There is no going back. There is only forward. The words echoed in his head like the clarion chime of a struck bell.

Wow. Now that was a hell of a gut punch.

Logan sat down. He swallowed hard and pressed his eyes shut. There was no going back. Others might get an afterlife, but he got a temporary body and a one-way ticket into a dungeon core academy.

He thought about the people who would miss him. Upon reflection, it was a rather short list. Uncle Bud would inherit the house and the dogs. Ramon could take over the landscaping business. His military buddies would see his obituary or read about his messy death on Facebook, and they’d raise a glass in his honor. Lizzy, his old girlfriend, had already moved on. His parents were gone.

For a minute he felt alone, a bit lost, but then remembered what Sergeant Major Baker had said to him after his accident. Not every soldier got to go home with a heartbeat. There was no going back and if he lived in regret and resentment, that would kill him just as surely as the mimic had. If he was going to make it here, he needed to find the silver lining. That was the only way to deal.

So maybe this wasn’t perfect. Maybe he was starting out at a disadvantage and maybe he’d have to climb his way up from the very bottom, rung by bloody rung. But he also had the opportunity to do some real good. To save the world—his world—and protect the Tree of Souls. At the same time, his imagination was fired up and blasting on all cylinders. What in hell was a dungeon core academy anyway? How was this going to work? What were the classes going to be like?

He’d been out of the Army for a while, and though he’d been running his landscaping business, he’d always secretly nursed the dream of using his GI Bill benefits to go to college at some point. What the hell. He might as well get a degree in advanced dungeoneering. It would be more interesting than a business and marketing degree.

Above all, Logan was a survivor, and though his choices were bad, he’d never been one to stew or sulk. If these were his options… Well, he’d find the one that would give him the best chance. An edge. Then? Then he’d improvise, adapt, and overcome. His unit had always had to do more with less. He could do the same here. He just needed to be smart about it.

Logan opened his eyes. “So I need to pick a guardian form and level up so I can eventually save the Earth.” He nodded. “The only way is forward. Show me my options again.”

Shadowcroft put his hands together, and it was the sound of two-by-fours clapping. “Yes, now there is that enthusiasm I so enjoy. Feel free to study your options. I will do my part by giving you all the time you need. But you should hurry.”

Logan shook his head. “I’m on the clock, got it.”

He skipped over Putrid Ratling without a second thought and flew by the Stink Slime options—he had absolutely no desire to spend the next century as sentient nose mucus. Next up was the Muck Crab, and though the creature didn’t sound overly appealing, it was a far cry better than the other options he’d seen so far.

The Muck Crab guardian form was perfect for underwater dungeons, and he would be able to summon a variety of aquatic minions. The deadly beastie could also engineer interesting coral traps and cast sand-based spells. The melee attacks were okay, and the physical armor stat was decent enough, but at the lowest level, some hungry dungeoneers might come looking for a seafood buffet. One-on-one, the Muck Crab wasn’t the worst option. Against a bevy of raiders? Logan wouldn’t last five minutes. And again, weren’t crustaceans just the spiders of the sea? He’d gotten used to walking around as a bipedal animal with four limbs and an internal skeleton.

The Goober Changeling was bipedal, and it started off with the amazing ability to grow three inches and add ten pounds to its chubby frame. It was basically an uncoordinated baby troll without any natural armor. It did have the physical ability to turn its fingers into scissors—short, stubby scissors with the blunt ends like the ones Logan had used in the third grade. Unfortunately, as terrible as the Changeling was, he went onto the maybe list.

The Anemic Strig was actually rather promising. Part feathered bat, part mosquito with a skin condition, the two-foot-long monster could suck blood, fly, and swell its body so much that physical attacks would bounce off its thick metallic feathers. It could also summon insect clouds and set up bloodsucker traps, but in the end, the thing was crazy ugly and didn’t seem to have much versatility. It was a one-trick pony with a mediocre trick at best.

While Logan read and pondered, the headmaster sat quietly at his desk, wooden fingers folded. New flowers budded on the grassy knoll of his head. It was like sitting in a room with a Hayao Miyazaki character.

“So, there’s a real problem with all these things,” Logan said, glancing up at Shadowcroft. “You might get more powerful as you go, but my chances of surviving first-level encounters are terrible.”

Shadowcroft adjusted a flower on his head. “You aren’t wrong, Mr. Murray. However, your core simply can’t power anything better. Now, if you’d have come from an Apothos-rich world, like Eritreus, and if you were an Iron Trunk cultivator, C-Class—even a low-ranking one—you would have far more options with a much better chance of long-term success. Better still would’ve been the Azure Branch cultivator, B-Class, at any rank. We have some of those higher-level cultivators at our school. One of our top students in your class is a B-Class Abyss Lord, immune to non-magical weapons, able to summon hordes of devils and demons. He’s nearly undefeatable.”

“And I get to be a used Kleenex, a Red Lobster entrée, or Batman’s more mosquito cousin.” Logan blew out a breath and made his lips flap. “Great.”

The last in the line was the fungaloid class, and just looking at the image of the mopey little mushroom man made him depressed. He took a break to study the leveling system, which seemed to apply to both Dungeons and Raiders, so at least he’d have some sense of how he could progress.

>>

Ranks: All Classes are subdivided into ten ranks, starting at level ten then proceeding incrementally to level one. When a dungeon core or dungeoneer surpasses level one, then advance to the next Class and begins the process over again.

U-Class (Dirt Cultivators): The masses. The vast majority of sentient fauna and flora fall into this category. U-Class creatures barely have enough Apothos to keep their hearts beating. Not particularly hardy, they are easily injured, cannot heal quickly, and are prone to sickness and death. U-Class do not have ranks. This is the foundational state of existence, only slightly more advanced than the dirt underfoot.

E-Class (Deep Root Cultivators): This is a starting hero. Deep Root cultivators have taken the first step to opening their cores to the power undergirding creation and have begun to passively cultivate small amounts of Apothos. They are slightly stronger than average creatures of the same type, but they have yet to commit to a cultivation path. Most cannot form an energy attack.

Elite soldiers or war-hardened athletes might have progressed to this level. Without training, such a dungeon core would be overwhelmed in minutes by even the weakest dungeoneers. The Deep Root cultivators, as with the rest of the cultivation levels, are ranked from ten to one, ten being the highest, and one being on the cusp of advancement.

>>

Logan frowned. “So I’m a Deep Root cultivator, Class E, Rank 9. Some of that is probably thanks to the pawnshop game. Most of that is the Army. Hooah.” He kept on reading, though it was rather sobering to think that he was just a notch better than literal dirt. More daunting was how far he had to go until he advanced to an Iron Trunk cultivator—the basic entry level required for a successful dungeon core.

>>

C-Class (Iron Trunk Cultivators): This is the “average” dungeon core. They are just beginning but are still much stronger than most other creatures. Their bodies are harder and more powerful, and they have begun to actively cultivate the divine energy of the cosmos, putting them firmly on a class/cultivation path. No single C-Class dungeoneer could clear even the most basic C-Class dungeon singlehandedly—a group of Iron Trunk cultivators can be dangerous indeed.

Iron Trunk is the foundational class for most dungeons and dungeoneers because the Iron Trunk class transforms the body in dramatic ways, making those at this class sturdier and able to heal dramatically faster than those at lower classes. Those at higher classes can heal grievous wounds quickly—while those in the highest Class Tier are even said to be able to regrow limbs. Most C-Class cultivators are still too squishy to survive alone in even low-level dungeons.

B-Class (Azure Branch Cultivators): At the third-strongest level, these cultivators are extremely powerful and dangerous. With focus and determination, they can externally shape their Apothos into devastating energy and magical attacks. A group of B- and C-Class dungeon raiders is nothing to scoff at, especially for a new dungeon without much experience. Typically, Azure Branch cultivators comprise the majority of mid-ranged dungeoneers: successful and working their way up but nowhere near the top.

A-Class (Jade Leaf Cultivators): The second-strongest level, Jade Leaf cultivators are extremely powerful. Dungeon cores at the A-Class level are often entrusted with the defense of the most prestigious Celestial Nodes and are almost guaranteed any assignment they desire.

As for the Jade Leaf dungeoneers—even a single dungeoneer can clear a C-Class dungeon alone. Jade Leaf dungeoneers are both masters and specialists of their craft. Thanks to the hardy strength of Iron Trunk and the active cycling abilities of Azure Branch, these dungeoneers are nearly impossible to kill and can effortlessly shape their Apothos into attacks that defy explanation. Jade Leaf raiders often serve as powerful lords and ladies to the Monarch-Level S-Class. They often run powerful organizations or are senior guild members.

S-Class (Heartwood Cultivators): The strongest and rarest class of dungeons and dungeoneers. Every Heartwood cultivator is equivalent to a small army. Heartwood dungeons can span miles of territory and descend miles below the ground.

SS–Class (Crown): Little is known about Crown-level dungeon cores and dungeoneers or what they are truly capable of, in part because they rarely involve themselves in typical human affairs. Some dungeons, however, do achieve this ranking since they are capable of fighting more than one Heartwood dungeoneer at a time. The strongest Heartwood dungeoneer is approximately ten times weaker than the weakest Crown-class cultivator.

SSS–Class (Immortal Crown): Mythical beings with god-tier power. They are ascended masters of myth and legends and no one knows whether they even truly exist.

>>

Logan paused to think about the levels. Both dungeons and raiders were ranked in similar ways. The A-Class, or Jade Leaf cultivators, were like the B-Tier heroes of the Justice League while the S-Class, or Heartwood cultivators, were like the A-Tier. Logan figured it would be like Superman deciding to do a dungeon crawl.

It was strange to think that these dungeoneers were actively raiding dungeons and destroying worlds. Did they know and not care? And why raid these places at all if it was so dangerous? What were their end goals? What did they get out of the arrangement that made it worth the risk?

He glanced at Shadowcroft, who was massaging the grass around one of his skull flowers. “So, hey, old-timer, what class of dungeon core are you? I’m assuming you’re a dungeon core, right?”

“Indeed, I am.” Shadowcroft smiled. “But what I am matters not to you. You must pick your guardian form, Mr. Murray. We have run out of time.”

Logan wasn’t going to press the question. From what he’d seen, Shadowcroft had probably progressed to the top of the tree—he had to be at least S-Class since he was running the show.

But stalling for answers wasn’t going to change his situation. He needed to pick a guardian form, and he needed to do it quickly. The only other guardian left for Logan to study was the fungaloid. Reluctantly, he clicked on the image of the stumpy creature and pulled up its details. It wasn’t much at first glance. Little humanoid dude, about three feet tall, with a red-and-white toadstool head. Not only did the thing look silly, he had bad mobility and was super weak against fire. The little guy was seriously as flammable as a newspaper soaked in lighter fluid. It also didn’t have any kind of physical attack, not at the first level, and its defenses were next to nonexistent.

However, owning his own landscaping business had led Logan into the wacky world of mushrooms a time or two, since some fungi could harm lawns and destroy gardens.

Back on Earth, fungal spores were everywhere, floating around in the air humans breathed. Most were harmless, simply waiting for a dark, wet place to grow—like under a log or between your toes—but some fungi were so nasty it took powerful poisons to remove them.

Logan felt a shiver. Yes, the fungaloid was pathetic at first. But what kind of terrifying mushrooms could it grow down the road?

Logan saw that the list of fungaloid abilities was stupidly short. Almost laughably so.

“Hey, Shadowcroft,” Logan said. “Why isn’t there more information about the fungaloid?”

Shadowcroft cleared his wooden throat. “Well, now, Mr. Murray, that is an unlikely choice. I don’t recommend it. Granted, at higher levels, the fungaloid can be extremely powerful, but very few have ever progressed that far. I’ve had six students who chose that guardian form. One died immediately in the Threshing—his core pulverized into powder. Three were expelled and later slain by various raiders. One did graduate, started his fungal dungeon, and was exterminated by five Iron Trunk dungeoneers. The last student? I lost track of him, though last I heard, he was able to survive and even thrive, protecting his Celestial Node.”

“Six people chose this form,” Logan said. “How long have you been running this school?”

“It has been ten thousand of your Uroth years since I first founded the school.”

That made Logan pause. He read the description again:

>>

Fungaloid: The Fungaloid guardian form is a small humanoid creature composed of a white, spongy material capable of emitting a variety of spore types. Although fungaloids are mobile, in the early stages of life they are weak, slow, and susceptible to many natural dangers, including fire, heat, and sunlight. Additionally, they have few offensive abilities early on and are often harvested by overeager dungeoneers due to their ability to produce highly profitable narcotic, hallucinogenic, and alchemic potion ingredients.

Fungaloids can evolve to hardier and deadlier versions as they cultivate Apothos and refine their cores. These higher-level forms are rarely, if ever, seen, however. This is due, in large part, to a unique facet of the race: Because of the pathway mechanics involved in fungaloid biology, only Deep Root cultivators (E-Class) or lower can pick fungaloid as a starting race.

Would you like to know more? Yes/No

>>

“E-Class or lower,” Logan mused out loud.

“That is correct,” Shadowcroft agreed. “Some students have drunk potions to limit their cores to become a Putrid Ratling, but that is not possible for the fungaloid class. Hence, it is very rare. Please, Mr. Murray, I would suggest the Anemic Strig or, yes, the Putrid Ratling. Even the Stink Slime would be better.”

Logan didn’t comment. Instead, he selected Yes. He absolutely wanted to know more.

More information populated, replacing the initial fungaloid description. Quickly, he read about the Fungaloid’s Initial Active Ability in his Fungal Form:

>>

Fungal Form 1: Harden. Trigger Harden to temporarily calcify your exterior by 25%, reducing damage, though at a 20% reduction to speed. Harden is a stackable ability and can stack up to four times. At higher levels, this turns into Chitin Armor, creating hardened plates of chitin—similar to an insect’s exoskeleton. Light but resilient, the chitin reinforces the body without being cumbersome.

Available at: E-Class, Rank 10+

>>

Logan had to laugh. That was so much like the dumb Caterpie Pokémon. Basically, you could turn yourself into a semi-soft brick. People could still beat on you because you were too slow to scurry away. He rolled his eyes.

Reading on, he saw other initial abilities:

>>

Spore Halo, General Ability: Although fungaloids can become physically powerful at higher evolutionary stages, their most potent weapon lies in their ability to release a variety of spore types. Unlike many caster creatures who use single-target spells, fungaloids release spore clouds that are always Area of Effect. Any creature or dungeoneer in the area will be affected—unless the creature has a symbiotic relationship with the caster, causing them to be immune.

>>

Hey, now. This was promising, or so Logan thought. At least until he read about the first spore he’d be able to emit.

>>

Pollen: Release a toxin into the air that causes slight physical discomfort for all creatures in the Area of Effect. At lower levels this causes irritation of the skin and eyes, difficulty breathing, sneezing, and can even lead to swollen joints.

Available at: E-Class, Rank 9+

>>

Logan was about to give up on the mushroom guy when he saw two words jump out at him. Symbiotic relationship.

He flicked through screens, tracking down the reference. Bingo. He’d found it. He could emit something called Symbiosis spores:

>>

Symbiosis: This is a unique and powerful ability. The fungaloid can create a symbiotic relationship with a host—or even more than one host, at higher levels—giving the host a wide range of unique fungaloid-based abilities and advantages in exchange for leeching off a portion of their absorbed Apothos energy. Typically, Symbiosis is used to find a Dungeoneer Champion who willingly serves the dungeon. In this case, the fungaloid becomes an Eldritch Patron/Fungus Warlock. Though rare, it is also possible to use the Symbiosis ability in tandem with other dungeon cores—creating a unique relationship where a single dungeon could host multiple cores.

Available at: E-Class, Rank 9+

>>

Logan again felt a shiver. Okay, now they were cooking.

Magic and support users were always weak up front, but they paid off in the long run—if you could survive long enough to power up. If he could find a partner, he just might have an edge. Sure, he would need help, and a lot of it. At the first level, he could transform into a brick and he could make dungeoneers sneeze—not exactly a promising ability set—but with a partner in crime, he could maybe survive long enough to truly make something of himself.

Many hands make light work. Uncle Bud always said that life’s burdens were easier to bear when you found other people to help share the load. Logan was going to bet his life on it.

“Fungaloid,” he said, feeling sure about his decision.

Shadowcroft winced, those magical blue eyes losing a bit of their sparkle. “Are you certain? You might think teaming up with another dungeon core would be easy, but I can assure you, no one will want to link their fate to yours. What the description doesn’t say is that in cases of symbiotic dungeon cores, only the fungaloid can terminate the relationship—the host would be at your mercy, and no other dungeon would ever be foolish enough to do such a thing.”

“That’s what you think,” Logan said, “but I’m likeable. And if you don’t like me, as a fungus, I’ll grow on you.”

“Yes, the puns,” Shadowcroft said with some distaste. “I remember the puns were an issue for these dungeons.” The headmaster’s mood shifted, and he laughed. “All in all, it’s an interesting choice. Unconventional. Odd. You will certainly be one to watch. Now, prepare yourself. The academy awaits!”

Strangely enough, Logan was perfectly at ease with his decision. However, he was still human, even in his temporary form. He might have extreme buyer’s remorse once he was given his shroomy little body.

“Now, young one,” the ancient tree man said, “this next part might sting a bit…”

Logan nodded but was in no way prepared when his heart abruptly exploded out of his chest, leaving a gaping hole behind. The immediate sting was actually less than he would’ve guessed, all things considered. The mind-altering agony afterward, however, was definitely going to leave a mark.