The dungeon stirred, its pulsating core waking up for the first time as it was. A stone room deep underground contained the core of the dungeon, and the dungeon was becoming aware of each room, each hall, each stone and carving. It began to see itself, and with that vision it saw the rest of the dungeon. The dungeon was simultaneously something else, like a shell it inhabited, but a part of its body. Or it's body entirely.
The dungeon felt it was forgetting something. That he was forgetting something. "Who am I?" The dungeon thought, trying to reach for something just outside its grasp. But the answer never came. There were bodies. Remnants of weapons and armor, some ruined and some whole. He wondered what happened, and the answer seemed to claw at him, but he couldn't reach it. He stopped observing them, feeling as if he'd go mad trying to force the answer. Something about them seemed familiar, but they made him angry. A deep sense of hatred and dread filled him when he saw their ruined faces.
Instead he focused on the living things. Deep in the cavernous depths of the dungeons, where the walls became narrower and less defined, were some sort of creatures. Little humanoid animals, with sightless, or perhaps nearly sightless eyes. They had been hiding in a room that was through a long narrow hall they'd recently dug out. They were huddled together in this room, some still clawing at the walls trying to expand it.
But when his gaze was upon them, they began to relax. Those quivering in fear began to stop shaking. Those frantically digging began to take their time and perfect the walls. It was as if they could feel his sight upon them. Was there a connection between himself and these creatures, or did they simply feel safer upon feeling his presence? But if so, why?
He couldn't figure out why these creatures reacted like this, but he'd guessed they ran away from the fighting. Creatures that were made for working rather than combat. Cave dwelling creatures that dug out tunnels. The species seemed familiar to him. He vaguely recalled reading about them in a book. Seeing the illustration. But when had he read these books?
The answer didn't come to him, so he began directing his thoughts to these creatures. He tried telling them it was safe now, and they could leave this room. A few of them started moving toward the opening and leaving. The others, he told to leave the room, and they did. At first swarming it, but then forming a bit of a line as he began directing them to relax and take their turn.
Something about them reminded him of children. Human children. That's right, was he a human? He thought that perhaps watching them would reveal more information, fragments of his memory that seemed locked away, or scattered.
He wondered what these little things ate in their cave, and so he directed them to go eat. He watched them cautiously make their way through the halls of this place, until they came upon a place with little tables and chairs, branching off into rooms containing crude kitchens and livestock.
Some of the livestock were large grubs, others were fat flightless birds that sort of looked like chickens. He observed the little creatures making food, and eating. After a while, he remembered what they were. These are troglodytes, nearly sightless creatures that live underground digging tunnels. The birds were dodo's, fat flightless birds renowned for the ease of cultivating. No need to clip their wings. Walking meat.
The grubs he couldn't recall ever having enough interest in to read about. The troglodytes had walked through the halls to get here, pushing past bodies, a few human, many various monsters and demons. If he ever knew the exact kinds of monsters and demons, he couldn't recall. But something about many of the fallen creatures seemed demonic. But what is demonic, what is a demon? It's something that's summoned from another plane, he remembered that much.
Sometimes mages summoned demons, among other creatures, and sometimes, if a dungeon became powerful enough, aware enough, it could summon creatures itself, demons among the list of possibilities. So had he summoned them?
No, he was sure he hadn't. He could feel the mana within himself, within his soul, as he always had. That familiar feeling of power welling up within him. He remembered always having a lot, a fact that brought him great joy and great sorrow. But now, he felt it expanding along with his new form.
"That's right, I wasn't always the core of the dungeon, I was something else." But what?
Wait, he felt he was the dungeon, but that means he’s a dungeon core. What kind of core? For the first time he chose to focus on the large room at the bottom of the dungeon, and he felt the thing at the bottom of the large stone pit was the source of his consciousness now. A large mass of white-gray flesh, writhing tentacles covered in golden eyes with black slits for pupils. It had huge maws with rows of razor sharp teeth.
He knew this was an eldritch dungeon core, something that came here through a rift in dimensions. Something drawn here by the mana flowing from the earth at the bottom of the dungeon. It merged with the dungeon, to take the mana for itself and become more powerful.
He made his consciousness enter the dungeon core, or rather return to it, and he looked through its eyes. He was the dungeon core, this was his body now. But he knew this wasn’t always the case. He tried racking his mind for what happened just before this. But nothing came. He returned his sight to the rest of the dungeon.
He could only faintly sense the halls and rooms further away from his core, and he could only barely see through them, especially as they got further away from the core. But he could see very well with rooms full of these living creatures. Their life forces giving power to his eyes and ears throughout the dungeon.
After a while, he reached out to sense more, and he noticed smaller creatures. A certain kind of spider, the largest among them no bigger than a human fist, though there were many much smaller. Many were near the entrance, where they must wait for prey. Their webs had been torn, and most were hiding, waiting until it was truly safe.
He gave them the command to start building their webs again. Not just so they could eat, but to dissuade any would-be raiders. Many people were scared of these spiders and their venom, though he couldn't quite remember what they were. There would be enough room for people to walk beneath the webs, if they didn't fear the spiders, but few people with enough intelligence to realize the threat would dare, upon seeing the red and blue color of the spiders.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
But what should he do about the bodies? Should he feed them to the spiders? He sensed his body, whatever it was down in this hole that had been crudely carved out deep in the cave, needed matter to rebuild and grow. It needed the lingering mana on the bodies, especially the demons and the caster, to replenish its own new maximum quickly. There could be other threats, and though he couldn't recall how to use it, he knew he would need to use it again soon.
First he considered how to get rid of the troglodyte's bodies. He posed the option of giving their bodies to the spiders for food, thinking they would find it morbid if he himself were to consume them. He spoke this to their souls, their consciousness, rather than with words. He knew not their language. This filled them with fear, and it was as if they were begging him not to command them to do so. He suggested burying them, or burning them perhaps, but still they were against it, though not quite as much so.
Instead, he suggested bringing them to his core, to be consumed by himself. This brought ease and comfort to them. They were relieved to feel this suggestion. Perhaps it's what they'd always done, maybe they considered this the best method to give their own people, or all other people a proper resting place? To be consumed by the core of the dungeon.
He commanded the troglodytes to begin bringing the bodies to the room with the dungeon core. Some monsters and even a few humans were already in the large room, and he reached out for a body nearest to the deep pit his body was in. A writhing mass in the shape of a tentacle, or at least something resembling a tentacle, came out and wrapped around the body of the demon, and dragged it into the pit.
Once it was brought down to the rest of the mass that composed his body, he began quivering and pulsating, and a great maw opened up, consuming the body, destroying it and devouring the mass and vital essence within it, making it part of his own. He didn't taste anything, but the act of consuming was comforting to him, he felt as if he was gaining something, growing. Damage in his body he only scarcely felt before became more apparent as he felt it healing itself.
A few troglodytes had reached the room, with a few nearby bodies. He commanded them to remove the metals and clothes that covered the human's bodies, as well as some of the demons. They got busy removing everything inedible for his convenience, as well as taking the weapons laying on the floor. He had them bring it to a nearby room, one which could hardly be called a treasure room, though it did have a few small piles of coins and metals, as well as rare stones and other things of value.
One of the weapons he had them take away, he recognized as his own. Or rather, it was a staff, meant to amplify healing and protection magic. That was the only magic he was allowed to learn. But why? The answer wouldn't come to him. He continued consuming troglodytes, demons, and humans, as he pondered this.
This went on for some time as he kept consuming the bodies, as they brought more to him, piled up against the walls, and as they brought more metals and other valuables to the treasure room. Cloth was taken away to use for scrap.
Eventually he'd eaten his fill, at least for now, and he needed time for his body to grow, he also needed rest. The troglodytes had long since stopped bringing bodies. Though first, he felt something within himself. He spit it out through a long tentacle, onto the floor. It was bits of clothes, and a necklace. It was his tag, he remembered it.
This was so everyone in the party, even newcomers, could easily learn each other's names, or at least address them. And so the bodies could be identified should they fall in combat, or through other means. This was his name.
Dominik. Slaves only had a first name, and each group only had a few slaves, to make sure they didn't try rising up against the rest of the group. He'd come here with this small militia, he'd made his way to the dungeon core with the rest of the group, the few remaining members.
He remembered being attacked by the monster, he was the last one still alive. He'd been healing and protecting the others as much as he could, with the limited spells he was allowed to learn, though he still had plenty of mana left.
He'd been grabbed by the writhing mass that was the dungeon core, it was trying to pull him in and consume him itself. The thing's limbs couldn’t breach his personal barrier, but it had wrapped enough of its limbs to bring him down with it, even with the barrier. He wasn't allowed to learn a barrier spell that damaged the attacker.
He was brought down into the monster. It spent its energy, and its mana trying to destroy him, but it couldn't. He kept the barrier up, and kept himself alive with support magic. The same magic that let them breathe underwater allowed him to breathe in the barrier within the monster.
This beast tried using some sort of strange magic to attack his mind, to push into his consciousness, to take him over. But this, resisting mental attacks, was something he was allowed to do. Resisting these things was important for the one meant for a support role, and even protecting others from it, or dispelling the effects himself if they were already caught by it.
This alien feeling, unlike any he'd ever felt before, began seeping in even through the barrier. But he soon stopped it, and not only started pushing it out, he began pushing himself into it. For the first time, he was attacking with his power, not only was he taking it over, he was destroying its consciousness. He put everything he had into this. Even after the barrier fell, even as his body was being consumed, his consciousness had already transferred to this thing. He took over its body, and its mind, he tore out its consciousness and soul, he tore it apart and consumed it, just as it had tried consuming him. Then, he slept.
Memories flooded in, a lifetime of being owned. He'd been sold by his mother, an impoverished noble of a low house. He had shown promise, a great amount of mana, but instead of investing into him, they sold him to gain a large amount of money in the short term. They didn't wish to live for decades in poverty, hoping for one child to grow and bring them out of it eventually. They were in ruins, no longer interested in regaining the glory they may have once had.
When he was six years old, just after he'd started basic lessons, his great pool of mana, and his aptitude for magic had been discovered. He was sold to the king's family, he, and many others, were kept as indentured servants, but really no more than slaves. He and the other children and teenagers were educated and trained for the role they would serve to the royal family and their forces. They weren't allowed to learn anything dangerous, especially one such as himself, with such a great amount of mana, an aptitude for magic. He was only allowed to learn to cast healing and protection spells. To resist and protect. They didn't want the slaves to rise up against their masters. And they were expected to be grateful for this. To be given such training, and to be given a role in the royal guard.
Still, when he was allowed to leave at sixteen and begin adventuring, even as a slave, he took his duty seriously, even if most of the others around him hated the slaves they'd taken with them. This went on for some years, until now, at the age of twenty, he'd been killed by the dungeon core. The eldritch entity that controlled, that made up this dungeon. Or rather, he'd killed it.
His mind was overfilled with all of the memories. A lifetime of captivity, all the anger, the pain from being beaten and whipped for resisting, for speaking out of line, for glaring at them. And the slave collar. He'd needed to rest again to set things where they should be, it was too much to take in at once in a conscious state. He fell into a fitful sleep, his body growing and convulsing, lashing around in the pit, shaking the very room he dwelled in.
But he remembered his name was Dominik Jaeger Ostragoth, he was a child of house Ostragoth, the house he hated the most. The house that sold him. He hated the whole kingdom, or really, he hated the world. Everyone was evil. Everything was evil. There was nothing good about the world. Dominik lay there, baptized in his second life, in a pool of his own hatred and misery, as his consciousness solidified within this new form as the new dungeon core.