The cavern pulsed with unstable energy.

At its center, The Crazy Skull God of Calamity stood motionless, watching as raw dungeon cores floated in the air before him—twelve in total. Each one glowed with an eerie violet hue, flickering like dying embers. Some were smooth and stable, others cracked and pulsing, on the verge of collapse.

This would be different.

He had created hundreds of dungeons before—some small and contained, others sprawling labyrinths that swallowed entire regions. But now, he was attempting something greater.

A high-level dungeon.

Something so vast, so overwhelming, that it would force even the strongest mortals to evolve—or perish.

His skeletal hand lifted.

The air grew thick, charged with magic that hummed against the cavern walls.

“Bind.”

A deep vibration rippled through the chamber as dark tendrils lashed outward, wrapping around the floating cores, twisting, forcing them to merge into something greater. The cavern itself seemed to breathe, shadows stretching, pulling toward the forming mass of energy.

At first, it worked.

The cores pulsed, syncing together—a fusion of raw, unrefined power. The unstable flickers began to settle, forming the framework of a dungeon unlike any before it.

A jagged obsidian gateway began to rise from the cavern floor, its surface etched with shifting runes that seemed to whisper as they took shape. The energy thickened, dark mana pooling like liquid in the air.

The foundation of a dungeon was taking form.

Then—a crack.

The energy fractured.

One of the cores buckled, shattering into dust.

Then another.

And another.

A pulse of violent energy exploded outward, rattling the cavern walls, sending the remaining cores crashing to the ground in useless shards. The newly formed dungeon entrance shrank, flickered, then collapsed entirely.

The cavern went still.

The Crazy Skull lowered his hand.

His skeletal jaw didn’t move, but the air tightened with his displeasure. The flickering torchlight dimmed, as if the entire room had just exhaled in fear.

It should have worked.

His other dungeons had formed easily. The difference this time was scale—he had attempted to create a dungeon so powerful it would rival the ancient ones. A breeding ground for horrors, a challenge that would force the world to suffer, to evolve.

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But without Constellation cores, the magic collapsed.

The seven fallen Constellations should have left remnants, divine cores that he could have twisted into something new. He had planned to merge them, to create an apex threat—monsters imbued with celestial power.

But those cores were gone.

Stolen. Destroyed. Lost before he could claim them.

A slow, rattling breath escaped him.

Fine.

If he couldn’t use what was lost…

He would create something even greater.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The chamber was alive with murmurs.

Hooded figures stood in a wide circle, their faces hidden in the flickering blue torchlight. Shadows stretched across the black stone walls, their jagged carvings shifting like something was watching from within them.

Then the air shifted—cold, unnatural, pressing against their bones.

The Crazy Skull had arrived.

His tattered cloak dragged along the stone floor as he stepped forward, his skeletal face unreadable beneath the heavy cowl. He didn’t need to speak. His presence alone silenced the room.

He moved to the center of the chamber, lifting a single bony hand.

The obsidian altar shuddered.

Above it, an image flickered to life—a projection of the world, riddled with pulsing violet markers. The dungeons. Hundreds of them.

“The plan has changed.”

His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It slipped through the air like a blade, sinking into the minds of everyone present.

A figure stepped forward, head bowed. “Lord Calamity, the dungeon expansions continue as you commanded. Entire towns have fallen. Adventurers are—”

“Adapting.”

The word cut through the air like a crack of ice.

He turned his gaze to the map, empty sockets flickering with something unreadable.

“They survive,” he said. “They learn. But it is not enough.”

The Covenant members glanced at one another. No one dared speak.

Then, finally, a voice broke the silence.

“Without divine essence, the dungeons have limits,” someone muttered. “True Constellation cores stabilize celestial power. Without them—”

The Crazy Skull’s head snapped toward the speaker.

The torches flared violently. Shadows twisted along the walls, stretching like grasping hands.

“You mean the cores that were stolen from me.”

The disciple swallowed hard and took a half-step back.

The chamber went silent again.

Then, another voice—sharp, deliberate.

“There is another way.”

The others turned.

A woman stepped forward, her silver-blonde hair tucked beneath a hood. Unlike the rest, she wore a metallic mask, its surface engraved with the shattered sigil of a fallen star.

The Crazy Skull watched her.

“Speak.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Artificial Constellation Cores.”

A murmur of unease rippled through the room. Some glanced at each other, uncertain. Others simply waited.

She pressed forward. “If the fallen Constellations’ power is beyond our grasp, we must create our own.”

She turned to the projection. “Dungeon cores are fragments of a greater whole. If we refine them—reshape them—we can force them into something stronger. A celestial force of our own making.”

Silence.

Then, a slow, hollow laugh.

The Crazy Skull tilted his head, the motion unnatural, his empty sockets locked onto her.

“You suggest we take the power of the heavens and make it our own.”

Not a question.

She met his gaze without fear. “Yes.”

Someone in the crowd shifted. “Even if we could extract enough divine resonance from dungeon cores, they lack a key element. True Constellation cores are stable because of their divine vessels. Without a vessel—”

The Crazy Skull lifted a hand.

“Then we build vessels.”

The murmurs stopped.

A second passed. Then another.

“You mean bodies,” a voice finally said.

The Crazy Skull didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

The masked woman stepped forward again. “We have been experimenting with soul-binding. Adventurers, knights, mages—those who already attune themselves to dungeon energy. Their bodies are accustomed to the strain. If we carve the artificial cores into them, they will become the conduits.”

She let the idea settle.

“We will turn them into vessels. And when we succeed… we will birth our own Constellations.”

For a long moment, no one spoke.

The torches flickered.

Then, slowly, The Crazy Skull curled his fingers into a tight fist.

“Begin the preparations.”

The Covenant had sought to break the balance.

Now, they would replace it entirely.

And the world would soon learn what it meant to face a calamity crafted by mortal hands.