The world was a stage upon which mortals danced. The dance of life every species performed simply by being. A dance that found partners, sought triumph, split apart, and eventually came to their end. They did not dance for themselves, but for the onlookers. Immortal beings that watched the world below them. Gods that sought to be entertained.

The mana that permeated this world defined it. The mortals saw life and strength. Civilization saw fuel for industry and great magical power. It fueled their lives, was a part of their very breath; it collected in their bodies with deed. But to the immortals, mana had a different meaning; it was a currency to be spent and bet with. The heroic triumphs of legends became their winning streaks. Bets and deals that played out in spectacular fashion.

Yet all streaks ended. All heroes died. Upon their death, the mana they had collected over their life would cycle once more, and flow into another. Infinite cycles of lives devoured by another, infinite bets made. The currency of fortune would erode, for while mana was everything, it was not perfect. It degraded with use.

To avoid the end of their game, the gods created the renewers and their guide. Dungeon Cores become the house in the hallowed halls of gambling. They could recycle mana, restoring it. Guided by an invisible hand, the Cores would create dungeons on the planet to fuel adventure. They would become the siren’s call to those who wished the gamble with lives. Cores that would create dungeons, spawn monsters, and become the force that drove change. The force that drove victory and deals.

Upon this day, the gods applauded as the spark of creation blessed the world with a new Core. Those gathered only stayed for a moment before an epic battle drew their eyes away. As others turned away bored, another stepped up to begin their job. They were the System, an all-powerful mentor to young Cores. They were the tutorial.

The System was a perfect string of code, capable of true efficiency and even self-improvement. However, there was a single flaw in its core, it was unaware of. It governed the flow of magic, so places without magic meant it could not exist. A minute flaw that held no consequences, as nothing could survive without mana.

Upon the Core’s creation, the System was fully aware of its potential and capabilities. It knew how to help and how to teach the soon-to-be dungeon. However, in a second it had lost all of that knowledge as the Core disappeared. Drifting upon the world, the young Core had entered the territory of Joulo. A mountain range of gray peaks and dead magic. A land that System could not perceive; Unable to understand. The Core had simply vanished from reality.

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The young Core settled after it found a suitable position in the valley between two mountains. Its existence on the winds slowed as a small dull gray stone formed. Asymmetrical, it was a feral stone the size of a pea a centimetre across. It should have been thrice the size and filled with the soul of another, yet the System’s lapse meant it lacked intelligence.

Intelligence that would have doomed it. Intelligent beings could panic, they could understand death, and above all, they could choke when deprived of the very thing that gave them life.

This Core was incapable of such worries.

It was merely a rock in the mountains.

A rock that craved the life force of the universe. A single breath came from the Core. The mana it had obtained before it formed, it took shape as it was woven into a net. Cast out upon the surroundings to gather the ambient mana of the world; it breathed pure, undiluted, undisputed power.

The net collided with the earth. Its goal was to gather and return, but the dirt and stone was so deprived of nutrients it absorbed the mana. The net fizzled and frayed as it lost purpose, unable to complete its task. The earth had absorbed the net.

A primal focus overtook the Core. Its instincts told it how to gather mana, how to derive life from nothing. The minuscule amount of mana that remained took shape. It had a purpose, a purpose to hunt and feed. The Core cast out its net, this time finding purchase on the mana recently obtained by the earth. The dirt smoked as it was drained of everything it had. It burned, blackened, and ceased to be as the mana was torn from it.

Smoke filled the air and was caught by the net. Dragged back to the Core, it was consumed and turned into the mana needed for survival. The Core had gathered all it could eat from the environment, leaving the world drained of energy. It lacked the intelligence to understand many things but it understood one thing. It had more mana than when it started. The dirt had become food. The earth could be destroyed for mana. The ground was food.

Gluttony; the simple urge to eat. A starved creature dedicated its whole being to survival, to feasting. Each day, mana nets were thrown. They filled the environment and siphoned away everything they could. The hard-packed earth where the Core lay began to erode.

Months passed, and the goal never wavered as all became food for the Core. The amount of mana thrown out and drawn back in increased. A cycle of circulation began as the ambient surroundings found a steady level of mana. It filled everything it touched, breathing life into the dead. Dirt became soil. Microbes multiplied.

The Core lacked the intelligence required to know what a microorganism was. It never noticed their presence as they emerged from their hibernation and flourished. Any changes in the soil were too small for the Core to notice, for they were beneath its notice. It had not discovered this new source of food.

A dungeon began to form. Earth moved, life was given, and mana cycled. Yet all the Core wanted was to sate its unending hunger. A drive that saw the creation of so much more, even if by accident.