are dangerous because of the powerful and rampant mana, the Dead Lands were dangerous because there was no mana. Life could not exist in such a place.

We will hide the core deep within the earth. The absence of natural mana in the area and the lack of living beings will prevent the core from absorbing any more mana. With this, the Demon King will never rise again.

We hope…

Alrighty! I've been wanting to post a story to this site for a while, but I could never seem to write a good beginning. Anyways, comments, concerns and criticisms are always accepted. I've never been that great of a writer so the more help the better. I won't make any promises towards this story unless I really start to get into writing it, but if people think it has potential I will try my best.