--------- Dungeon Daedric Tower ---------

The gelfling zombies, or more accurately, verbally controlled copies of a single corpse that was legally distinct from the gelfling race from The Dark Crystal, continued their claw-like scratching against the dirt that made up the dungeon walls.

As the removed regolith crumbled into the air on mana-bound winds generated by dungeon magic bullshit, a raw finger of a puppeted cadaver broke through the ground, feeling air.

It had no commands in regard to such an event, but the ground hadn't been smoothed out yet, nor was the subterranean remainder of the construct mapped out anywhere but the dungeon's own mind. So, as the monster had been commanded, it continued to claw at the dirt where there shouldn't be any, slowly revealing the spiral staircase and unnoticeably sloped flooring of the space that would later become a set of rooms hidden within the tower's outer wall.

Standing on top of what should have been a contained tower and clawing at the spiral stair and wall-room pathways not yet clear got some attention from someone on a hill close enough to observe but far enough to remain unobserved from the ongoing ritual.

"What's going on over there?", the man who accompanied the scarred woman asked as he threw a bucket of muck water on a child in a wooden cage with wooden bars, still sitting in the back of the wagon.

"The idiots singing? Probably a new dungeon. What? Did you not know where the real money is? This", she started to say as she grabbed a handful of I.O.U. notes, "isn't worth what we can get in there."

"Don't patronize me. What else did we get these for?", gesturing to the kidnapping victims he just finished bathing. "I didn't know one was out here. Think it's got anything?"

She shrugged. "Just wait until they're done. Then we'll go see."

--------- Dungeon Cave Mouth ---------

The dungeon tried to make a soggy, dirty, burned-out and clearly long-abandoned campfire, or at least a copy of the one he had researched. This time, however, he succeeded despite the fact that his breathing was restrained even while his cramped feeling hadn't relieved itself.

He stumbled, and found himself walking towards his new and undesired skylight. 'Where was I going? Cramped. Hard to breathe. How big is the tower now? Yeah that's what I was checking on.'

He wasn't focused at the time, but as he walked through the Termite Room, he would have appeared as though he was phasing through the randomly spawned and flung broken furniture, if anyone could see the same thing he could.

The specifically shaped, but unthemed room and curved hallway were traversed as easily as the dungeon went through any other part of himself, but as he got to the curved wall-room just past the doorway, he looked up curiously. 'I didn't want a roof yet. Not for like, awhile. Where are the other zombies?'

One zombie was clawing at the ceiling near the new roof exit, leaving what would later be a wall alone, and another was on the other side of a guard rail yet to be smoothed, making wild swings at what would eventually be a very wide open space.

Going up the stairs and onto the roof, the dungeon would have bumped into another zombie if he had existed physically or at least had a collision detection mechanic. It was crouched down, digging a hole just past part of what looked to be part of a buried railing. He walked through the monster and across what looked like a partial but huge slightly tapering pillar and looked down, seeing more of the peat bog than ever before.

The chanting people, only one of which the dungeon recognized, continued their odd and unknowable ritual for whatever reason. Along the wide, narrow hill that the natural part of his original cave was found on was a wooden wagon with someone standing near the animals presumably used to pull it. All the people the dungeon's self image had seen in this world were too small to get many details out of unless they were really close by, so whoever that was, they were of no concern or interest to its current witness.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

He tried to peer over the side of his tower, but felt something bump against what he thought of as his head. He shook his head and looked again. Nothing was there as far as he could tell, forgetting that he didn't plan for anything outside the tower's borders. At least not yet.

He punched the air, seeing and feeling his fist collide with something that he didn't see. 'Okay then', he said to himself as he curled the fingers of his right hand into a claw, and struck the same place.

Instead of empty nothingness, the dungeon saw some dirt appear in midair, stuck in place as if invisible paint was scraped away from an existing wall, or maybe as though you could somehow use spraypaint on an invisible wall in a video game. If the spray paint was made of dirt and wasn't colored.

'Okay well if this is a wall, can I upgrade it to a Wall of Text?', he asked the system semi-rhetorically. He expected to get an answer or feel his lungs empty, but didn't.

Since nothing happened, he lost interest and went back to the Rat Nest Room to watch randomly created spawns come into existence before scurrying or hopping into the next room to hide where they could since they hadn't received any other command yet.

--------- Dungeon Perimeter---------

The Temple of Truth clergy continued their ritual as the dungeon validation process required, and each member could feel that they really had become more synchronized since they started. Even better than feelings, the dungeon's walls had become visible, it's internal magically distorted space and external real dimensions now the same as the dungeon itself was made to reveal the Truth.

Instead of getting more tired, thirsty, and other biological needs, the chanters instead felt more energized, only now starting to become aware of it.

As the group noticed this feeling, they each felt each other's awareness of the same fact, and were energized further, increasing their focus and speed.

--------- An overgrown merchant road between Plainsheart and Mountainthrone ---------

The covered wagon jerked abruptly, but since it had done so hundreds of times today already, the event didn't stand out. "Why didn't you take your staff into the dungeon when we inspected it?", asked the lesser noble with an increasingly bruised posterior.

The woman with red gem shards dangling from her nearby stick sighed. "Don't they teach you nobles anything of consequence?", she insultingly asked herself out loud.

"Not a noble of consequence", the axeman replied anyway.

The mage continued. "Dungeons make more of everything they get a hold of. What do you think would happen if one dungeon core got a hold of another?"

The lesser noble tried to fluff his blanket to absorb more of the vehicle's lack of suspension. "Uh, it might make more cores by itself?"

"Maybe", the pyromancer began, "or they might merge."

"Well, would that be so bad? Wouldn't the living dungeon start making the resources of both of them?"

"Fool! Even you can't be that stupid!", the axeman interjected.

The actual inspector who had been trying to read one of her books for entertainment closed the item. "What kinds of dungeon cores do we shatter to make staves?"

"Dungeons with traceable amounts of death mana, I guess.", the boy answered accurately.

"Or?", the inspector pried.

"Dungeons in enemy territory." The sacrificial pawn concluded.

"Or at risk of it", the two women replied nearly in unison.

Albion knew his place, no matter how much he hated it. But, the adventurers were right. How could he forget that? It was what so many overheard conversations and lessons had to do with. Maybe he was just really tired and hungry. Hopefully they wouldn't say anything.

--------- A small lodging in Plainsheart ---------

Sylde grumbled to himself as he woke up. He could already tell it was late in the day; the temperature and light coming from between the outer wall's boarding proved it. What was he supposed to be doing today? He didn't remember.

Helping the other Exterminators write reports? No, he wasn't their dad. He was someone else's- NO! He didn't need to think about that. He didn't want to think about that. He didn't know at the time. He didn't want to know now.

He didn't bother getting properly ready, and instead simply slipped on his trudging boots and made way for the door. He needed to get rid of those thoughts. Get rid of that deed. Just forget. Not like he could.

What were the town guards doing? Maybe he could go out and hunt monsters with them. No, it wasn't distracting enough. He had always had an inherent ability to feel incoming a monster migration, whether it was many small ones or even just one big one going on the move for some reason. But in a dungeon? Everything was dangerous all the time, and there weren't any subtle changes in the land, animal sounds and movements, or weather. Dungeons didn't follow natural law.

It's why he signed up to be a delver, and not just a runner. On open land, he could run. He could hide. In a dungeon, you couldn't unless the dungeon wanted you to be able to. Was the Ministry done sanctifying the dungeon outside Bogsreach?

There wasn't a reason to restrain- NO, he chided himself. He didn't want to see her. She was part of the Ministry. If only the towns and villages were able to have safer travel, she might have gone to some other city than the one he retreated to.

He stood at the door, with his head lowered. He'd just go hunt monsters with the guards, after all. At least until he knew it was safe to show his face around the ghost town again.