“Are you okay?”

“Make sure you stay still. Otherwise, I can’t treat your injuries.”

“Ely, can you stand?”

“Stop yelling! Look carefully at the ground. Sheesh, you almost got yourself killed!”

“Hey, let’s go! Jump over the hole so we can continue progressing. The adventure’s only beginning! Hurry up or I’ll leave you behind!”

“It’s… argh… okay! I’m fine! Focus on your battle! Even in my injured state, I can handle them! Don’t worry about… ah… me!”

“Welcome back.”

“Hey… what are you going to do?”

“It… it hurts. I’m sorry Ely.”

…

..

.

“Please… please help me… it hurts.”

“… Ely?”

I snap back into reality. A scene reminiscent of eraser dust and weary labor returns to my eyes. A familiar voice jolts me out of my daze.

“Hey, Ely..? You alright man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

That voice belonged to my friend, Mark. Mark Springfield. I’ve known him since elementary school. We grew up together. In front of me, he waves his hands a few inches away from my face checking to see if I had blanked out. While I did, I’m sure he knows I’m paying attention now, seeing me react and whatnot. Mark has always been a playful guy but always oddly attentive. Throughout my years lacking... proper sociability, this guy has always been by my side.

You can say he’s a real friend.

And, yeah, I’d affirm that statement.

“Oh! A reaction. Doctor, it seems the patient has a lifeline!”

Mark jokes around and makes exaggerated movements imitating a hospital drama scene. Wandering eyes attentively gather on us.

It’s embarrassing, so please stop. I get it already.

“Sorry Mark, I’ve just been thinking about stuff. No worries, really,” I brush it off.

“Hmm? You sure man? You look pale. You sick? Maybe you shouldn’t have gone to school today, it’d be bad if you were sick. Not only would it be detrimental to the others’ health, but it’s not real good for you, also,” Mark inquires.

See. At times like these, it’s comforting to have a good friend-

“More importantly,” Mark continues, “it’d be bad for me. I don’t want to catch your sickness! If you know what I mean.”

Never mind, I retract my words.

Mark changes his expression to something more serious and looks at me. He follows my gaze. Unknowingly, I had been staring at Cheryl’s empty seat. Despite feeling terrible this morning, I ended up going to school anyway…

I don’t know why, I still pulled myself together, even after that tragic incident. I don’t know the specifics of the case, but with my conversation last night, Cheryl’s definitely…

I’m pathetic.

Mark notices this and smirks pretentiously.

“Hey hey, are you worried about Cheryl? Is this why you’ve been sulking? If not sickness, I can’t imagine anything else from the class’ diligent loner,” Mark states smugly.

“W-What? N-no way, I just…” I try recovering. The words fumble out of my mouth.

“Haha, it’s alright man. I think she just has a cold man, no worries. Wait… A cold? Just like you? Ohoho, I wonder what scandalous things you’ve been up to recently,” Mark exclaims even more smugly.

“Eh? No way! I thought I didn’t have a cold, either. Mark, you've got to stay consistent if you’re planning to mess with me! Plus, it's a bit of a stretch to connect distant people through a baseless cold,” I instinctively challenge Mark.

“… That’s good. It seems you’ve relaxed somewhat. Also, quiet down, you’re causing a scene.”

Mark gestures towards the surroundings. Eyes were focused on us. I had also stood up unknowingly. I sit down embarrassingly. Mark's right though. I have calmed down, somewhat, thanks to him.

“Relax,” Mark, after waiting for things to calm down, says softly, “I’m pretty sure she’s fine. Also, don’t worry. I know you like her, you’ve liked her since you met during the beginning of the school year right? Your secret’s safe with me.”

Mark sends a playful wink my way. I instantly feel an awful sense of repulse.

“… Thanks.” I end up thanking him anyway. Geez, what'll I do with this guy?

“No problem. If you have any issues, just consult me, ‘kay? I’m not known as the ‘Ultimate Physiologist’ of Rivenburg High School for nothing!” Mark confidently affirms.

“It’s ‘Psychiatrist’, Mark. Also, nobody calls you that,” I retort.

“Haha, my bad, my bad,” Mark plays it off. His expression suddenly shifts to a more serious tone. “Seriously though, no joke, if you’re having any issues, tell me, alright? It’s always better to have an extra ear nearby, especially from someone who cares and from someone you trust. I…”

Mark suddenly winces, frowning in remorseful thought.

“I don’t want a repeat of the past. No way… You got that, Ely?”

“Yeah, of course.” I look at Mark apologetically.

Mark has a pretty ugly past. He grew up in a bad household, to put things nicely. You’d never think of it seeing his careless and free demeanor, but that in itself is a way to cope.

… Let’s not bring up his past.

I’m also not… going to reveal anything to him… At least not yet. It’s too crazy and too heavy. Only I know in this classroom the truth…

The truth behind Cheryl.

The bell sounds and students file in and fill the seats. Since Mark and I were having lunch in this classroom, which is my next class, I didn’t have to leave. I was already in my seat. I bid Mark farewell and the teacher comes in and begins the lecture. When he goes down the attendance list, he calls for Cheryl’s name.

I wince.

The people around me are talking about it too. She's quite popular. I pick up on some bits of conversation with her close friends. They're talking about texting her to see if she was okay. They eventually decide on giving her a friendly visit.

That’s a bad idea, I scream in my head.

But nobody could hear me.

I stare into nothing as I recall the events of past. Time passes by a little faster than usual. The day ends without any additional hitches. I return home and flop on my bed wearily. I shield my eyes with my arm. I end up drifting to sleep due to my weariness. My last thoughts were the need to get some much-needed rest from the nightmare of recent events. I imagined I would never return to that place. The place where I tasted death on a dish, finely served. I didn’t want it. I tried resisting, but in the end, it was forced down my throat, leaving a horrible, bitter taste.

Again, it was so I thought. A fleeting thought.

Again, I was wrong.

I made another mistake.

I awake my eyes. I’m lying on the floor. The earthly smell, the stone walls, the soft torches permeates, reminding me of the distinct sensory flavor I haven’t deathly forgotten. The cold, hard ground presses against my bare upper body. I stare dizzily at the darkening abyss above me as I regain my senses.

I stagger up. The sound of metal resounds when I accidently nudge a-

A curved, sharp saber.

I stare at it with cold, hard, glossy eyes.

I turn my head, almost mechanically, like a robot in need of an oil change. I wish desperately in my heart for things to not be as they seem.

They were. I see a door, made of wood. Two, in fact – a double door. I grudgingly look atop of it.

Room 52.5.

Please, no.

I’ve returned.

After calming down a bit, I gain ahold of my senses. It’s no good to keep panicking all the time. Excessively wimping out is, well, wimpy. I need to calm down and I have to process things with a clear, level head. Otherwise, I’ll never move forward.

Cheryl would’ve said something similar.

I… have to keep moving and living. For Cheryl, and for myself. I still have a severely limited knowledge concerning this place, and if my suspicions are correct, however low the possibility may seem, then I’m in for more than I ever first expected or bargained for. I’m biting off more than I’ve ever refused to chew in my life. Nonetheless, this bitter pill to swallow won’t change things on its own.

I’ve made it this far doing things. This isn’t an exception.

I don’t think I can… remove this uneasy feeling entirely. I must do my utmost to suppress it. This place is way too dangerous to allow any leeway. What happened to Cheryl cannot be a coincidence. It’s extremely likely that her death in the dungeon also inexplicably caused her death in real life. Her father didn’t mention anything about external injuries, stating he couldn’t find any evidence of such. Was it an internal injury? Did her brain stop functioning?

Regardless, it doesn’t change the fact that this place is dangerous. I need to do my utmost…

To…

To survive. Yep, that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll never live Cheryl’s death down. I’m going to seize this feeling and make the best of it.

This might be unhealthy thinking. Even so, it doesn’t matter. I’ll move, nonetheless, with conviction.

I finally notice something different about the dungeon. Above the double door, under the number, there’s a new engraving that I’m certain was never there before. Two black stars are carved, beside each other, in the middle of the gap.

I freeze.

Two… stars?

If I’m correct, then that boss room, the room that might've claimed my friend’s life, the room that we so painstakingly fought to the death, the room filled with terror, is only…

Two… stars?

If that corresponds to the difficulty level… Then this frightening boss room is only worth a two-star difficulty? There must be a mistake… The boss was huge and extremely powerful. I barely made a dent in its defenses. If it weren’t for the fact that I exploited the sub-boss, I presume that’s what it was, then I would’ve never imagined beating it, at least at my current strength. I can’t believe it. Why have I never seen this marking before? Did it only show up now? Did it appear after I beat the boss? And two stars out of what? 3? 5? 10?

A cold sweat condensates on my face. I pick up my blade warily and approach the door. I open it and take a peek inside.

It's empty.

Silent.

There are no enemies in there. No skeleton army, no masked marauder - nothing.

Actually, I take back my earlier remarks.

There is something, on the ground. A rectangular, boxed-shaped container with a sophisticated embroidery. Raised on a platform, it has an attracting design – simplistic yet eye-catching, but also obviously flashy.

It’s a treasure chest. I failed to notice it due to the vastness of the room compared to the little thing. But there's something more pressing in front of it.

A pool of blood.

No…

I stagger over there, being extremely cautious, as empty rooms scream “trap!” in games. After figuring out no enemies are to appear and that the door wouldn’t lock behind me, I run with hasty vigor over to it.

I fall to my knees in front of it.

There are bits of flesh here in there. Traces of something bigger. Something more complete. Something whole and loving and enthusiastic.

Tears flow from my face.

Fuck.

She’s really dead.

I wipe my tears with my arm and clench my teeth, wiping away my pathetic expression. Further ahead was a large, diamond-shaped gem. It's evidently worn, but the original figure still maintains its original shine.

I pick it up solemnly. I store it in my shorts' pocket silently. It's then I also figure out that my injuries – they were gone. The bandages still remain, but the cuts on my forearm, ankle, hand, as well as my presumed broken bones – they’re all gone. I also check my hair to see if it regrew – my bangs that the first skeleton cut off. As I thought, they are still gone.

My first thought is that the dungeon refreshes our bodies upon visiting, something like that. If that’s the case, that’s good news. If I am to lose an arm or something, that would be dangerous, assuming I’ll be returning here in the future.

And I have a feeling I will. Many times.

I still have no shirt, leaving my undeveloped abdomen exposed. You win some you lose some, I guess.

I walk over to the main attraction, the treasure chest. I steadily proceed up to it, sword in hand, and approach it leaving a sizable distance. This is precautions in the case of it being a trap. If it's a mimic treasure case, then I would be in serious danger. Gotta prepare for the worst-case scenario. Times like these prove how useful Cheryl was in being a trap detector.

No good, no good. I’m remembering her reminiscingly and regretfully again. I should stop this habit.

I anxiously latch open the treasure chest. Despite the seemingly fancy looking lock on the front, it opens with no resistance. I guess the lock design is only for the aesthetic. I have to congratulate whoever designed this chest – it looks faithful to traditional treasure chests in games and it looks really nice. Whoever it is, or whatever it is.

Too many questions and not enough answers. Let’s leave that aside for now.

I take a peek inside. Thankfully, no sharp teeth or any signs of imminent death. Inside was an assortment of loot. First, a stylish looking metallic glove. It seems like a power glove. It appears to be made of steel, or so I thought, when I pick it up, it's much heavier than ordinary steel. I suppose it's made of some other type of metal. I also thought it was colored a typical gray, characteristic of metals, but it's actually tinged a dark crimson red. It seems to match the color of the boss of the room – that horned beast. The gauntlet has a sophisticated design artistically painted in a pure gold color, as well as metallic frills around the wrist area onto the arm. It's so expertly designed as if a skilled artisan hand-crafted it. It emanates an aura of strength and majesty.

The second item, or rather item set, as there were multiple of them, are consumables. 5 dark red vials were grouped in what it seemed to be small test tubes with lids. I take a negligible sip from one of them. A daring move, but I had my suspicions of something.

And I was right. Yep, this is a potion. After taking a small sip, I feel rejuvenated. This might be a high-concentrate potion, as it's a dark color in contrast to the light red color potions I normally see in games. It's also in small portions, in small containers, suggesting the ‘serving size’ to be less, also promoting the idea it's of higher grade.

In that case, this proves to be really useful.

What catches my eye the most is something I'm already plenty intimate with. A straight, uniform blade with an extremely sharp edge. Possibly 5 feet in length, so long in fact that when I opened the chest, it pops out, seemingly unfitting its container. And that's the blade alone, with the handle, it extends even further. I wonder how it fit, but seeing that I’m in an incomprehensible dungeon, I won’t question the mechanics.

It's long, black and silver and most importantly extremely sharp. It's a long, straight, shiny blade. I know this blade anywhere. It’s the blade that destroyed the boss. It’s the blade the masked monster equipped. It’s the blade that killed Cheryl.

I touch its edge to test its sharpness, and I barely tap it and a cut's effortlessly born on my finger. I look at my hand with awe. It’s not double-edged, in fact, the non-sharp side is inherently dull – it’s flat. The sharp edge, however, seems like it can cut anything. I try testing its force on the ground. No dents. Not in the ground or in the sword. None at all. No matter how much force I applied, it barely makes any chip in the stone. I try to cut the treasure chest, after taking out all the items of course, and again no dice. It might just the exception of the treasure chest though. It might be designed to be indestructible.

I thought that was the case but the wooden chest is chipped with relative ease with my normal saber. Of course, no significant dent was made. I’m actually positive the chest’s true structure might be as hardy as I supposed it would. But the outer designs and such seem to be as vulnerable as any. I make a tiny chip in it with my normal saber, but with this new sword, I can’t seem to do anything at all.

Yet, it cut me so effortlessly? How is that?

It might have the power to cut only living things or flesh. If that’s the case, it’ll be extremely helpful in lots of ways and also not as convenient in many others. Nonetheless, it’s a great weapon. I keep it on hand and discard my secondary dagger that has begun to dull. If there’s a blade sharpener somewhere, that’d be very useful. I don’t think the 'flesh blade' would need any sharpening – it seems to be permanently sharp.

Ding dong bing bong.

Suddenly, a bell chime resounds throughout the room, no, maybe the whole dungeon. A momentary pause, then a systematic voice reminiscent of public service announcements follow. A public service announcement of doom, I suppose. The voice was unusually low pitch as if it had gone through a voice changer.

This voice… is the one behind the dungeon? Is this the one responsible?

I wait for answers and I get none. Instead, I get this.

“Congratulations!” The voice echoes soothingly as if it were an airline trip, despite the deep tone. “The first boss room of the dungeon has been conquered! The conqueror is 17-year-old Ely Codeman. Please give a round of applause to the dungeon’s first conqueror!”

A fake applause like in sit-com shows blares out in the background. After an awkward amount of time, it fades away.

“The first boss spoils have been claimed. The first boss room conquered was a two-star boss room. I encourage everyone to do their best to survive in this dream dungeon!”

This… dream dungeon? So it’s confirmed that this is a dungeon accessed only in dreams?

“Watch out for more announcement milestones like this! I will also present this announcement to incoming dungeon hunters that aren’t present for this current announcement. There are 1,000,000 rooms with exactly 50,000 boss rooms, so don’t feel discouraged if you missed out on this opportunity! There are many more chances. I’ve placed lots of tasty rewards in each of the boss rooms, with greater rewards with higher tier rooms! I know you’ll find each item to be to your liking. That’ll be all for me, I’ll reveal more information in future updates. Good luck everyone and most importantly, don’t die!”

With that, the contrast-filled cheery voice dies down. By that I mean contrast to both the situation and the voice modified choice of a menacing, bass pitch. I'm left standing in the empty hall room. Silently, I stare at nothing with my mouth agape.

What… what did he say?

1,000,000 rooms?

50,000 boss rooms?

Are you serious?

There are that many rooms in this dungeon? How big is this place?

Will I ever escape this dungeon?

Will this nightmare ever end?

How long will I last?

Despair suddenly fills me. I never imagined things would be on this wide of a scale. If the voice is telling the truth, it would take forever for me to go clear every room. There goes my dream of leaving this place anytime soon. I didn’t expect much. I guess you could say I expected precisely this – a life of death, a game of despair to survive.

Still, hearing it out loud…

What will it take to survive?

What are the stakes involved?

Is it for certain that I'll die in real life if I die in the dungeon?

Do I need to work with others..?

That might be necessary. Truth be told, I want nothing to do with anybody at this point. The best way to avoid such tragedies is to cut it off at the beginning before anything can begin. Without beginnings, nothing can end. I'm a sore example of failed sociability as far as simple human interactions go. That's an exaggeration, but there's some truth to that. Building relationships might be beneficial to my state-of-mind in the short term, but in the long run, I want to avoid digging my own pitfall.

Yes, it’s common knowledge that heroes distance themselves to avoid it biting back at them. Well, I see myself as a different type of hero. A hero of myself, for myself.

I want to avoid any avoidable pitfalls.

I loathe the loner characters in games and in general media. Despite resembling one myself, I recognize they’re overdone, and in practicality, not very ideal. But when survival’s a top priority, doing things that’ll increase those odds should be welcome with open arms. That may include having reliable allies…

Maybe…

I don't know. I don't know anything. At the moment, I feel that it’s… not worth it.

What I should be most worried about anyway is that my name was broadcasted to the whole dungeon. With the number of rooms this dungeon contains, it’s safe to assume there are quite a number of people involved in this whole debacle. From the ones still living, it’d be in my best interests to avoid such shady and troublesome characters. I have trouble admitting that maybe the surviving remains of the dream dungeon's populace are such people...

It hurts to force this all out but… I need to do everything I can. Steel my heart, my resolve, and push forward. I will survive no matter what.

No matter what.

I will.

As I walk to the door, away from the treasure chest, past her body, past her blood, I remember that I forgot something crucial that must be done. It’s not actually crucial, but I think it's necessary to name my newly acquired weapons. These items weren’t previously named, to my knowledge, so it’d be customary to name them here. At least, it’s customary in games, or the games I play, and... the games she played as well. She would’ve agreed.

I think of the possible names as I walk, and it didn’t take me long. For my perpetually sharpened blade, Cheryl. For my gauntlet, Ringarde. Cheryl in honor of obviously her. Ringarde in honor of the gauntlet from the original ‘Phantasm’, the RPG. It's a special gauntlet you get from defeating the pre-final boss or the final boss before the actual boss - the sub-boss. As far as similarities, it actually doesn’t resemble the gauntlet from the game that much at all. But as far as Phantasm lore goes, the Ringarde gauntlet belonged to a similar mythical beast with origins destroying the original hero’s companion, Merryl. It's a golden scene, trust me. I feel that this name fits the occasion splendidly.

You might think of me rather terrible, messed up even. I named the blade after its victim. I realize the implications, but… I don’t want to forget about her.

I… want to hold on. This is my memory of her, albeit tragic, and it’ll do. When I wield this weapon, I want to be reminded of her. I want to keep her memory engraved. I’m sure she wouldn’t have had any qualms about it otherwise.

In short… I just want to… to hold on.

Hold on, stay strong.

I will do just that.

No way will I die. I will find a way to survive and escape this place, with everything I’ve got. I promise you, Cheryl, that I’ll make it out alive. I won’t let this place stop me.

With new affirmations in my mind, I take one last look at the room, and I bid it away forever. Both in physical presence and in head.

And my head, it hurts.

I previously mentioned that I should stop this habit, however short-lived, of recalling her. I hope myself to be a man of my word. As I close the doors and my field of view of the room decreases, I forcefully close all my related thoughts. I’ll let my blade do the remembering. My blade will carry my imminent regrets.

The door shuts closed. Closed for good, I hope.