Dungeons are a lot like sea turtles. They’re born in clutches of dozens, if not hundreds. A hundred may be born at one time, buried in still burning cities, or in forests where the canopy hides the sky, or in ocean trenches at the bottom of the sea. But only one in a clutch ever makes it to the surface.

Everyone knows about dungeons— monstrous factories that emerge out of the earth, full of riches and Arcana and power— and monsters. But most of humanity only know about the dungeons that make it.

Mark doesn’t know anything about dungeons. He isn’t from this world, and only as a victim of circumstance has he become an unwilling half of a dungeoncore.

The other half is a Dark Lord.

(Rewrite)