The portal rippled before Thrash, emitting a low hum, a nauseating pulse that made his skin crawl. Mush darted to the top-right corner of the room, her orange body failing to blend into the environment. Thrash tightened his grip on Sigrid, his heart pounding harder with each passing second. The portal's glow dimmed as an enormous, hulking figure stepped through. Thrash's stomach twisted.
Out stumbled a minotaur.
His body was an abomination - something that Thrash would’ve likely admired before his time as a Dungeon Master. Thick, grotesque muscles bulged beneath matted fur, with shining silver armour doing little to conceal his size. His horns twisted like gnarled branches, sharp and cracked at the tips. The hair upon his head was slicked back with blood and grime, glistening as though it had been smothered in hairspray. But it was his eyes that made Thrash’s breath catch in his throat. The minotaur’s eyes, glossy and lifeless, were infested with flies. They crawled in and out of his sunken sockets, squirming across his face, and landing on his split lips. Thrash gagged.
I do not like this one, Mush said.
That has to be a skill or class, Thrash said. Nobody could live with those on their face.
He didn’t dare take his eyes off the creature as he stepped toward the middle of the counter, leaving himself room to dive away if needed. Mush stayed in place, her single white light glowing from above.
‘Welcome to Starr Eternal, Mines for the Everyday Hero,’ Thrash braved, his voice much higher than usual.
A deep, rattling laugh escaped the creature, a sound like bones grinding together, the stench of rot and decay filling the room. Thrash felt bile rise to his mouth. The creature didn’t blink or flinch, the flies moving in a grotesque rhythm, as if feeding it with power. Thrash inspected him:
Chuck: Level 23
Rank: 432/500
Race: Minotaur
Class: Berserker
He is a real Adventurer, Thrash thought, disgusted, his stomach churning. He’s actually on the leaderboards.
Perhaps he has some tips? Mush suggested helpfully.
The minotaur’s snout twitched, sniffing the air, and then his fly-infested eyes locked onto Thrash. His voice, when it finally came, was low and guttural, barely more than a growl. It rumbled through the room, rattling the walls as though a train were passing through. ‘Thrashhh?’
Thrash took a shaky step back. This isn’t good.
A twisted smile pulled at the corners of Chuck’s mouth, revealing jagged, red-stained teeth that glistened in the dim light. He spat onto the floor, half a dozen flies drowning in the spittle. Thrash gagged again as the rancid stench flooded his senses.
The minotaur's massive axe scraped the ground, the screech of metal against stone vibrating through the room and rattling Thrash’s bones. With each step, Thrash heard the squelch of even more flies being crushed beneath Chuck’s enormous feet. They crawled over his weapons, nested in the folds of his ragged fur, and continuously erupted from his nostrils.
Chuck’s bloodshot eyes narrowed, and with a horrifying roar that echoed like thunder, he charged straight at Thrash, his only objective clear. There was no time to think. Thrash trusted his instincts, diving to his left and toward his bedroll. Chuck tried swinging his axe, splintering the wood of Thrash’s counter and connecting harshly against the stone wall, spraying shards of rock across the room. Thrash barely missed the brutal swing, but the impact sent a shockwave towards him, causing him to stagger and fall to his knees. Chuck screeched, colliding with the wall and sending the apple-filled barrel tumbling onto the floor. Flies erupted like smoke from a fire.
Chuck was far faster than Thrash could’ve anticipated. Before Thrash could even recover, the minotaur twisted towards him, his horrific face forming a manic grin. The dark atmosphere intensified, some form of spell surrounding Thrash, suffocating him with a thick fog that stank of decay.
Thrash scrambled to his feet, gasping, feeling every ounce of fear gnawing at his gut. I can't do this - I’m nowhere near his level.
Mush remained hidden in the corner of the room, silent and unmoving. Thrash wished that for once, she’d actively help him. As Chuck stepped back towards him, Thrash sidestepped toward the stairs, but Chuck caught the motion. A menacing chuckle rumbled from the beast as he flung the axe in Thrash’s direction, the blade sticking into the wall and blocking Thrash’s path.
Thrash dashed back toward the portal, letting it whir behind him. A plethora of flies swarmed over his head, and the minotaur launched one of the barrels in his direction. Thrash ducked again, narrowly dodging the explosion of bandages. This time, a roar echoed, nearly bursting his ear drums. Thrash looked up just in time to see Mush soar away from the beast, Chuck furiously wiping at a newly formed wound on his head.
I love you, Mush, Thrash said in thanks, putting more space between him and the invader.
Brigwell would be unimpressed, she replied. Try not to die, sweetie.
The minotaur turned in place, furious, shaking his head as if trying to focus; Mush’s attack had been more effective than Thrash had thought. He swore to himself. If she could do it, so could he. Fuck trying to run. Thrash held Sigrid up, ready to strike, adding the Sticky Webbing to his free hand.
He laughed, empty and hollow, as the minotaur finally stepped back. ‘Hah! Come on, then! Come and get it, you disgusting thing.’
Chuck grunted but didn’t move. The minotaur’s snarl deepened, the flies beginning to gather back to him. ‘Thronnn,’ he said, looking straight at Thrash, lowering his head.
‘No, shit-head,’ Thrash snapped. ‘It’s Thrash.’
‘No, Thrash,’ a deep, raspy voice said behind him. Thrash’s stomach fell through the floor, tasting vomit once again. ‘He knows what he’s saying.’
Thrash turned, and was immediately pushed aside by his father’s hand. He checked his interface; the icon that had represented a viewer had disappeared. The galaxy’s finest hero had finally sought out his own son.
Thrash watched as his father walked past and flicked the partition from the counter with a casual motion, sending it bouncing across the stone floor. Anger boiled inside Thrash, his pacifier pounding within his skull. He wanted to lunge forwards, to stick Sigrid deep within the small of his father’s back, to finally end the torment of being in his shadow. He felt the fury rise within him, an absolute hatred filling his bones. Yet, he stood firm.
Thron stopped inches away from Chuck, his eyes bristling with electricity. He stared unblinkingly until Chuck dropped to one knee in respect. Another memory flashed in the fog of Thrash’s brain - someone kneeling before him. It faded, but the feeling of power lingered.
‘You were sent to kill my son?’ Thron the Conqueror asked, closing the gap further, unfazed by the flies.
Chuck glanced at Thrash, then at Thron. ‘Yesss.’
Thron nodded, casting a glance back at Thrash, smiling. His presence added pressure to the room, nearly forcing Thrash off his feet. ‘See, son. A simple question leads to a simple answer. There’s a penalty for killing a Dungeon Master, Chuck. Do you know what that is?’
Before Chuck could answer, Thrash was blown back against the portal, an error message blaring: ‘You are unable to leave this dungeon’. The room flashed blindingly white while thunder roared, and a whirlwind of electricity surged. A gust bellowed as red flames ignited around him, spiralling around but avoiding Thrash completely. He couldn’t see past his nose, but he could feel the sparks of fire brushing against him, the eroded stone grazing his skin, piercing his cheeks. His health bar flickered but remained near 100%.
When the storm cleared, Thron stood at the far end of the room, holding a simple blade. Thrash watched as the blade was pulled from the centre of Chuck’s skull, right between his eyes. Blood and bone spurted out, followed by a shower of fire and electricity that consumed the beast until only a crisped, smoking pile remained.
A whole minute passed before Thrash could properly open his eyes and take in the damage around him. Fortunately, nothing was completely ruined. The only remnants were the splintered parts of the counter, a few scratches on the walls, and the bloodstained floor where Chuck had stood. Thron grunted and turned to Thrash.
‘Come here, son,’ he said, holding out his hands.
Thrash had never been hugged by his father, but his legs moved without his permission, driven by the command. The fury that had once burned in him had melted, pacified. Thron smiled sweetly before driving the butt of his knife into the side of Thrash’s head. Thrash felt his legs crumple, the darkness of the ground rising up to meet him.
----------------------------------------
The sound of Mush buzzing around woke Thrash, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d been asleep. A faint memory tickled at his mind, the feeling uncomfortable, distorting his senses. He could make out the outline of a woman, her frame tall and her hair long, gushing out from behind her like a waterfall, bouncing and flowing along her back. The further Thrash tried to focus on her, the more she faded from his view. Only one word came to him as he watched, as he strained to see her through half-closed, squinting eyes: Mother.
Thrash felt his feet jolt, his senses returning. He lay on his bedroll, his back sweaty against the hard sheets. The smell of burnt copper lingered in the air, gently poking at his nostrils. Beside him, he could sense his father, Thron the Conqueror, sitting comfortably, feet propped on the counter, staring at the ceiling. Thrash blinked and then immediately closed his eyes again.
Shit.
He hadn’t seen his father in years. His temper flared again now that there was no other threat. Without being able to recall his time at Starr Training Base 1, he still had a faint memory of the last time they had contacted each other; nearly six years before. Back then, Thron still had streaks of black in his hair and towered over everyone. Thrash had taken after him once, tall and muscular - the only benefit to being his son. But that was different now. Since his class change, he had shrunk down to below six feet, his limbs more like rolling pins than tree trunks.
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His father snorted. ‘Get up, son.’
Thrash breathed in, opening his eyes and glancing around before setting his gaze on Thron. A wave of annoyance brushed over him. The room had been tidied, the old man acting as though nothing had happened - not the fight, nor their nonexistent relationship. He’d adorned the role of father for an hour and would expect Thrash to join him as son. Thrash felt a growl rise to his throat.
Time had been kind to the Thron - kinder to him than it had been to Thrash. Thrash remembered him as old back in the day, but now, even in his near-century of life, he seemed to wear it well. That was a benefit to the Starr Galaxy system; you survive, and you thrive. He was a towering figure, his presence filling the room with a distinct force, waves of intimidation pushing down on Thrash. He was more imposing than any monster Thrash had faced, even more so than Chuck the Minotaur. He wore glamorous golden armour from neck to feet, gleaming in a dull and dangerous light. He radiated absolute authority.
His face was weathered, etched with lines and scars from battles that had made him a legend. There was a calculated intensity in his eyes that would pierce the souls of anyone daring enough to meet his eyes, though Thrash could also see flickers of humour - a trait that he had never inherited. His hair, once dark, was now completely silver, and it did nothing to soften his appearance. He matched every bit of the legends: the most dangerous person in the galaxy.
Thron poured himself a cup of tea and handed one to Thrash. ‘Good chow, Mush.’
Mush beeped, her display screen pulsing red.
Mush, are you blushing? Thrash asked, repulsed.
Mush beeped again, silent this time.
Thrash sat up and sipped the tea. A 15% dexterity stat boost flashed in his interface.
His father cracked his knuckles, the sound like gunshots, reminding Thrash of the raw power sitting across from him. His reputation as the number one ranking adventurer was well deserved. He had built it on strategy, ruthlessness, and an almost frightening ability to manipulate magic. Fire, lightning, and raw energy bent to his will, creating tempests that destroyed everything in his path. Yet, beneath all that fury, Thron carried a cold, almost detached calm, like a storm waiting to break. Thrash had always wanted to pummel him.
Thrash inspected his father, both of them sitting in silence for a moment.
Thron the Conqueror: Level 29
Rank: 1/500
Race: Human
Class: Warlord
Thrash hummed. Mush was dead wrong - having an epitaph was awesome. Thron's, however, was not just for decoration. He had taken down monsters, tyrants, and entire empires with the same ease others might wield a blade. His name struck fear across the galaxy, whispered in taverns, passed between Adventurers as both warning and inspiration. Facing Thron meant facing certain death. Only those he allowed to live ever walked away.
But to Thrash, he was something else entirely. Not just the galaxy’s most powerful Adventurer - but a father, one whose presence was as suffocating as it was distant. Every smile Thron offered carried the weight of expectation, every touch a reminder of the legacy that Thrash needed to maintain.
And now, after everything, Thrash was a Dungeon Master. The legacy was broken.
Thron sniffed. ‘A simple question leads to a simple answer, son.’
Thrash shuddered at the repeated use of his father’s motto. ‘It does.’
Thron’s eyes darkened with a stormy rage. ‘Why did you do it?’
The question hit Thrash harder than a punch. His stomach dropped, and whatever confidence he had left crumbled. Before, he would’ve met his father’s eyes head-on. Now, he felt weak. Pathetic. Anger bubbled in him. None of this was my fault.
Incorrect, Mush buzzed.
‘I don’t remember,’ Thrash said, standing and rubbing his forehead. His hand automatically trailed to the stitches on the side of his temple, but to his surprise, they had been removed.
Thron snorted and reached out, smacking Thrash’s hand away before grabbing his skull. ‘The stitches are gone, but the pacifier is still there.’ He slapped the scar, and Thrash cursed. ‘Quit whining.’
Thrash wanted to gut and skin the man. ‘What are you doing here, Thron?’
Thron forced Thrash into the chair and jumped up to sit on the counter, assessing his son. ‘Needed to check up on you. Look at your equipment - you’re a mismatched puzzle. Look at your necklace! Hah!’
Thrash let out a huff, clenching his fists. ‘How long have I been here? And you decide to visit now?’
Thron sighed. ‘You’re still clueless about the entertainment game, huh? I’ve got the most viewers in the galaxy, son. If I’d rushed straight here, what would they think?’
Thrash narrowed his eyes. ‘Is that your excuse for the last six years as well?'
Thron snorted, ignoring him.
Simple question, simple answer, Dad, Thrash cursed again. He looked around. ‘Where is your AI? Are you broadcasting now?’
Thron barked a laugh, the sound like thunder. ‘No, kid. Nobody can broadcast here. It’s an airtight zone - for now. We turned my stream off before coming in. Your representative - Uno, I think - asked me to keep an eye on you, seeing as I’m the only one the Dungeons and Miners Association’s scared of.’ He shook his head with a grin. ‘Sending a minotaur. What were they thinking?’
Thrash’s eyes flicked to the bloodstain on the floor. ‘They sent him?’
Thron’s smile faded. ‘Them, or Doren. I’ve been briefed with the possibilities. Look at you, though.’ He scoffed, his eyes flicking up and down Thrash’s body. ‘You’re a stringy mess. I gave you everything, and now, you’re a damn Dungeon Master. It’s almost… repulsive.’
‘Thanks.’
Thron sneered. ‘The Dungeons and Miners Association might be scared of me, but they are super pissed at you. A Dungeon Master hated by his own guild. Hah! The irony!’ He paused. ‘Seriously, though, do you know how long some people train for, waiting for a dungeon to open or for a Master to die?’
‘No longer than I trained,’ Thrash grunted.
Thron slapped him again, harder this time. ‘Who threw that away, huh? They train for years, Thrash. Years. I doubt the guild as a collective sent that minotaur fucker to kill you, but one of them sure did. And that one will try again.’
Thrash couldn’t argue. Still, it wasn’t his fault Starr Galaxy approved of his position. He didn’t ask for it - it had come from the training base.
Thron seemed to read his thoughts. ‘It doesn’t matter, kid. Who better to blame than the son of the galaxy’s biggest Adventurer?’
A flicker of a memory tugged at Thrash’s mind, but it slipped away as quickly as it came. These feelings were increasingly more prevalent, as though his body was trying to provide some hints to help him.
Eventually, Thron sighed ‘I know what you did, Thrash. And I know why you did it. I met the masters of the training base.’
Thrash cringed, disliking the admission. He couldn’t remember what he’d done, or why he’d done it - why should his father have that knowledge?
Thron’s voice dropped, a rare softness creeping in. ‘I might be the only one who understands, Thrash. The fact you’re still breathing - that’s the real miracle.’ His eyes darted to Thrash’s head. ‘But I don’t like what those damn Orbites have done to you. A goddamn pacifier. They don’t use those unless they’ve got plans… or unless you really are as crazy as they say.’
He barked a laugh again, Thrash refusing to answer. ‘Imagine that, eh? Thron the Conqueror’s son, crazier than he is!’
Thrash moved the conversation on. ‘Do you think I’ll get out of here?’
Thron had walked to the barrels, rifling through them. ‘No. Not until Starr Galaxy is happy with you. But hey, I was with those weird-eyed freaks before coming here, and they like what you’re doing so far.’
Thrash snorted this time. ‘They do?’
‘Hm,’ Thron nodded, biting an apple and barking. ‘50 health? Hah! I can’t even remember the days that this meant the difference between life and death.’
He pulled an item from his inventory, his version of an apple. It was enormous, as large as a bowling ball, and it was completely golden. It looked somewhat like the Glimmering Golden Stone that Pierre had found.
‘This is an Ultimate Apple,’ he said. ‘Literally - that’s it’s name. Cool, huh? It restores 500 health - madness!’
Thrash didn’t care. ‘Stay on track.’
Thron dismissed the apple, leaving it on the counter. ‘Yeah, yeah. They liked your time with the farmer. Poirot, or something. They want more of that.’
‘Pierre,’ Thrash corrected. A thought came to mind. ‘Did you want to go into the dungeon?’
Thron seemed taken aback. ‘That’s the first time you’ve ever asked me to do something with you. I’d be tempted to see your sword in action…’
‘Well, technically, I was asking if you wanted to go down,’ Thrash immediately corrected, not wanting to comment on Sigrid. ‘But yes, I could use the experience.’
‘And there’s the kicker,’ Thron smirked. ‘I’d carry you to the deepest levels of your mines without issue, and you’d leave a stronger man.’
Thrash waited. It sounded as though a but was coming.
‘But, that’s not the point of your punishment, is it?’
Mush beeped in agreement, reminding Thrash that she was still there.
Thron continued. ‘I can’t help you at all, kid. I came here to save your life, but I have another appointment.’ His eyes flickered across his interface, clearly preoccupied. ‘The next quest is a big one. Like, really, really, big.’ A wide smile spread across his face, the kind that appeared when he was already half out the door. ‘But, I have passed along what needed to be passed along, and I have spent some time with my disappointment of a child.’
He slapped Thrash’s head again, the pain buzzing through his skull. Thrash gritted his teeth, his irritation peaking. He swerved his own hand up at Thron’s head, but it was immediately dodged, Thron completely ignoring the motion. Mush buzzed in apparent amusement.
‘You’re leaving already?’ Thrash's voice came out sharp, half disbelief, half exasperation. ‘Six years of absence for six minutes of conversation?’
Thron gave him a nod, his smile never faltering. ‘Time is money - no, better yet, time is experience. I doubt anyone will have noticed my arrival - other than your representative. However, if they do, I imagine some attention will be drawn to you. It’s not often Thron the Conqueror visits a Rank E dungeon.’ He considered. ‘You really need to work on that.’
‘Fine,’ Thrash said in resignation. ‘I will. Go on, then. Thanks for butchering Chuck, I guess.’
Thron missed the sarcasm. ‘Anytime, son. Hey - chin up, okay? Level 5 is good; and that sword is even better. I expected you to be a shrivelled mess after what happened, but after watching you - you’ve not done bad. Could do with a little less flying across rooms, though.’
He slapped Thrash on the head for a final time, and then saluted Mush, stepping to the portal. ‘I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Thrash. Don’t do anything that I would do.’
Thrash scoffed internally. That was probably part of the reason why he’d ended up in this dungeon in the first place. ‘I won’t.’
Thron winked and gave Mush a final word. ‘Look after him - like a mother, okay.’
He barked again as Thrash fumed red, and then left the room. As the portal activated and Thron vanished, the warmth and energy that had filled the room disappeared with him. The candles flickered, their faint light doing little to push back the coldness that settled back into the space.
Mush beeped, hovering over to the bloodstained floor where Chuck had met his end. ‘I like Thron the Conqueror.’
‘I thought you might,’ Thrash muttered. The old man had left the Ultimate Apple on the counter. He checked his interface - and sure enough, the viewer icon had returned. Thrash brought up the dungeon’s Recent Visitors log and sent his father a message, attaching the apple as a gift. He wanted nothing from the man.
1 second ago: Thrash: Just in case you need it. Good luck, old man.
Mush buzzed, a high-pitched protest. ‘The Ultimate Apple often provides experience upon eating it. I don’t doubt Thron the Conqueror wanted you to eat it.’
Thrash nodded. ‘I know. He used to do stuff like that when I started at Starr Training Base 1. He’d accidentally drop a Level Up potion, and I’d have to bin it.’
Mush beeped cheerfully again, zipping around the room. ‘What a kind father! Mush really likes Thron the Conqueror.’
Thrash felt his anger rise, and then fade away. ‘Has Mush also changed her opinion on epitaphs?’
Mush chirped happily. ‘Thrash the Brash!’
Thrash allowed a small smile, leaning back against the wall just as a new message popped into his interface.
2 seconds ago: Una: Well handled. Wasn’t sure on how you would react. Potential new sponsor coming your way soon.