He wasn't dead. There wasn't much else he was sure of, but he wasn't dead. Dead would have implied an end to many things, he was sure, so the pain he was feeling meant he wasn't dead. Though he couldn't move.

A kaleidoscope of images assaulted him. Dark places, cold places, all moving and twitching. No, it was his perspectives that were moving. That disjointed movement was the primary source of his pain. He tried to raise arms he couldn't feel and cup hands he didn't have to cover his eyes, but the lack of those things meant he had no respite from the tunnels and darkness that weren't dark enough for his liking.

Two points of view seemed more right than the others. They were the right distance apart and didn't seem to be inches from a surface. Of all the perspectives, though, it was the most stationary. But, when it did move, he realized that it was at the end of a tunnel.

Whatever it was he was looking through, it didn't like the light. A green-scaled arm reached into view and occluded his sight for a moment before he was looking at the biggest damn crystal he'd ever seen.

Something about the crystal seemed strange, but try as he might he couldn't figure out what. Strange, though, was discounting it glowing and literally floating in the air. It glowed with a soft pink-white light that whatever creature he was looking through (and he had figured out he was looking through a creature's eyes) didn't seem to mind it.

Things slowly started to make sense and, combined with his memories, it all sank-in and he realized what was going on. He was in a game. It was all a big game! A dungeon manager game. Looking through the creature's eyes, he figured, made him the creature.

Now if only he could figure out how to raise his arms.

It was 3 days of screwing around trying to do anything before he figured out he was definitely not the creature. He knew it was 3 days because the light from outside kept changing. But, like a baby closing its hand around their parent's finger moments after birth, he finally managed to nudge the creature.

"Huh? What?" The eyes of the creature moved as it spoke and turned toward the too-bright entrance.

Movement and a slight dimming drew his and the creature's attention to the entrance of the cave. It took a few moments for the shapes to resolve and 3 humans to step in. All the different viewpoints let him pick out features from many angles—some of them upside down—but he'd been practicing looking.

"It's just a kobold. Worker, too. Kill it, William," one human, a male, said.

He watched as the second of the leather-armored people reached over his shoulder and pulled a stylized long-rifle to his shoulder. Movement was impossible—as was the ability to not watch as the large hammer came down on the back of the barrel and a loud crack sound echoed in the cave.

Two points of light, two of his views of the world, disappeared.

"Alright, Pen, head in and see if this useless hole has anything in it." It was the first speaker again. As the third human ran forward, he nodded to the second—who started reloading. "This one can't have been here long if it only just got its first worker."

The third human, a female by the shape he saw through all those odd eyes, walked up to what he realized was him now. The dungeon heart. He wasn't the kobold—he was the dungeon!

Her hands roamed over the handles of her knives, one on each hip, and she crouched down first to check the kobold. "Through the head. At least he made it quick. William isn't known for being kind."

Standing up, the woman turned to her companions. "It's dead. Nice shot, William. Do you ever miss?"

"You'd know better than anyone, Pen." The first man had walked down the tunnel toward the heart. In his hand was a strip of paper. "Has he ever hit you while you attack the same target?"

He could see the woman's eyes locked on the piece of paper in the first man's hand, and he could see her eyes rise from it and focus on William. "No—"

"There's a first time for everything."

He screamed in his own head, unable to make a sound as he watched his second murder ever. There was nothing he could do but watch as red blossomed front and back on Pen's lower torso. The bullet, he could see, had gone right through her and come out her back.

"You didn't get it, Pen. There were so many jobs you made us turn down—jobs that would have made us rich enough to never have to travel to shitty little village that is barely big enough to have gotten its first dungeon!

"All the times your fucking conscience got in the way of us getting paid… You should have seen this coming."

Walking up as he reloaded, William shook his head. "Sorry, Pen. We had some good times, but you know the rules—coin comes first."

Pen dropped to her knees, one hand over the hole in her gut while the other reached to her backpack.

"Potions? I replaced them with colored water on the way out here. Your talisman?" The first man screwed up the paper in his hand. "This dungeon will figure its shit out eventually. Who knows, it might even be worth raiding in a few years, but Pen, you're gonna be its first meal."

"Won't it be an honor, Pen? Hardly anyone dies in dungeons anymore. They walk in, get hurt or beat down, their talisman yanks them to safety and they come back. By the Abyss, I know you have a standard insurance to cover that." Finished reloading, William brought his rifle into a line with Pen's head. "But not this time."

"Don't waste the shot, William. She's bleeding fast—you hit something important. Bye, Pen, you were wicked fast once, but today—Just a little slow." Turning, the first man started walking down the tunnel and out, soon followed by William.

Sobbing. He heard sobbing. "Fuck you, Peter! Fuck you, William, I—" The sobbing turned to a cry of agony. "Fuck the whole fucking world." She turned her head and looked at the heart—at him. "It's just you and me then."

He watched her drag closer and closer to the heart, leaving a trail of crimson behind her. She reached him and raised a hand stained red to the huge crystal. "Please, I don't know if you can hear me or can even make sense of what I'm saying, but if those assholes come back—kill them. Use me as food, use my weapons, use whatever gear those bastards didn't steal, and kill them."

Something, he begged, anything. Pen's bloodstained print on his dungeon heart seemed to throb as he willed a way to control the dungeon.

Accept Willing Sacrifice? [30s remaining]

Accepting a supplicant with the appropriate medium present can integrate them into the dungeon.

Yes/No

It was a fancy-looking text box, but it was a text box. It had two buttons at the bottom and a timer ticking down. He read the contents of the box again and again, trying to make sure it meant what he thought it meant.

The only other thing he'd managed to do so far was poke things. So, with 5 seconds remaining, he poked Yes.

Penelope felt herself in even more agony as a blast of pink energy poured from the heart, shot through her bloody handprint, and lanced into her. She screamed more and more as her body twisted and every muscle, bone, and sinew pulled itself apart and put itself back into order again. Even her skin rebelled and flayed itself from her body.

"Are you okay?"

The words felt loud in Penelope's head, but more they were felt and not heard. "Arr?" The sound coming from her mouth was odd and didn't seem right. She looked up at the dungeon heart, her eyes piercing the darkness like never before, and tried again. "Graar?"

"I don't think I can understand kobold. Can you try speaking in—uh—human?"

Rolling her eyes, Penelope wanted to shout at him that she was definitely and absolutely trying to speak common, but it was hard to because kobold mouths weren't designed for it. And that's when her brain screamed because it had worked out exactly what was wrong with her. Looking down revealed ruined leather armor wrapped around a small kobold's body. Her body.

This was a bad time to panic, though. Penelope closed her eyes and focused on centering herself. She tilted her head back down and looked at the ground. Her weapon belt was on the ground. When she picked it up, she realized how she'd shrunk. No longer pushing nearly five and a half feet tall, she gauged she must be almost half that. Slinging the belt over one shoulder, she tried to ignore the clawed green hands she was working with and instead made sure her knives were secure.

"Not talkative? I don't blame you. What the fuck was up with them?"

Turning to look at the dungeon heart, Penelope now realized what was talking directly into her head. She started by swearing. Her mouth still wasn't any better at making words, but the hissing, spitting, and growling she managed was more cathartic than actually filling anyone in on what had gone down. Finally, with a talon on each hip, she glared at the heart.

"You were dying. I didn't know what else to do. I just pushed as hard as I could to find something to save you. I—I didn't mean to turn you into a kobold."

She blinked in surprise at the sincere worry in the mental voice. After what had just happened, she couldn't exactly hold the heart responsible. William and Peter, she knew, would have just found somewhere else convenient to kill her.

That's when Penelope's last words caught up with her. She'd begged the heart for help and it'd actually gone a step further. It hadn't just used her body as food, it had given her a second life—a new life. Wobbling a little as she tried to walk for the first time on new legs, Penelope approached the heart and didn't stop until she pressed herself against it and hugged it tight.

Without words, she hoped her actions could reassure the dungeon heart that she appreciated its effort and attempt to save her life.

The town, after getting the news of a dungeon nearby, planned for a celebration. New life breathed through the dirt backstreets and rushed along the paved main street. Every kitchen was busy cooking, baking, and preparing for the night to come.

While the afternoon rolled on, however, three people sat around a small table in a private room of the local tavern. Brolly Windchime, Christine Sellswell, and Howard Tailor all wore a grin.

"We did it," Christine said. "We have twice-a-month merchant caravans coming in."

"My merchants are planning to expand into finer goods. Steel and tin can only go so far." Howard, just like Christine, spoke with an upbeat tone. "Brolly?"

"We're a little behind on the fort. We're going to need border walls for the city and more guards, but with at least one dungeon now, we can expect to see adventurers arriving with those caravans." Brolly smirked at his two co-leaders. "And, it's not like we don't have coin to pay for guards."

"Tax rise again? You're going to choke us, Brolly," Christine said, knowing that she had the best chance of convincing the captain of the guard to try something else.

Howard just laughed at the sour expressions on both his co-leaders of the town. "You don't get it. We're going to have adventurers coming through. We'll be lucky if we can make enough talisman to keep up, to say nothing of the demand for healing potions and other equipment. We're going to need to get Brother Rupert in here, I think."

"You think that canny priest will let us into his coffers?" Brolly asked.

"He will if he wants my caravans to bring him supplies. A failed delivery or two should see him start to run short on incense, holy wine, and patience." The glint in Christine's eyes told both her co-leaders that they never wanted this woman upset with them.

"If he refuses, we could always look for another priest and arrange a new church in town." Howard reached to his pocket and pulled out a small ledger. "My cousin is a cleric in the Sisters of Grace—we could have ourselves a far more willing priestess to undercut Rupert's prices within two weeks."

Christine paused and tilted her head a little to the side. "Sisters of Grace? Isn't that a fertility sect?" At Howard's nod, she chortled. "I'd pay for a shrine at the very least. Talk to your cousin, I'll talk to Rupert. It doesn't hurt to hedge our bets."

"Fertility, Christine? Planning to settle down at last?" Brolly asked.

"More people in town means more goods trade, sir knight. More goods trade means more gold and means you get more funding too. A fertility god blessing us would be far better than abyssfire and brimstone that Rupert feeds us."

All three went quiet as a hum ran through the room.

"It's waking?" Christine asked.

"Of course it's waking. The dungeons are here." Brolly reached his hand forward and put it palm down in the middle of the table.

Reaching out at the same time Christine did, Howard smiled and tried to tap down his excitement. "To Northridge."