It was a strange, unfamiliar sensation—like something was repeatedly stabbing at him with tiny, annoying needles. His body, this weak, squishy human form, ached in places he didn't even know existed.
He groaned and cracked open his eyes.
Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting warm colors over polished stone floors. Wooden pews lined the grand chamber, and the air smelled of incense and old parchment. A massive statue loomed over him, depicting a stern-looking deity wielding both a sword and a set of scales.
A church.
Panic immediately set in.
“Oh no. Oh dear. Oh FUCK. This is bad.”
He scrambled to his feet—too fast. His balance wavered, and he nearly tumbled forward, his legs feeling wrong. The body didn’t respond quite how he expected. Was he broken? Were his movement scripts corrupted?
Something in the air shifted.
The polished stone beneath his feet briefly darkened, the temperature around him cooling ever so slightly. Shadows flickered strangely against the walls, moving as if responding to him. The sensation passed just as quickly as it came.
A soft yet commanding voice rang out, breaking his focus. “Relax.”
The former dungeon turned, finding himself face-to-face with a robed cleric. The man had a serene expression, but his sharp eyes studied him like one might a particularly problematic sermon attendee.
“You are safe, Chosen Hero,” the cleric continued. “The gods have seen fit to grant you a second chance.”
“A what now?”
“You have been given the Basic Hero Package,” the cleric said, as if that explained everything. “It includes several blessings to help ease your transition into mortality.”
The former dungeon’s eye twitched. “I’m going to need you to run that by me again.”
The cleric sighed as if he had given this speech far too many times before. “First, you have been granted universal literacy—you can read and understand all languages.”
The former dungeon paused. Wait… so if I had this before, I could have actually read those ancient scrolls adventurers left behind instead of just eating them for Lifeforce?
“Second,” the cleric continued, “your body moves instinctively. You do not need to learn motor control from birth.”
“Wait, was that even an option? Were the gods just gonna let me flop around like a fish out of water if they didn’t include that?”
The cleric ignored him. “And finally, you have been given your first quest.”
A sudden ping echoed in his mind, and a glowing text box appeared before him:
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The former dungeon squinted at the interface, which looked oddly clean.
Too clean.
He instinctively opened his Dungeon Menu—or at least, he tried to. Instead of the familiar chaotic layout of trap placements, monster spawns, and loot tables, he found a seamless, perfectly integrated system with two categories: Dungeon Abilities and Hero Skills.
No overlap. No weird glitching. Just a perfectly functional interface.
“…Oh.”
“Oh?” The cleric raised an eyebrow.
“Oh no.”
Something was very wrong. The system had merged too well. He scrolled through the menus in growing horror.
Dungeon Abilities:
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Trap Creation → Limited to 5ft Radius.
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Monster Creation → Limited to 5ft Radius.
-
Monster Upgrading → Useless Without Monsters.
-
Loot Creation → Currently Empty Inventory.
Meanwhile, the Hero Skills section…
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Basic Swordplay – Unused
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Stamina Management – Unused
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Dodge Roll – Unused
-
Survival Instincts – Unused
He had no idea how any of these worked.
Oh, this was going to be awful.
“I’ll give you some time to gather yourself, then on to the next bit,” the cleric said before excusing himself out of the room.
The first thing the former dungeon did upon being left alone was test the limits of his new reality.
As soon as the cleric left the room, he focused on his Dungeon Menu—his only comfort in this awful, fleshy existence.
With a deep breath, he activated Monster Creation.
A small magic circle flickered at his feet. Energy swirled in the air, his mana draining at an alarming rate. And then—
POOF.
A tiny, horned rabbit appeared.
It twitched its nose, sniffed the air, and looked up at him with its beady little eyes.
He exhaled. “Alright. That worked.”
The rabbit tilted its head. Then, with all the force its tiny body could muster, it lunged forward and headbutted him directly in the shin.
“OW—!” He yelped, stumbling back against the pews.
A system notification appeared immediately:
System Notification:
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Mana too low to command monster.
-
Monster will act autonomously.
-
Summon is permanent unless dismissed manually.
The former dungeon froze. Slowly, he looked down at the rabbit. It looked back up at him, chewing on something invisible.
“…Oh. You’re still here.”
The rabbit wiggled its nose.
A horrible realization dawned on him. “Wait. You’re permanent?”
The rabbit did not confirm nor deny this. Instead, it lunged at his other shin.
“GAH—STOP THAT!” He stumbled away, barely avoiding another devastating bunny strike. “WHAT KIND OF MONSTER DID I DESIGN?!”
Another notification appeared:
Monster Behavior Unlocked:
-
Horned Rabbit: Highly territorial. Prone to headbutting threats.
“…I hate everything.”
The rabbit flicked its ears, seemingly pleased with itself.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the Hero Menu—which, infuriatingly, was also perfectly organized.
Hero Skills:
-
Basic Swordplay – Unused
-
Stamina Management – Unused
-
Dodge Roll – Unused
-
Survival Instincts – Unused
Everything was there. Everything was accessible. And yet, as he focused on the first skill, trying to activate it—
Nothing happened.
He scrolled again. He had the skills, but no idea how to use them. Unlike his dungeon abilities, which functioned instinctively, the hero skills required actual training.
He groaned, rubbing his face. “So I can summon monsters, but I can’t even swing a sword properly?”
The rabbit thumped its foot.
“Shut up.”
A knock at the door startled him. The cleric peeked inside, an eyebrow raised. “Are you ready?”
The former dungeon straightened, trying to ignore the tiny menace lurking at his feet. “Yeah. Just… testing my skills.”
The cleric’s gaze flicked to the rabbit. It flicked its ears, staring back.
A slow, knowing smile spread across the cleric’s face. “Ah. Forming bonds with your summons already?”
The former dungeon scowled. “Not. A. Word.”
The cleric chuckled, stepping aside. “Come along, then. The Adventurer’s Guild awaits.”
With a reluctant sigh—and a tiny, demonic rabbit shadowing his every step—the former dungeon followed.