[Location: Crypt of the Duskfang]

  [System Notification: Entering Dungeon – uncharted Zone]

  Threat Level: Unknown

  Recommended Party Size: 2-4

  Current Party: 1 (Solo Entry)

  Time since last entry: [??, ??, ??, ??]

  <<...System initializing…>>

  “Can ?ou héar me? I-I K?ow ??? c?n héaàr me” Ashe shuddered. Not now. Not when she had a job to do.

  She pulled a flare from his belt and struck it against the wall. A deep red glow spread out, revealing the remains of a buried highway.

  The air was thick with the scent of decay.

  Ashe stepped forward, boots scuffing against cracked stone, her breath fogging in the cold underground air.

  The dungeon was ancient. Rows of stone columns loomed in the darkness, their surfaces worn smooth by time. Skeletal reliefs lined the carved walls, hollow-eyed figures frozen in silent lament. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped in slow, rhythmic intervals, the sound amplified by the stillness.

  Ashe adjusted her gloves against the biting cold, tightening them out of habit. Her pulse was steady, but the weight in her chest said otherwise. There was too much at stake. Too many ways this could go wrong.

  She knew exactly what she was looking for. She had planned for this moment, played it out in her mind over and over. Even came up with a clever excuse for when she returned.

  [Objective: Locate and Capture a Lesser Duskfang]

  Reward: Lacrima Extract (Healing Catalyst)

  Complication: Host Symbiosis – Greater Duskfang Nearby

  The Lesser Duskfang wasn’t the real threat.

  According to the book she had stolen—borrowed—it was a parasite, no larger than a hunting hound. Alone, it was harmless. Necessary, even. It survived by feeding off the hardened secretions of its host—a massive, corpse-fed abomination known as a Duskfang Reaper.

  Scientific name: Nycterophyta zellargus. A member of the Arthrothera genus, categorized under predatory symbiotes. The name came from Dr. Archibald Zell, the biologist who first documented its existence, and the Arigous Caverns of Pennsylvania, where the first specimen was found.

  Despite its grotesque nature, the creature was remarkable. The Duskfang Reaper possessed an unparalleled healing factor, able to recover from nearly any wound—but without the Lesser Duskfang, it was its own worst enemy. The excess regenerative fluids it secreted would calcify over time, hardening into jagged cysts that would eventually immobilize it. The Lesser Duskfang prevented this by consuming the growths, converting them into a potent healing compound it used to nurse its young.

  That compound—the raw extract from its glands—was the reason Ashe was here. In its unprocessed form, it could treat a wide range of ailments. Refined, it was worth a fortune.

  She cycled through these facts in her mind, clinging to them like a lifeline, drowning out the whispers pressing at the edges of her thoughts.

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  Ashe knelt by a crumbling archway, running her fingers over the faded carvings. This was supposed to be a hunting ground—one where others had come before her.

  She narrowed her eyes at the runes, trying to piece together their meaning.

  Warning: Lurks in the Depths

  Territory Marked – Do Not Disturb

  Path of Retreat

  The words were right there. Plain, simple, etched into the stone in bold, unyielding strokes. She knew what they were supposed to say. But the moment her eyes traced the letters, they twisted, their shapes warping, shifting out of place like ink bleeding into water. Meaning flickered in and out of reach—just long enough to mock her.

  The words wouldn’t hold still.

  A sharp frustration clawed up her throat. Her gloved fingers ghosted over the grooves, as if feeling the letters would force them to make sense. It didn’t. It never did.

  “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” she hissed under her breath, the words barely escaping clenched teeth. Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into the worn fabric of her gloves. “You can’t even read a damn sign. How the hell are you supposed to—?” She cut herself off, inhaling sharply, forcing the heat in her chest back down where it belonged.

  Stay in the shadows. Stay safe.

  The words left her lips like a prayer, barely louder than a whisper. A borrowed mantra. A lie she wished she could believe.

  She let the flare drop from her fingers, watching as it landed in the dust near the entrance. Its glow pulsed—a heartbeat of light in the suffocating dark. A beacon for those who needed a way back.

  Not her. Not now.

  That light would only make her a target.

  The System allowed adventurers to spot these flares from a mile away, their glow cutting through even the deepest black. Most used them as breadcrumbs, marking safe paths or warning of dangers ahead. Others—reckless, desperate, arrogant—used them as signals, declaring their presence with flickering confidence.

  Ashe wasn’t here to make a statement. She was here to survive.

  She pulled her hood lower, adjusted her gloves. Every inch of exposed skin was a liability. One accidental touch, one careless brush against something alive, and it would all come crashing down. Fear. Hunger. Malice. A tide of emotions that weren’t hers, drowning her, burying her in thoughts she didn’t want to hear.

  She forced herself to focus.

  The dungeon’s entrance yawned before her—jagged stone swallowing the last traces of moonlight. Unlike the regulated hunting grounds above, this place had no patrols, no emergency extractions, no enforced stability. It was old. Older than the System, maybe. The kind of place where even the walls had teeth.

  Monsters lurked here that hadn’t seen the sun in centuries.

  And deep inside, waiting for her, was the Duskfang Reaper.

  She stepped forward, boots crunching over brittle remains. The chamber beyond was hollow, scarred with time. Bones and shattered armor littered the ground, half-buried in dust. The aftermath of long-forgotten battles. But who had won?

  Hard to say.

  Ashe moved carefully, the scavenger’s instinct kicking in. There had to be something left behind—something worth taking. But everything she touched was rusted, broken, useless.

  Worthless.

  But it wasn’t long before something caught her eye. At first, it was just a glint—half-buried beneath a pile of discarded bones and shattered weapons.

  Ashe squinted through the gloom. A hilt. Ornate wrapping spiraled up toward the guard, a rune embedded in the side, still pulsing faintly with residual energy. A magic weapon, maybe?

  She crouched and reached for it. But the instant her fingers brushed the grip—

  FEAR. PANIC. PAIN.

  A deluge of terror slammed into her like a tidal wave. Fractured memories burst to life in vivid flashes—

  —FEAR—The ceiling, shifting, dripping. Long, spindly appendages unfolding from the shadows.

  —PANIC— A nest, hidden in the rafters, watching. A dozen legs moving in eerie, silent synchrony.

  PAIN—fangs. Black, serrated, and sinking deep into her flesh, tearing at her bones!

  Ashe gasped and wrenched her hand away. The vision shattered, leaving her reeling. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts. The fear wasn’t hers, but it still clung to her skin, thick as tar.

  She forced herself to look up.

  There they were.

  Man-sized arachnids, packed tight against the ceiling. Their sea of glassy black eyes shut, their grotesque limbs curled inward, motionless. Suspended on silk-thin tripwires, waiting for something—someone—to blunder into their trap.

  They were waiting for her.