My fingers tightened on the edge of the desk as something twisted deep in my chest like an invisible undertow yanking my heart sideways. The air shimmered faintly around me, vibrating with a strange, unnatural pulse. Then, a new alert flashed across my vision.

  System Notification: [Warning: External Force Breaching Dungeon Boundary]

  My stomach flipped. “What—?”

  Bookbite, who’d been sprawled across the top of a rusted old filing cabinet like a lazy cat, suddenly sat up straight. His nose wrinkled as he sniffed the air, then turned toward the far wall with a scowl. “Something gross is creeping in,” he muttered. “That’s not your usual adventurer stink.”

  Snap. My view shifted instantly. I began to scan the battle map.

  I gasped. Down at the far entrance of the map, something huge and shadow-black was moving through the stone tunnel; heading for the parking lot and bus loop. It wasn’t a blip or a marker. It was a void. No light, just warping edges and heavy wrongness, like it didn’t belong in reality.

  “What the hell is that?” I whispered.

  Bookbite leaned in, suddenly alert. His eyes gleamed with interest, ears twitching straight up. “Ooooh,” he said slowly. “Now what’s this? You didn’t summon anything that big, boss.”

  My pulse pounded in my ears. “No. I—I didn’t.”

  Bookbite’s grin widened, a little too thrilled for my liking. “Well… looks like you’re about to meet your first uninvited guest.”

  Finally, the fog over the creature dissolved the second it fully stepped inside the busloop/front lawn. One massive paw landed on the boundary tile, and just like that—visibility cleared. My map snapped into sharper focus, details unfolding like peeled paper: cracked pavement, patches of freshly cut grass, and right in the middle of it all…

  A bear. Not just any bear; a black bear, real and breathing. Not dungeon-born.

  It stumbled forward with a sluggish, uneven pace like it didn’t fully understand where it was. Void-touched shadows clung to its shoulders and haunches, thick and oily like spilled tar. The kind of wrong and twisted I could relate to. Its head swayed from side to side. It sniffed the air, then the ground, growling low and uncertain. Confused. Agitated.

  “Bookbite…” I breathed, not looking away from the screen.

  “That’s not normal bear,” he muttered, voice suddenly serious. He hopped off the cabinet, creeping closer to my side, peering up at the map with a wrinkled brow. “That’s a real void-touched animal. Pulled in from outside.”

  “It’s Void-touched.”

  “Yup.”

  I stared at the bear, its massive form pacing the edge of the asphalt like it knew something was wrong but couldn’t figure out what. Every time it brushed the artificial stone or smelled the air, it winced, like the dungeon air itself burned.

  “What do I do?” I whispered. “It’s not attacking. It’s just… scared?”

  Bookbite didn’t answer at first. His gaze stayed locked on the screen. “You’re the boss. You decide.”

  But the way he said it wasn’t smug this time. Just quiet. I felt the mana stir at my fingertips again. A sick, twisting tension wound itself through my gut. It felt… wrong. Not the bear. The feeling of it.

  This thing wasn’t like my monsters. It wasn’t some shadow I shaped from half-remembered fears or twisted memories. It was real. Warm-blooded. Breathing. I could feel it, the life in it, pulsing and panicked and sharp in the mana currents around the dungeon.

  I took a step back from the desk, stomach twisting. “That’s not one of mine. It’s alive.”

  Bookbite didn’t flinch. He just nodded, eyes still on the map. “Yeah. That’s what happens.”

  “What happens?” I snapped. “Why is it here?”

  The little goblin finally looked up at me. “It smells you.”

  I blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Your mana,” he said like it was obvious. “Dungeons leak clean energy, even in small amounts. To something wild and starving like that?” He nodded toward the map, where the bear was pawing nervously at a twisted bench near the loop. “It’s like sniffing fresh water in the middle of a desert. Can’t help but follow it.”

  My throat tightened. “So it’s, what? Drawn in?”

  “Yup. Wild monsters crave mana same as adventurers. Fighting your dungeon monsters gives 'em experience too.” He paused, giving me a sly smile. “Even dumb beasts can smell a chance to level up.”

  “Oh god.” My hands were shaking. “I didn’t… I don’t want it here.”

  “Too late, Core girl,” Bookbite said, but his voice was softer now. “Breathe. You set up that front room well. Good traps. Good Monsters. Have faith. Just like we talked about. You’ve already started thinking like a proper dungeon core.”

  I clenched my fists, trying to slow my breathing. In. Out. The bear wasn’t attacking. Yet.

  “Focus,” he said. “Don’t panic. You’ve got tools now. Use 'em. Try your Analyze skill.”

  Right. Right—I had that.

  Analyze isn’t flashy. It doesn’t shoot fire or summon skeletons or collapse tunnels. But honestly? It might be my favourite tool so far.

  When I activate it, it’s like clicking on a unit in a strategy game. Except the data rushes straight into my brain. I get a flash of its level, its general mood or condition, and most importantly, where it fits into the system. Is it a dungeon monster? A wild creature? Something real from the outside world that wandered in? Analyze pulls that curtain back.

  It costs a bit of mana; not much, but enough that I have to be careful with rapid use. And it only works if I can focus on something specific. I can’t just wave it over a whole room and expect it to tell me what’s hiding in the shadows. I need line of sight, or at least map visibility.

  But once it locks on? I get a clean snapshot: type, affinity, drops, and even XP. Sometimes a weird note shows up, like a warning or a hint. It’s not just about stats. It’s about understanding what I’m up against. Or what I might want to save.

  Because in this place, knowledge is power. And Analyze is the first step to staying alive. I centred myself, reaching toward the screen with a mental tug. My focus narrowed, locking onto the shape of the bear. A pulse of mana flicked through me, like a sonar ping.

  System Notification:

  Analyze Activated.

  [Void-Touched Black Bear]

  Type: Beast (Corrupted – Wild)

  Level: 3

  Status: Agitated, Hungry, Mildly Injured

  Origin: Jackass Mountain

  Affinity: Physical / Shadow (Void-Tainted)

  XP on Defeat: 15

  Drops: ???

  Notes: This creature is suffering from ambient void corruption. Prolonged exposure to clean mana may cause volatility or mutation. Approach with caution.

  My mouth went dry. Level three. Higher than me. Is it? Is it stronger than anything I’ve spawned so far? And worst of all, it was about to attack.

  “Bookbite,” I whispered. “It’s void-tainted. It’s real. And it’s going to attack.”

  The goblin’s eyes gleamed, sharper now. “Then you’d better decide quick, boss. You gonna help it… or kill it?”

  I didn’t breathe as the bear lumbered further in. Its massive shoulders hunched, head low, snout twitching like it was trying to make sense of the dungeon’s air. And maybe it couldn’t because, unlike my monsters, this thing wasn’t a summon. It was real. Alive. Warm-blooded. Breathing.

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  It didn’t belong here.

  I flinched. Not because of the bear, but because something else moved.

  Not spawned, not summoned. She emerged.

  One of the parked cars, I only made a rough shell of a car, near the edge of the bus loop shifted. I blinked and then she was there. Too tall, too thin, with stretched limbs like pulled plastic, bone-pale skin poking out from a shredded black pantsuit. Her mouth was a perfect frown. Her nails gleamed.

  Bookbite leaned forward, excited. “Well, well. Looks like one of the Windigo-Moms wants to meet the new neighbour.”

  I stared. “Wait, Windigo-Moms? That’s what we’re calling them?”

  He shrugged. “You try naming things when your best education came from chewing on forgotten library books.”

  I nodded and then looked at the thing. “No, the Mom-did-go,” I said. I couldn’t help it. It slid across the pavement with an eerie silence. Like she was being dragged by something invisible. Then…

  Snap.

  She was moving with unnatural speed, a blur of black and sharp edges. Before the bear could even react, the Mom-did-go was on it, not head-on, but circling low, a terrifying whisper of movement. Her razor-sharp nails lashed out, not just slashing, but rending, tearing gashes into the bear’s thick hind leg.

  Her limbs snapped forward with sickening speed, slashing across the bear’s back leg with a gleam of talons. Razor Nail, my HUD’s notifications flashed below.

  The bear let out a roar, twisting violently, and with a single swing of its massive paw, ripped her arm clean off. I gasped. Blood, or something like it; however it was a dark thick green colour, something out of a 90s kid show. The green blood,splattered across the concrete in slick lines. She reminded me of one of those inflatable tube man danced wildly, its faded yellow fabric snapping with every gust. Her arm stub flailed like a tube man, open wound, jerking in strange spasms from being ripped off. The dungeon monster hissed and it sounded like her bones were popping, straining against the bear’s attacks, until finally, the Windigo-Mom shrieked and lunged again, jaws stretching wide, trying to bite the bear’s throat like a rabid animal. She missed.

  The bear reared up, a void pulse rippling down its spine and when it landed, the roar that tore from its chest shook the dungeon. I felt the vibration through the desk, through my bones. Red icons flashed:

  System Notification: [Debuff Applied: Dread Howl — Target(s): Dungeon Construct (WINDIGO-MOM01). Effect: -25% Attack, -50% Morale.]

  “Oh no,” I whispered.

  The Mom-did-go staggered. Her stretched limbs spasmed but it wasn’t enough. The bear surged forward and devoured her. It was ugly and primal, and over in seconds. Ripped open and swallowed like she was nothing: something in me cracked. She was mine. My first. I made her. She was supposed to be strong enough. Smart enough. Scary enough.

  But she wasn’t. And that meant I wasn’t.

  I stared at the spot where the bear finished chewing, void sludge leaking like blood from the bear's wound, and my hands clenched so tight I felt my nails dig into skin. The lights flickered weakly. Everything I’d built felt stupid. Fragile. Just pretend.

  Of course, I failed.

  I could almost hear Kiley laughing. Her voice was all syrup and malice. "God, you're such a freak, Chloe."

  Sometimes, I used to lie awake at night and wish I was Kiley.

  I wanted her. The one who spat gum into my hair in seventh grade and told everyone I used toilet paper as pads. I want her. The idea of her. Loud. Beautiful. Untouchable. She moved through the halls like the world owed her space, and somehow, it did. Teachers smiled at her. Boys orbited her. Even the mean things she said had weight. Like she could curse people with a glance and make it stick.

  I never wanted to be cruel like her. Not really.

  But God, I wanted to be seen like her. I wanted to touch her. I want something… Wanted the silence to stop. Wanted someone to notice I was there without looking through me like dirty glass.

  I used to think that if I could just talk like her, dress like her, walk like her… maybe I wouldn’t be the weird girl. The broken one. The punching bag. Maybe Megan wouldn’t have left. Maybe Brooklyn wouldn’t have looked at me with so much disgust. Maybe Hannah wouldn’t have—

  No. Doesn’t matter now.

  She was power, and I was the target. I still am. Then Brooklyn’s drawl, sharp and dismissive:

  "Maybe if you weren’t such a whore, people wouldn’t hate you so much."

  I flinched. Picturing the scene that unfolded a million times. Megan looked at me as Brooklyn called me a slut, she wouldn’t even say anything. She just walked away. Like she always did. And then Hannah. Hannah with her perfect teeth and sticky perfume, shoved me hard into the locker. The sound of the metal still rang in my ears, hollow and cold.

  “I’m still there,” I whispered. “I never left.”

  The dungeon pulsed faintly around me, trying to remind me I was different now. That I had power. That I was something more than just a girl stuffed in a locker and forgotten. But right now, all I could feel was the echo of that slam. And the weight of a monster’s death, dragging me down like chains

  I sank back from the desk, pressing both palms against my eyes. But the darkness behind my lids didn’t help—because now it wasn’t just the fight I was seeing. It was them.

  Kiley’s smirk.

  Brooklyn’s voice calling me a whore.

  Megan walking away.

  Hannah’s hand on my shoulder—shoving me into a locker while they all laughed.

  A sound dragged me back.

  Not from the map. From beside me.

  A low, papery snort.

  Bookbite.

  He wasn’t lounging anymore. The sharp-toothed goblin crouched on the corner of the desk, claws drumming rhythmically on the wood. Watching me. Eyes too bright, too still.

  “Oh, come on, boss,” he said softly, voice like rust and burnt sugar. “Don’t get all weepy just ‘cause one of the Moms got turned into pulled pork. You know what that means?”

  I stared at him, hollow.

  “It means you’re learning.” His grin widened. “It means the next thing that crosses your line is gonna hurt worse.”

  “I messed up,” I whispered. “That thing wasn’t even supposed to be here. It wasn’t an adventurer. It was real. Plus, one of the void-infected things you talked about. I didn’t plan for real. I—”

  Bookbite’s head tilted, his grin never fading. “That bear? That thing hurt your mob. Ate her, even. And you’re sitting here blaming yourself? Nah, nah. That’s the old Chloe. The Chloe who let people like Kiley walk all over her.”

  I flinched. He saw.

  “You wanna mourn, fine,” he said, hopping down beside the screen, claws tapping as he circled it. “But me? I say you get even.”

  I didn’t answer. My chest still hurt.

  Bookbite stepped close, voice low, eyes gleaming. “Make the next trap deeper. The next monster hungrier. The next room so terrifying even the wind thinks twice about passing through.”

  He leaned in.

  “You didn’t get this second chance to cry, Chloe. You got it to hurt them back. The goblin way.”

  The map pulsed under my hands. The bear was slowing, limping heavily. It hadn’t escaped yet. I stared at the screen and felt something cold and sharp coil in my chest.

  “Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s make it bleed.”

  “Oh, and it will just respawn anyways once the dungeon resets,” Bookbite said, sticking out his tongue as if it was something so basic.

  “Thanks, that would have been nice to know before I doom spiralled.”

  The bear turned its snout twitching and started limping toward the tree line. Still dazed, still leaking thick, villain green-coloured blood where the Windigo-Mom had raked it. I almost let myself breathe.

  Then it vanished.

  My gut dropped just before the dull crack of splintering boards echoed up through the dungeon’s perimeter.

  System Notification: [Trap Triggered: Concealed Pitfall – Front Lawn Perimeter] Enemy status: Crippled (Rear Left Limb). +5 experience points. +10 mana.

  I rushed to the edge of my map’s vision, heart pounding. Sure enough, the bear had fallen clean through the false grass between the crumbling benches. The trap I’d rigged with old floorboards and copper nails had worked. Mostly.

  The pit was jagged and deep, about two Chloe-lengths down, and I could see the void-touched bear thrashing against the sharpened support beams jutting from its sides like angry spears. Blood splashed against the walls in heavy, sick thuds. It roared, but the sound was choked. Not scared. Furious.

  And then… it glowed.

  Veins of darkness spidered across its pelt, pulsing with the same kind of energy that filled in its wounds. Something worse. Its muscles bulged. The air around it shimmered like hot pavement.

  “Shit,” I breathed.

  “Yeah, but it will use a lot of energy. Look at the steam coming off of it.”

  The bear reared back, digging in with its front claws. Slowly, slowly, it dragged its mangled body up, ramming one shoulder into the splintered wall, finding purchase, and then hurling its bulk up over the edge.

  It climbed out. It shouldn’t have been able to.

  But it did.

  “Boss,” Bookbite murmured, wide-eyed, “That thing is pissed.”

  I stared, frozen, as it hauled its ruined body forward, leaving a ragged trail of void and blood behind. The trees loomed close. I didn’t know if it would escape, or if it would double back, or if something even worse was following it.

  But I knew one thing.

  This dungeon was real. And out here, nothing came without pain.