It’s easy to see why.
I grew up alone, always just… there. Excitement was rare. My parents had left me at the orphanage the day I was born, deciding that they could not or would not keep me. Life there felt like an endless loop. Nobody rushed to adopt me, and the few friends I made were picked by families, leaving me behind year after year.
Even school did not offer an escape since it was right there in the orphanage. My classmates were the same ones who’d eventually leave me for new families. By the end of it all, I was the only one left in my age group.
To pass the time, I had turned to video games.
“Move already! Oh, come on! How can someone be that clueless? Why would you chase him all the way back to his base?”
But even games lost their edge after a while.
I bounced between RPGs, FPS games, and MOBAs. It didn’t matter if they were multiplayer or single-player—they all started blending together: predictable, repetitive, boring. Nothing had that spark to keep me hooked anymore.
Then, finally, something changed.
It was on my 18th birthday—the day I was supposed to leave the orphanage and start life on my own. It was basically the same as before, except now I’d be paying for everything.
Before I left, I had to stop by the retrieval area. Every orphan picked up any items left for them when they left. I wasn’t expecting anything, really.
But there it was, waiting.
The caretaker, with a soft, almost pitying smile, handed me a small package.
“A… disk?”
“Yes, dear. Just this old video game disk. Maybe they thought you’d like it,” she said with a sigh. “Well… what can you expect from people who leave their kids behind?”
It looked old-school—vintage, even. The case had a simple, minimalist design that somehow drew me in. The title, Dungeon End, glowed softly in big, pixelated letters against a dark, dungeon-like background.
Flipping it over, I read the block of text on the back:
Welcome to Dungeon End, where the depths of the unknown beckon. In this realm, courage and strategy are your greatest assets. Navigate through mazes of deceit and combat creatures of darkness to discover treasures untold. But beware—each choice leads you closer to your fate, be it glory or demise.
Features include:
- Strategic gameplay to test your intellect and reflexes.
- A vast, cryptic dungeon with endless paths to explore.
- Battles that demand careful planning.
- A journey that evolves with your choices.
- Endless customization for your characters.
- Hardcore mode only! Die once, and restart with a new, untold path.
Dungeon End invites you to embark on an epic journey. Will you uncover the secrets that lie in wait, or will the dungeon’s depths claim another soul?
“Classic roguelike pitch,” I muttered. Dungeon crawling, permadeath, and all that hardcore nonsense. I’d seen and played it before. I could probably guess exactly how the game would go.
“Doesn’t look all that fun, but… whatever. It’s the only thing they left for me after all.”
I said my goodbyes and finally left the orphanage. My new place wasn’t anything special—just a tiny, run-down apartment with paper-thin walls and hardly any light. It wasn’t great, but it worked—enough to get by while juggling school and a dead-end job.
Inside, I sat on the thin floor mat of my bedroom. The place was practically empty. All I had was an old PC, a wooden chair, and a fridge that groaned like it was alive.
“Damn, I’m broke.”
I had no friends, no plans, and no money for anything new; the boredom was almost suffocating.
“Ah, whatever. Let’s just give it a shot. It’s free anyway.”
Too bored to think of a better distraction, I took the disk out of its case—the one thing left to me by the parents I never met.
[Loading…]
[Welcome to ‘Dungeon End.’ Press any key to start.]
The screen loaded with a shadowy dungeon background, dimly lit to reveal just enough detail without dispelling the darkness. In the center stood a statue—a figure that looked like an angel from holy scriptures facing off against a demon. Both appeared to be holding, or rather fighting over, a large circular orb positioned between them, each gripping one side as if trying to claim it. The statue looked ancient and worn down, like it had seen better days. Still, it exuded importance, perfectly setting the "adventure" vibe.
That’s how I got into Dungeon End.
At first, I figured it’d be a one-day thing, something to pass the time. But before I knew it, I was hooked. Minutes blurred into hours, hours into days. Nearly all my free time—outside eating and bathroom breaks—went into this game.
I’d never played anything like it. Sure, I’d tried tons of fantasy RPGs, but nothing came close to this. It wasn’t just a dungeon crawl. The game had an addictive cycle and a depth of customization I’d never seen.
Each character had unique abilities; no two were the same. Building a team wasn’t just about picking the strongest classes—it was a puzzle, a delicate balance of skills, gear, and synergy. Every run felt fresh, like solving a brand-new challenge.
Of course, then came the rage moments.
“Argh! NOT AGAIN! Stupid trap got me!”
The game was brutal. One wrong move, and it was over. Characters I’d poured days—sometimes weeks—into were gone in an instant.
Days turned into months, and I started neglecting school and work just to make progress. I even tried looking up guides online, thinking the game must’ve been some forgotten gem. But there was nothing. Not a single mention anywhere. It was like Dungeon End didn’t exist outside my computer.
Weird? Definitely. But I shrugged it off.
I decided to take it as an extra challenge: beat the game blind, no help. My life was still quiet and empty, but this game gave me a sense of purpose—a goal. It wasn’t much, but it was mine, and for the first time in a while, I felt content.
Years passed. I left the orphanage, finished college, and eventually found a steady job. Through it all, Dungeon End stayed with me. Day after day, defeat after defeat.
And then, finally, nearly a decade later…
“Is… Is this it? Am I really about to finish this?”
There it was: the 100th dungeon floor. The final challenge.
For ten years, I’d dreamed of this moment, and I was finally here. For all I knew, I’d die and have to start over, but just reaching this point felt like an achievement.
[The end awaits…]
[Are you ready to enter? (YES/NO)]
“Yes!”
[Loading…]
“I’m not sure what’s waiting for me, but this is my best shot. I’ve put together something special—my Bloodzerker.”
The Bloodzerker wasn’t an official class. It was something I came up with. The core skill, Blood Rage, boosted my damage based on how much health I lost in battle. It was risky at first, but then I found the perfect synergy.
Every class had a unique trait, and that’s where the game’s depth really shined. Berserkers had a trait that increased attack speed at low health, but it wasn’t sustainable. That’s when I stumbled upon an unlikely solution: the Blood Mage.
Yes, a mage.
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
The Blood Mage trait converted mana into health while leeching a certain percentage of all damage dealt as life. Combined with Blood Rage, it created a cycle: lose health, gain power, heal mid-battle, repeat.
“Lose health, heal up, keep the boost. This cycle is what got me here, to the end.”
Ding!
“Is it finally over?”
[Congratulations, you’ve reached the end of the prologue.]
“…”
“…PROLOGUE?!”
“YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING! TEN YEARS JUST TO FINISH A PROLOGUE?!”
As I tried to process what I was seeing, the screen exploded with a blinding light, forcing my eyes shut.
“Argh! What now?”
The brightness overwhelmed me, and then everything went dark.
[You’ve proven your worth as a champion. Passage granted to challenge the dungeon’s true depths.]
“…H—”
Ugh…my head…
“…”
“HEY!”
“Huh?”
“Are you deaf? Move! Stop holding up the line!”
“What? Who… where am I?”
“What are you talking about? It’s almost your turn. Hurry up, or we’re all in trouble.”
“My turn?”
“Yes, the ceremonial acquisition day, before our first delve into the dungeon. Time to pull our weight, pay our dues like everyone else.”
I stood there, stunned. Everything around me felt surreal yet strangely familiar.
The words “ceremonial acquisition,” “delve into the dungeon,” and “paying dues” clicked all at once.
Am I… inside Dungeon End?
A decade of unhealthy obsession had clearly messed with my head.
Me? Inside a game? This isn’t some fantasy novel. This is real life.
Right. I must’ve drifted off after another marathon gaming session. This “scene” is just my brain playing tricks on me.
Actually, dreaming about Dungeon End wasn’t all that unusual.
I closed my eyes, trying to shake off the delusion.
Any second now, I’ll wake up and get back to my monotonous, unimpressive life.
But the noise around me wouldn’t stop—the hum of voices surrounded me, filling the air.
“What’s this idiot doing now? Get moving!”
Push.
“Oof!”
That sensation—it was real!
My heart raced as I stumbled forward. The force of the stranger’s push, the faint sting in my shoulder—it was too vivid, too detailed.
If this were a dream, that push would’ve definitely snapped me awake.
I opened my eyes, really looking this time.
The scene around me was nothing like the dim, cluttered confines of my apartment.
Instead, I stood in a massive, ancient arena.
The area around me felt designed for a massive crowd, surrounded by tiered seating that stood empty but could probably hold thousands of spectators.
Despite the empty stands, the arena floor was bustling. Lines of people stretched across the space, and I was standing at the front of one. Only one person remained ahead of me. Behind, the line seemed endless, disappearing into the distance.
The crowd was overwhelming—countless faces, all shapes and sizes, though most bore the same gaunt, hollow-eyed expression. Their clothes were ragged, and many looked dangerously thin. Ribs poked through worn shirts, and their skin had the pale, sun-starved look of malnutrition.
This… can’t be.
The scene was unmistakable—it was the iconic opening of Dungeon End, the very game I’d poured so much of my life into.
The environment, the crowd, the atmosphere—it all matched the game’s “street rat” starting scenario perfectly.
In Dungeon End, there are different starting points depending on your character's background, but the “ceremonial acquisition day” for the slum-dwelling street rats is the most common.
Street rats are from the lowest caste—the overcrowded, impoverished slums. Because of their sheer numbers, they’re the most frequent character type players start with after a failed run.
I glanced down at my hands.
My skin was ghostly pale, almost sickly, stretched tight over my bony fingers. My ribs were visible beneath the threadbare shirt I wore, and my nails were rough, blackened with grime.
This body wasn’t mine.
Sure, I’d never been in great shape, but I’d always been relatively healthy. This, though—this was the body of someone who had hardly eaten enough to survive.
It could only mean one thing:
I had been transported into the game as someone else—a street rat.
“Alright, document filled. Next!”
Lost in thought, I barely noticed as the man in front of me stepped forward at the sharp bark of the official seated behind a worn wooden table.
The official, dressed in a sharp, tailored uniform, seemed to be a clerk of some kind, overseeing this checkpoint.
Each line led to similar figures at similar tables, suggesting this whole process was well-organized, with the clerks controlling the flow.
“I said next! Don’t waste my time! What’s your name?” the man snapped, his tone laced with impatience and disdain.
The harshness in his voice jolted me from my spiraling thoughts, and I stumbled forward.
As I approached, a sudden, piercing pain shot through my head, so intense it felt like my skull might split.
Ugh! What…what’s happening to me?
My mind suddenly filled with scenes I’d never seen, emotions I’d never felt, hitting me like memories.
A vivid vision played out in front of me.
“Mother! Don’t leave me!” a young boy cried, kneeling beside a dying woman, his face streaked with tears as he held her hand, desperate to keep her with him.
The scene was painfully real, and I felt his heartbreak as if it were my own.
“Please forgive me…” The woman’s voice was weak, her hand gripping his as she coughed, too frail to say more.
“Mother! Please, don’t say anything! Let me get you some water—Mother?”
“Promise me…” She squeezed his hand, her voice barely a whisper. “Promise me you’ll survive, no matter what…not like your father…”
The boy stared down at her with profound sadness, knowing her time was running out.
He held her hand with fierce determination, a promise solidifying in his eyes. “I promise, Mother. I won’t die like father did.”
“I…love…you…”
“Oi! I asked you your name!” The clerk’s voice jolted me back to the present.
“!”
The memory wasn’t mine, yet it felt deeply personal. It had weight, as if it were a part of me now. And then I understood.
This boy, with his memories and his mother’s dying wish, was the person I’d become.
“Leon. My name is Leon,” I said automatically, the name rolling off my tongue like it had always belonged to me.
The clerk scribbled something on a parchment, his expression unchanging. “Surname?”
“Uh…”
“Ah, right. Street kids like you usually don’t have one,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Fine, no surname.”
His words stung, though I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was Leon’s pride bleeding into mine, or maybe it was the way the clerk dismissed my existence with such casual disdain.
Leon had no family name. In this world, surnames were a privilege for the upper working class and nobility, far removed from the neglect of slum-born street rats.
As I grappled with this new reality, I found Leon’s life wasn’t that different from my own.
The memories I’d seen gave me a glimpse into who he was.
Like me, Leon was an orphan, but he hadn’t been abandoned. His parents had died. His mother, the woman in my vision, passed when he was about six. His father had died even earlier, lost on an expedition into the dungeons that shaped the world of Dungeon End.
Strangely, Leon’s life echoed mine. His isolation, his struggles—they mirrored my own, making me feel an even deeper connection to him.
My life hadn’t been as rough as his, though. The orphanage, despite its flaws, had given me a degree of stability. Leon, though, had survived alone since he was six. His life was real suffering.
And in the harsh world of Dungeon End, these slum-born kids faced hardship as a matter of course. Yet Leon, somehow, had managed to survive.
Was this a coincidence? Or something else entirely?
“Age?” the clerk asked, breaking my thoughts.
“Seventeen.”
“Any relatives?”
“No.”
“Any possessions?”
“None.”
The clerk didn’t look surprised. “If you die in the dungeon, do you agree to relinquish all possessions acquired?”
“…Do I have a choice?”
The clerk stared at me for a moment, unimpressed.
“…Yes, I agree,” I muttered.
“Here, sign this agreement,” he said, shoving a parchment toward me. “By doing so, you commit to paying one hundred credits each month. Failure to pay may result in penalties, including increased taxes, imprisonment, or forced labor.”
Leon’s life had clearly brought him to the edge. With no other options, he had to sign the acquisition agreement.
What was the acquisition agreement?
This was how it always began for the street rats in Dungeon End.
Every year, the government offered citizens a chance to acquire an “innate skill.” But for slum-dwellers, this opportunity came at a steep cost—a lifelong debt to the state.
Failure to pay meant forced labor or worse, while the nobility acquired their skills for free, without the shackles of debt or dungeon danger.
The disparity was infuriating, but in this world, it was just how things worked.
“What are you waiting for? Sign it or get out of here!”
I stared at the parchment, the words blurring as I thought about what this meant.
Living in the slums wasn’t truly living. Starvation, disease, and violence were constant threats. Signing meant risking death in the dungeon, but it also meant a shot at something more.
A flicker of excitement stirred within me—a strange, almost reckless thrill I hadn’t felt in years.
My life had been so empty that I’d wished for a change countless times.
Even if death waited in the dungeon, my heart pounded at the thought of stepping into the world I’d only ever played behind a screen.
“…I’ll sign.”
As I pressed the pen to the parchment, a light flared and the ink glowed as it seeped into the page.
The contract was soul-bound—it bound me to its terms.
And yet, I felt a strange determination. I knew there was a way to break this contract. It wouldn’t be easy, but it existed.
“Good. Now go to the agent behind me; he’ll handle your skill acquisition.”
I moved toward the next station, my nerves tightening.
If there was one universal truth in Dungeon End, it was this:
Street rats never got good skills.