The cavern trembled as Preece approached the Core, its swirling energy casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the stone walls. Lowe and Karolen stood at the threshold, watching him warily. Lowe didn’t think either of them could reach him in time if this went wrong, but he knew they’d do their best.

“Preece, slow down,” Lowe called. “No sudden moves. That thing’s still watching. The second it looks like the monster notices you, you need to get the fuck out of there.”

The octopus-like guardian tentacles undulated lazily, as Preece approached, though, as if it were simply biding its time before striking. Its glowing eyes tracked Preece’s every movement, but it still didn’t attack.

So far, so good.

“I’m fine,” Preece said, and his voice carried an unusual steadiness that prickled at Lowe’s instincts. “It’s not reacting. I think... I think we’re good.”

Karolen shifted uncomfortably, her hand hovering near her manifested blade. “Lowe,” she said quietly, “this doesn’t feel right. After everything, this feels all too calm. I get that he’s weaker than us, but it makes no sense that a Dungeon Big Bad is letting him just walk past and take the prize. It’s like it’s accepting him.”

“Yeah,” Lowe said. He triggered Slugger, his eyes darting between the guardian and Preece. Something about the entire scene was gnawing at him too—it was a dissonance he couldn’t quite quiet.

Preece was past the guardian now and reaching for the Core, standing before it with an almost worshipful stillness. The swirling light bathed the Curator in a glow that seemed to amplify his presence, casting his features into sharp relief.

Slowly, he raised a hand.

As his fingers brushed its surface, the Dungeon Core flared with blinding light, flooding the chamber in an instant. The guardian creature let out a roar, its tentacles lashing wildly, but it didn’t attack Preece. Instead, it froze, its massive form quivering as if held in place by unseen chains.

Then, to Lowe and Karolen’s shock, the guardian began to dissolve, its mass crumbling into motes of light that scattered and vanished into the air.

“What the fuck?” Karolen whispered.

“Stay back,” Lowe warned, holding out an arm to stop her. His gaze locked on Preece, who now stood alone with the Core, his hand resting on its surface.

Something was wrong.

The glow surrounding Preece intensified, warping the air around him like heat rising from a flame. When he turned to face them, Lowe felt the first pangs of dread claw at his chest.

The man before them was no longer the Preece they had travelled with. His face, once timid and uncertain, was now suffused with confidence—a cruel, mocking smile twisting his lips. His eyes burned with an unnatural light, their depths brimming with malice.

“Thank you,” Preece said, his voice filled with mocking amusement. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Karolen’s blade was in her hand, “Preece, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I don’t think that’s Preece anymore,” Lowe said.

Preece chuckled, the sound low and venomous. “What I was always going to do. You’re just realising it now, aren’t you? All that trust. All that camaraderie. How quaint.”

The air around the Curator rippled, and his form began to shift. His features elongated and twisted, his slight frame bulging with muscle and sinew. His skin darkened, veins pulsing with blackened energy, and his grin widened, revealing jagged, inhuman teeth.

“You...” Lowe’s voice was barely a whisper as all the pieces fell into place. His mind raced through every interaction, every moment they’d shared since entering the Dungeon. The murders. The manipulation. It all led to this. “You’re the fucking sixth Dreadnaught.”

The creature that had been Preece laughed, a sound like grinding stone. “Very good, Inspector. I was beginning to think you’d never figure it out. But then, I suppose I gave you just enough rope to hang yourselves with.”

Karolen charged across the space, her blade aimed for the Dreadnaught’s throat, but he moved with impossible speed. One massive clawed hand caught her sword mid-swing, stopping it effortlessly. With a flick of his wrist, he sent her flying into the cavern wall.

She hit with a sickening crack and crumpled to the ground.

The Dreadnaught’s glowing eyes locked on to Lowe movements, its smile never faltering. “Oh, don’t worry about her, Inspector. She’ll live—if only so you both can hear what I have to say.”

Lowe stepped forward, letting Slugger fade away. He didn’t think this was anything he was going to be able to punch his way out of. “You see, I couldn’t give a fuck what you want to say. It’s going to be some version of ‘You fools! You’ve meddled where you shouldn’t have!’ or maybe ‘You’ll never understand my true purpose!’ Or, if you’re really feeling yourself, a classic ‘You’re too late to stop me!’ Well, spoiler alert: you’re not the first oversized munchkin with a god complex I’ve had to deal with, and you won’t be the last. So can we just skip the monologue?”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“You don’t want to know why I did it? No curiosity at all? Typical of your kind—charging in without seeking the greater truth.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll bite. Why’d you do it? Revenge? Power? Mommy didn’t hug you enough? Come on, give me the bullet points. I’ve got a busy schedule of not dying today.”

“Oh, Inspector. I do this because—”

“Wait, wait,” Lowe interrupted, holding up a hand. “Let me guess. You do this because mortals are ants, or because destiny demands it, or, oh! Because someone wronged you centuries ago, and now you’re making us pay for it. Do I have it? Close enough? No? Tell you what, you keep the speech. I’ll just skip to the part where I punch you in your big metal face.”

The Dreadnaught’s smile vanished, replaced by a snarl. “You insolent—”

“Oh, here it comes,” Lowe said. “The part where you call me ‘insolent’ and something about my ‘puny mortal arrogance.’ Honestly, you guys should unionise. Get a scriptwriter. Spice it up a little.”

The Dreadnaught’s roar of rage shook the room, and Lowe grinned, stepping into a defensive stance.

“There we go. Now that’s more like it. Let me tell you what I think happened, and feel free to correct me if I get anything wrong. You freed yourself when fucking Grackle Nuroon brought in a sarcophagus containing Dreadnaught armour that was opened the day before this all kicked off. There was Dreadnaught armour in there, and when the seal was broken, you just slipped right inside, didn’t you? Suddenly, you were more than just a dusty relic. You became functional. That’s why you could move, think, and, oh yeah, murder. Unlike the rest of your mates all still stuck on display. I bet they fucking hate you right now.”

The Dreadnaught nodded. “Correct. The one they called Harker was the first to realise I was free. That was after I consumed the woman. He figured out what had happened. He saw the signs.”

“The poor bastard pieced it together before anyone else,” Lowe said. “And that, naturally, made him a liability. Let me guess, though—he didn’t tell anyone, did he? Classic mistake. Never hesitate when you’re dealing with eldritch horrors. You guys aren’t exactly big on forgiveness.

The Dreadnaught chuckled. “Indeed.”

“So you gave him a thorough sliming,” Lowe continued, “and then kept Kregg around for a while. What was he for—PR? Maybe he was the handsome face of your little murder operation?”

“Access,” the thing that used to be Preece interjected. “Kregg had connections and could move around the museum without raising suspicion. But he screwed up when he lost the necrotic slime to, presumably, someone you send to question him.”

“Hel,” Lowe confirmed with a shrug. “And yeah, I can see how that would have been a dealbreaker for you. That slime wasn’t just a murder weapon, was it? It’s a mental conduit. A way to feed power back to you. Without it, Kregg became… what’s the phrase? Oh yeah, dead weight. Literally.”

The Dreadnaught didn’t deny it, which was, Lowe supposed, the closest thing to confirmation he was going to get.

“And then,” Lowe said, jabbing a thumb toward the possessed Preece, “you moved on to this poor sod. Why him?”

“He was convenient,” the Dreadnaught said, its tone dismissive. “The weakest link I could find. No one would question him acting strangely during the re-enactment. Not when everyone else had already wiped their memories. And…” it gestured around them with a gauntleted hand, “I needed him for the Dungeon.”

“And there it is,” Lowe said. “The Dungeon. That’s the real game here, isn’t it? The Great Hall was primed—enough death, enough power swirling around, enough artefacts hoarded by a Director who should have known better—and the Dungeon was almost ready to form. Almost."

“And I couldn’t get close to it,” the Dreadnaught said. “Not in my true form. Too powerful. The safeguards in a Dungeon’s formation stop entities like me from going near the core until it’s fully established. For precisely this reason.”

“But as Preece?” Lowe said, “No problem. A low-level Curator wandering around? Nothing suspicious there. You used him to finish what you started. Get close enough to give the Dungeon the final nudge it needed to form. And now, it’s got what it wanted—a bloody fortress to keep itself safe while it powers up. But you had slid inside.”

“That’s… about the size of it, yes.”

“So, let me recap for the slow learners at the back. A walking tank with murder on its mind hijacks a hapless Curator, uses him to kickstart a Dungeon it can’t otherwise get into, and now we’re all trapped in here, fighting for our lives while it gets cozy at the core. Brilliant. Just brilliant”

“But I couldn’t have done any of it without you, Inspector. The Dungeon is a means to an end. But you’ve missed one crucial detail, Inspector.”

Lowe raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

“The Dungeon’s formation required a final sacrifice. Not just death—something… significant. A nexus of conflicting energies. And you, Jana Lowe, are uniquely positioned to provide exactly that.”

Lowe froze. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You are an aberration,” the Dreadnaught said, “A man with no Class, yet still alive. You are an anomaly, a paradox. And your essence will complete the Dungeon in ways no ordinary life force ever could.”

Lowe backed away. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’ve been killed enough times today. Find someone else.”

“I think not,” the Dreadnaught said, raising one gauntleted hand. “You’ve been a delightful distraction, Inspector. But now it’s time to serve your purpose.”

Lowe turned, ready to run, but the Dreadnaught moved faster than he could have imagined. Its hand shot out, grasping him by the throat and lifting him off the ground. He struggled, clawing at the unyielding metal, but it was no use.

“You will be the cornerstone of something greater than yourself,” the Dreadnaught said, “Take comfort in that, if nothing else.”

And with that, it crushed the life from him.