Lukas trudged deeper into the swamp, each step pulling at his boots as mud clung to them in thick layers. The air hung heavy, damp with a faint charge that prickled his skin, like the distant rumble of thunder before a storm—but this charge felt different. Whatever this energy was, it seemed to seep from the land itself, as though the very ground were alive with some strange, pulsing power.
Every now and then, the storm above cracked open with lightning, throwing pale flashes across his path. Though the clouded sky kept the light dim and gloomy, it was enough to see. For now.
He pressed forward, his focus set on avoiding the treacherous pools of water that dotted the swamp like traps. He stepped cautiously, but even then, his foot sank into a deceptively shallow pool. Instantly, he felt a dozen tiny, squirming grips latch onto his leg.
“Leeches,” he muttered, his skinning knife flashing as he scraped them off, grimacing as they peeled away. “Better avoid that water.”
Just ahead, a snake draped itself over a tree branch, its body hanging like a rope. Lukas froze, his eyes fixed on it, watching the slow rise and fall of its sides. It seemed asleep, but he took no chances, moving carefully around it. Each step brought him further into the heart of the swamp, and with each step, the strange energy in the air grew thicker, more intense.
He noticed the plants and trees shifting in unfamiliar ways. Some of the mushrooms looked poisonous, their caps slick and oily, oozing a strange dark residue. And the trees—these weren’t trees he recognized, their bark twisted and dark, almost skeletal. Even the animals looked different, like distant relatives of creatures he knew, warped and altered.
A soft web brushed against his face, and he recoiled, heart pounding as he swept a hand over his cheek. A tiny spider darted away, scurrying into the cover of a nearby plant.
“Just a web,” he muttered, exhaling. But everything here felt wrong.
The deeper he ventured, the more he felt like an intruder in some dark, breathing world. Every crackle of thunder, every flicker of light felt like a warning. And yet he kept moving forward, the pulse of energy drawing him closer, its pull almost irresistible.
As Lukas pressed on, he noticed that the swamp was changing. The animals, once abundant in the shadows, seemed to vanish, leaving only eerie silence in their place. The plants, thick and tangled before, grew sparse, the twisted trees thinning out as he moved further. He remembered the view from the caldera’s edge—the sprawling swamp spreading out below—and realized he must be near the middle by now. Hours had passed, though he couldn’t tell for sure; the ever-present clouds overhead swallowed any hint of the sun, casting everything in a timeless, murky gloom.
Then he saw it—something that made him stop in his tracks.
In a clearing, surrounded by bare, pulsing earth, stood a massive, strange thing. A heart—giant, grotesque—loomed before him, its surface slick and dark, each vein thick and pulsing as if it were alive. Its base plunged into the ground, where dark tendrils—veins, almost—spread from it like roots, sinking into the earth.
This… this didn’t belong here.
Lukas felt a wave of awe wash over him, his mind grappling with the sight of something so alien. The heart, silent and still, seemed to breathe power, as if waiting. Compelled, he took a slow step forward.
But then, just as his foot reaches the ground, the swamp falls deathly still, and a slow, rhythmic thump pulses through the ground.
The heartbeat grows louder, each beat radiating through the soil beneath his feet, building like a crescendo. And then, with a deafening crack, the ground around the heart splits, dirt and roots tearing apart. From within the earth, a hollow, dead-looking tree erupts, surrounding the heart in a twisted, protective shroud.
The noise, the sudden eruption, the way the ground seems to heave under the force—it’s all too much. Lukas stumbles back, terror seizing him. He turns and bolts, crashing through the swamp, desperate to escape whatever unnatural thing he’s just witnessed. He’s seen enough—more than enough—and nothing could make him go back.
Adrian:
Adrian floated in a haze of agony, unable to escape the constant, searing pain that wrapped around him like a vice. His mind drifted, lost in the relentless torrent of sensation. Seconds, minutes, hours… time had lost all meaning, stretching into a torment he could neither end nor ignore.
Finally, mercifully, the pain began to ebb. Relief washed over him in waves, and he could almost feel himself breathe, as if he’d surfaced from a deep, dark pool. Slowly, his awareness sharpened, memories of the agony lingering like shadows at the edge of his mind. Bit by bit, he focused, testing his senses.
First, he felt the swamp—a damp, endless mass stretching around him, teeming with sluggish life. He could sense the animals, the wetness of the soil, and the faint vibrations of the creatures that moved through his domain. But something else caught his attention. Not far from him, he felt a steady, heavy thumping, moving quickly away from his heart.
It was too large, too deliberate, to be one of the animals. And the other creatures… they were avoiding his location, steering clear with an instinctive dread.
What is that? he wondered, wishing he could see, straining for any way to make sense of this intruder.
Just then, words appeared in his mind with a clarity that cut through his thoughts:
"Transformation Completed. Dungeon online. Monster Spawning enabled."
The system message was a jolt of clarity, a reminder of his purpose here. The fleeing steps he’d sensed—whatever, or whoever, it was—faded from his focus. Now, he could finally begin.
Adrian focused, feeling a strange urge to call upon… something. His thoughts coalesced around a single word: Status.
In response, a structured display appeared in his mind, crisp and exact, like reading a data sheet:
Character Overview:
* Name: Adrian Falkenrath
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* Race: Dungeon Heart, Level 1
* Dungeon Type: Reverse Tower
* Class: Bio-Mancer
* Theme: Parasite Lair
* Flora: Bloodroot Trees
* Fauna: Flesh Crawler
A new line caught his eye:
* Bio-Matter: 50/1000
The value was small but essential, a resource he sensed would fuel whatever lay ahead.
Beneath the Character Overview, a new section appeared:
Skills:
* Berserker Rage
* Terraform
* Monster Spawning
* Bio-Matter Overcharge
Each skill seemed to pulse with promise, offering ways to shape, defend, and, if needed, unleash extraordinary power. Adrian felt a thrill of excitement—the possibilities were broadening, and with this foundation, he could start to explore what it truly meant to be a dungeon Hearth.
Adrian’s gaze settled on Race: Dungeon Heart, Level 1. Curiosity flared, and he focused on the term, willing the system to reveal more.
A faint pulse of energy responded, followed by a cold, mechanical voice in his mind: "Dungeon Heart: A1#B3^&C8%@!Z2$X9^P7?K0&L4!M5@J8%R6#T1Q "
But instead of an explanation, the system flickered, and a cascade of jumbled symbols—glitchy, unintelligible—filled his mind, twisting and shifting before fading away in a garbled mess.
Adrian frowned. So even the system doesn’t know what I am? Or maybe… it’s something it isn’t meant to explain.
The lack of clarity only deepened the strangeness of his new existence. Whatever he had become, the system itself seemed unable—or unwilling—to define it.
Adrian’s gaze moved over the new skills section, each entry offering a small description, inviting him to consider the possibilities.
Skills:
* Berserker Rage: Sends monsters in a 50-meter radius into a berserk state. They will ignore all incoming damage, and their attacks will deal increased damage. Cost: 30 Bio-Matter.
Useful for a desperate situation, Adrian thought, but it’s pricey. I’ll need to use it sparingly until my Bio-Matter reserves improve.
* Terraform: This skill allows the Dungeon to make minor terrain adjustments: shaping earth, planting seeds, creating water sources, etc. Will not function with intruders within 2 kilometers of the targeted area. Cost: Variable.
Adrian raised an imaginary eyebrow. Good to have, but without knowing the cost, it’s a gamble. I’ll have to experiment once I’ve gathered enough Bio-Matter.
* Monster Spawning: Creates monsters to defend the Dungeon. Due to the Bio-Mancer class and Parasite Lair theme, spawned monsters will naturally integrate into the environment. Cost is determined by the specific monsters created.
Straightforward enough, he thought, noting how much this aligned with his new existence. At least I have options here, assuming I gather the Bio-Matter.
* Bio-Matter Overcharge: Certain skills and monsters can be overcharged to amplify their effects. Cost: Variable, chosen by user, with a maximum limit of 100 Bio-Matter per dungeon level.
Adrian couldn’t help but smirk. Now that sounds powerful. But at my current Bio-Matter count… probably a tool for the future.
Adrian concentrated on Monster Spawning, willing it to activate. A new system message appeared in his mind:
Spawnable Monsters:
* Bloodroot Tree, Cost: 5 Bio-Matter
* Flesh Crawler Queen, Cost: 10 Bio-Matter
* Collector, Cost: 2 Bio-Matter
* Oculnid, Cost: 3 Bio-Matter
Curious, Adrian focused on each entry, and a brief description filled his mind.
* Bloodroot Tree: A stationary plant that consumes Bio-Matter from deceased lifeforms. Excess Bio-Matter is stored in sacks along its trunk. Often found in a symbiotic relationship with Flesh Crawlers and their queens.
Perfect as a source of steady Bio-Matter, Adrian thought. This will keep my reserves flowing once it’s up and running.
* Flesh Crawler Queen: Lays Flesh Crawler eggs. Typically nests in the upper parts of Bloodroot Trees. Fed Bio-Matter by Flesh Crawlers. The Flesh Crawler has low damage output but compensates by swarming enemies, with up to 10 units. Hunts and brings dead lifeforms to feed the tree and therefore themselfs and the queen.
A swarm creature, he mused, nodding with satisfaction. Useful for overwhelming intruders.
* Collector: A flying insect that works directly for the Dungeon Heart. Gathers Bio-Matter from Bloodroot Trees and deceased lifeforms for the Dungeon Heart. Heavier lifeforms require multiple Collectors.
Now that’s efficient, he thought, pleased with the idea of having a dedicated unit to manage the Bio-Matter intake. Less work for me.
* Oculnid: A spider-like creature with a large eye in its abdomen. Moves to locations determined by the Dungeon Heart, biting into trees at an adequate height to live parasitically. Does not fight but acts as a sensory organ for the Dungeon Heart.
Adrian felt a surge of excitement at the thought. A sensory organ! Finally, he’d be able to see something, anything. Without hesitation, he chose to spawn an Oculnid, eagerly watching as Bio-Matter drained from his reserves.
The creature formed, skittering across the damp ground before he directed it to climb the inside of the dead tree surrounding him. He felt, tense with anticipation, as it scaled the inner trunk, finally biting into the bark and settling into place.
In a sudden, dizzying rush, Adrian saw for the first time.
Through the Oculnid’s wide, unblinking eye, he gazed down at himself—his Dungeon Heart—a massive, throbbing organ suspended in the hollow of the tree. Red veins pulsed through its surface, each beat sending waves of Bio-Matter surging through the tendrils below, and a faint, eerie glow emanated from within. The sight was strange, powerful, and chillingly alien.
A thrill shot through him. This was his form now—a heart, an existence that pulsed with life and power. The dungeon was alive, and it was his.
Overwhelmed by the sudden flood of vision, Adrian took a moment to savor it. Through the Oculnid’s eye, he marveled at the murky swamp around him, the twisted shapes of trees, and the shifting mist that clung to the ground like a veil. It was strange, unsettling even, but it was his, every dark inch of it.
For several minutes, he simply enjoyed the moment, absorbing his new reality. But soon, his sense of purpose returned. It was time to put his resources to work.
Adrian focused on Monster Spawning once more, directing his attention to the empty stretches of his swamp. With deliberate intent, he placed two Bloodroot Trees and two Flesh Crawler Queens about 100 meters away from his heart.
As he summoned them, he observed each monster’s disturbing form. The Bloodroot Trees looked like grotesque imitations of natural trees, each one composed of multiple thin, trunk-like structures twisting around each other. They pulsed with a muscle-like movement, giving the appearance of something both plant and flesh. At the core of each tree, he noted a small sphere nestled among the trunks—a hollow space just large enough to house a Flesh Crawler Queen.
The Queens themselves were revolting to behold: they resembled four-legged spiders made of raw, skinless flesh, with exposed muscle and tendons twitching as they moved. Each queen was about 30 centimeters high, with a thick ovipositor at the rear that marked it as the egg-laying core of its brood. The smaller Flesh Crawlers, which he could spawn from the queens, shared this appearance but lacked the ovipositor. They had pincers, bony plates for armor, and what looked like poison glands, giving them a dangerous, insectoid presence.
Then he placed one Bloodroot Tree with a queen in the direction where he’d sensed those hurried footsteps earlier. A small thrill surged within him at the thought. Better save than sorry!
To complete his new forces, Adrian summoned five Collectors. They looked like oversized mosquitoes, each around 20 centimeters long, with a thin, flexible proboscis and two stomachs—one for feeding and one for transporting Bio-Matter back to the dungeon heart. He watched as they hovered, ready for orders, and sent them out with a single-minded purpose: find him Bio-Matter.
Satisfied, he noted his remaining Bio-Matter—7/1000—and felt a dark sense of satisfaction.
Let’s get this ball rolling, he thought, relishing the mad scientist energy coursing through him. If he had a mouth, he would be grinning.