Baal watched as the other members of the Council entered the dimly lit chamber. They were all powerful creatures in their own right, chosen by the members of their race — enslaved by the Labyrinth — to represent their interests. Too bad all they did was boast and bicker like children.

Even by their standards, Baal was ancient. Elves were among the first race that had been dominated by the Labyrinth. He had participated in countless battles, countless wars. Tasting glory, and suffering defeat in equal measure. He had stood witness to the rise and fall of Kings and Gods.

And yet, these other monsters thought that they were his equal. Disgusting. Infuriating.

Baal simmered his rage. They all belonged to the Labyrinth now. Ruled by some sentient, incessant power that forced them to do its bidding. Of those who opposed it only the lucky died quickly.

A silky voice, spiked with an undercurrent of anger, drifted across the room. “Why have you summoned us, Elf?”

Baal’s eyes wandered over to the voice that belonged to the eight-legged monstrosity that sat directly across from him.

For a moment, he imagined launching himself across the round stone table and plunging his sword deep into one of the creature’s eight ruby eyes. “You would do well to remember your place Cho’Ga. Else I slit you from fang to belly.”

The giant spider vibrated in fury as venom dripped from its fangs leaving craters in the stone floor, but did not respond.

Satisfied at the subtle display of submission Baal returned his gaze to the rest of the Council. “The Labyrinth has opened”.

This caught the attention of several of the Architects. The leader of the Giants stood up to his full height — towering above the others. His arms and legs were armored, but his heavily muscled gray chest was on full display. Countless scars littered the Giant’s chest, they were a race that thrived in violence. Lived for war. Two massive horns protruded from his head, which was covered by a mane of thick black hair, leaving only his face visible.

The giant’s booming voice sounded like a roar to Baal’s ears. “WHERE?”

“A mana-less planet called Earth. The inhabitants — humans — have proven … resilient,” Baal responded.

The giant leader’s eyes shone with primal hunger. “SO THEY ARE STRONG WARRIORS THEN?” he bellowed.

Baal shrugged in response. “Not according to our soldiers from the initial invasion. We slaughtered them by the millions. There is something else at play — another force that rivals even the power of the Labyrinth. They have grown stronger.”

There were soft gasps and hisses at his words.

The giant grinned as he grabbed the axe embedded in the floor beside him and turned to leave. “THAT IS ALL I NEED TO HEAR. IT IS TIME TO HUNT.”

* * *

Evan watched through the malformed shadow’s eyes as it glided through the tunnels of the dungeon. It was an endless maze filled with endless rooms.

Yet, he reveled in the joy of his newfound freedom. So long had he been obscured by darkness that even the simple white stone and piles of yellow sand that he came across were sacred treasures that required prolonged inspection.

Fenrir shared in his jubilation — something the core hadn’t been able to do for hundreds of years.

The dungeon core thought back to its days in the Labyrinth. It had never known happiness, or sadness, or even anger. It had always been trapped. Forced to create dungeons and monsters for whatever hand guided the Labyrinth. A meaningless existence.

But then it had met Evan. Its savior. Its Summoner. Its King. He had taken Fenrir and shared his life, his love, and his pain with it. And in turn Fenrir had shared the only thing that it had ever truly known. Power. Immeasurable. Limitless. But, ultimately, inadequate.

Its singular purpose in life — its reason for existing — was focused on the singular happiness of its best friend. Fenrir was him. It was Fenrir. They were Evan.

* * *

Hours turned into days turned into weeks as the shadow continued to scour the dungeon for something. Anything.

Evan knew he was going insane.

Wasn’t insanity just doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? He asked Fenrir, and the core agreed.

“Patience my King. We will find it. We must,” Fenrir whispered in his mind.

He sighed as the shadow returned to the cave that was their cage. They had lingered over every inch of the tunnels and rooms in the dungeon. Turned over every speck of stone. And still, they had found nothing. Nothing.

The realization of their failure caused the summoner’s mind to splinter. He fell to his knees and looked up to the heavens as he screamed. The dungeon core within him felt the river of emotions as they flowed through Evan.

Misery. Agony. Insanity. Longing. Guilt. Sorrow. Hate.

The scream lasted seconds — or days — he couldn’t be sure. He only stopped when his throat was raw and bleeding.

Evan continued to stare at the ceiling for what felt like an eternity. His broken mind couldn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing. Or maybe it was because his mind had broken that he was seeing what he was seeing. A hallucination. It must be.

“Do you see it, Fenrir—am I mad?” he croaked. The words tumbled out of his mouth without pause. Black blood dripped from his chin.

Fenrir looked through Evan’s eyes, piercing the darkness of the cave with ease. A crack. Tiny. Almost imperceptible. Thinner than even a sheet of paper.

But large enough for their shadows.

Fenrir guided the distorted shadow through the crack. It flowed past layers of stone and metal like rain, fitting through the smallest of gaps and tears until it found itself in another room.

The room triggered a series of memories in Fenrir.

A woman holding his hand, smiling as she kissed him. The same woman holding a child — his child. He had never felt such happiness.

The memory faded, replaced by another. A monster dragging the dead bodies of the woman and his child. Then darkness. He had never felt such rage.

A figure placing him on a pedestal inside a small stone chamber. The room, lined with gray stone. His first dungeon. He felt nothing.

Just as soon as they had appeared, the memories vanished. Fenrir tried to hold onto them, desperately grasping at them but they slipped away.

“I have them Fenrir, I have them,” whispered Evan.

A moment passed before the image of the woman holding his hand lit up in Evan’s mind. Fenrir stared at the image for a long time hoping that it would trigger more. But none came.

The dungeon core sighed. “Thank you, my King.” Fenrir hesitated. “Will you hold onto them for me?” he whispered.

“Until the day I die, my friend. I promise that we will figure out who they are. What they mean,” Evan whispered back.

Fenrir returned his focus back to the shadow. The room was surrounded by torches that gave off a soft blue light. The entire room was covered in gray stone. In the middle stood a single pedestal. On top sat a dull, lightless crystal about a foot in height. A dungeon core.

“What is wrong with it? Is it dead?” Evan asked as the shadow got closer to the core.

Fenrir examined the core. The shadow placed a deformed hand on the core and it sensed the tiniest prickle of mana. “No, it has been put to sleep by strong magic. Likely the work of Baal and the other Architects to stop the dungeon from leaving the Labyrinth”.

Evan nodded his head. Without an active dungeon core to create monsters, the dungeon could never gather the mana necessary to manifest a portal to another world. It was ingenious. Cruel.

“Can we wake it?” he asked, hope filling his voice. Begging. Desperate.

Fenrir was silent for a few, long, moments. “Yes. It will take time. But, yes. We will need to constantly feed it mana. Just enough to light a spark within the core.”

And so, as he had done for centuries, he began to gather the little mana that he could. Spinning it into a single, tiny thread. Over and over. Pain wracked his body as the chains tried to pry the mana from his grasp. But years of solitude and torture had taught him to retreat deep into the recesses of his shattered mind.

We will be free.

* * *

Exactly two weeks after the first portal appeared in Los Angeles, the world changed.

Thousands of monsters surged from the gates, killing hundreds of millions and endangering the existence of humanity. Armies were broken, and governments were destroyed.

Days later, some unknown and powerful force — or perhaps some being — gave humans the tools they needed to survive. [The System] turned the slaughter into a war. Humans woke up with amazing powers overnight. Magic. Superhuman strength and speed. Magical weapons and armor.

But, most importantly, the ability to grow that power. For many, [The System] turned their nightmare into a game. Killing monsters granted experience and levels, and levels granted access to new skills and abilities.

And so the humans fought back. They formed Guilds and defeated dungeons before the monsters they held could break out.

It was a time of loss and suffering, but it was also a time of prosperity and growth.

Yet, try as they might, the war with the Portals was at a standstill. Neither side gained an advantage over the other.

Humanity needed someone to tip the scales.