The scent reached him before the sound did.
Oil. Leather. Iron. Human.
They reeked of confidence. Of surface air and sun-touched arrogance. He crouched behind a jagged outcrop near the black-glass corridor, motionless, breath slowed to nothing. His senses had sharpened since linking to the dungeon core. Every heartbeat. Every step. Every shift of armor sang through the stone like a drumbeat.
Three of them.
Two men, one woman.
The lead wore a dented breastplate and carried a sword as long as his leg. His eyes were sharp. A survivor. Not yet a killer. The second, smaller, younger. A thief or scout. Quick feet, light breath, eyes always moving. The third was cloaked in red cloth, fingers twitching with arcane residue. A mage. Dangerous. Fragile.
They stepped into the corridor and the dungeon responded.
The black glass lit up in a dull amber glow. Ancient scripts shimmered, pulsing with life, and the air turned thick with tension. Traps had not yet been laid. He had no constructs. No minions. He was still new. The dungeon was still growing, and so was he.
But he had himself.
They walked past him.
He moved.
The thief was the first to notice. A flash of metal. A hissed warning.
Too late.
He struck.
His claws tore through the scout's neck in a single motion. Blood sprayed across the corridor walls. The thief fell without sound, eyes wide, mouth twitching. The mage screamed. The warrior turned, blade already drawn.
They were fast. Faster than the half-born things he had killed below.
The mage shouted a word. Fire erupted in a blossom of gold and red, engulfing the corridor. Heat scalded his skin. He lunged through it. His hide blistered. Pain flared. He ignored it.
The warrior met him head-on.
Steel rang against claw. Sparks. Blood. Noise.
They were strong. Trained. He felt the edge of the blade carve into his ribs, but he moved closer, using the pain, wrapping himself around the sword-arm, driving his knee into the warrior's gut.
The man choked and fell back.
Another blast of fire.
He rolled to the side. The glass wall cracked from the force. The mage screamed another incantation. Her eyes glowed.
He dashed.
Not straight. Not predictable. He bounded across the walls, his claws finding grip in the stone. She did not expect it. She never had to.
His claw tore her face open before she finished her spell.
She died choking on her own teeth.
The warrior stared, shaking. Sweat soaked through his armor. He did not charge again. He took a step back.
He knew he had lost.
But he fought anyway.
It was a clean death. For a human.
The Core Guardian stood in the corridor, panting. Blood dripped from his claws. His chest burned from the fire. But he was alive. Stronger.
The dungeon pulsed beneath his feet. Pleased.
A low hum echoed through the stone. The bodies began to break apart. Not rot. Not decay. The dungeon absorbed them. Bones cracked and split. Flesh dissolved into mist. Armor melted into dust.
Power flooded into him again. Warm. Pure.
He felt it surge through his limbs, twisting muscle, hardening skin. His back split open slightly. Bone pushed out. Not wings. Not yet. But something close.
More.
He needed more.
From deep within the dungeon, new passages unfolded. Tunnels he had not seen before. The map in his mind expanded. Chambers whispered with opportunity.
He now had points to spend. A currency of death.
[Dungeon Resources Gained: 12]
[Core Guardian Level: 2]
He saw the menu without needing eyes. A living blueprint etched across his thoughts.
Trap: Bone Spikes (3)
Trap: Crushing Wall (5)
Monster: Lesser Wretch (6)
Room Expansion: Nesting Pit (4)
Mutation: Hardened Exoskeleton (5)
He did not hesitate.
He chose the Wretch. It birthed from the shadows in moments, a thing of black sinew and twisted limbs, hunched and trembling. It looked at him and lowered its head.
It knew its master.
He looked to the next chamber. Quiet. Empty. But not for long.
The dungeon would grow. He would carve it with claw and blood and patience.
This place would not be a lair. Not just a graveyard.
It would be a kingdom.
And he would be its heart.
From the surface, another scent drifted down.
A new party had entered the outer tunnel. Five this time.
Stronger.
Armed with maps, spells, and names for creatures like him.
They called his kind "dungeon spawn."
They would call him something else soon.
Something whispered from the dungeon's core.
Revenant.
He liked the sound of it.