Chapter 3 : Entrance or Exit?

The first dungeon appeared in America over fifty years ago, right in the center of Washington, D.C. by the Lincoln Memorial. The day was marked in history books as the last day of the Age of Man. The dungeon had been a Rank F dungeon where even a moderately healthy adult human could survive without awakening but over a hundred people had died from the mass panic.

Before that, dungeons were thought to be an urban legend or hoaxes. With it the DC Dungeon being so out in the open, it was impossible for any government to deny. Other dungeons popped up without warning. Creating chaos in an already unstable world, people believed they were massive hysteria. Appearing over the place, scattered about cities, countries, even continents. Some small towns with barely more than 1000 people could have high level dungeons while mega cities had hundreds of lower level dungeons scattered throughout. Each was different in ranking, appearance, even atmosphere. There were rumored dungeons that needed SCUBA gear to enter due to being deep underwater, swimming upside-down to enter the temple within.

There was only one thing that connected all the dungeons : Monsters. All dungeons, no matter the ranking or size, were populated with monsters that dropped magical cores and materials that led to a massive boom in the economy.

Fossil fuels were used less and less in the wake of magical crystals infused with solar energy. Miniature nuclear plants in the palm of one's hand. Walls of dungeons encrusted with magical ores, crystals, gold, gemstones as large as a person's fist. It was a mad race to claim a dungeon as one's own, farming and ransacking every last treasure.

Gone was the Age of Man, it was now the Age of the Hunter.

No one knew why the dungeons appeared, only that with them came the awakening of hunters. Humans that were gifted with abilities far beyond any other. Able to cast magical spells, or do feats of athletic brilliance. Overnight a person could go from barely able to walk up a flight of stairs, to the next morning being able to sprint marathons without breaking a sweat after being awakened. This came with a caveat. Only hunters could attack and damage the monsters that breached out of unkempt dungeons. Man made bullets and arms meant nothing to the magic hardened hides. All that power meant using it to protect those who couldn't. To protect, one had to become stronger.

Hunters could raise their rank only after years and years of training. The smallest drops of experience filled the bottomless ocean that was the rank up bar system. But it could be done. A lowly Rank F hunter could train their entire life and touch Rank A, they only were limited by their own ability. Most never ranked up beyond a simple increase, due to the sheer amount of labor and resources it took. One rank up took over a million experience, over five years worth of dungeoneering.

Guilds took over the dungeons, limiting entry and mining rights. The only way to gain experience was to fight monsters in dungeons, so guilds had hunters by the neck. But guilds needed strong hunters to fight, to harvest the treasure within the dungeons that normal people couldn't reach.

The first generation of hunters were considered gods among men, barely scratching at Rank C. There were rumors of a Rank A somewhere within New York where a permanent dungeon settled in.

But all this didn't mean much for someone at the bottom of the totem pole.

Oz breathed out a stream of curses as she leaned against one of the walls. Her head throbbed due to the nonstop thundering of pickaxes through the halls and scream of monsters. Her body ached after the last six hours of work. She should have taken the penalty for the day and slept in.

Stealing any second she could to take a breather, she sat hidden in the out cloves of the dungeon. Her feet throbbed past the point of tears. While traveling back to a drop off, a clumsy hunter had stumbled back into her. The heavy weight of his armored body knocked her into the wall, causing her to twist her foot in the rumble of stones. He all but glared at her, as if it were her fault he was useless with his oversized sword.

"I hate this, I hate this." She breathed through her teeth. Miserable tears burned her eyes. She wanted to kick the cart full of monster parts and ores down the incline and watch it explode. But any damages would come out of her paycheck. She might have her home and trust, but she still needed money to survive. Hunters had discounts but life isn't free.

Oz groaned again, ripping the dried jerky with her teeth. The salty after taste soured in her stomach. If it wasn't for the constant slaughter and work, she wouldn't mind being a hunter.

There was an unusual beauty to the dungeons. She ran her finger over the smoothed walls. The further one went, the more the walls changed from familiar carved stone to an ice-like substance. No one believed her, too afraid to travel too deep past the safety of the fog limiters.

She distantly heard the yelling out for team switches. Her watch beeped against her wrist, six hours meant it was time for teams to rotate out. She should follow after the groups, their heavy footsteps echoing the well worn hallways. Instead, she kicked her feet up over the cart.

"Loud idiots." She grumbled to herself. With the current teams leaving, she might have a few moments of peace. Instead of caring about protocol, she reached into a pocket and pulled out a much needed stress relief. Tapping out a cigarette from the pack, she put it to her lips.

Oz was an opportunist. Gathering scraps of materials, harvesting the unseen flowers. She was lucky enough to come across the delicate ring on her thumb. A fire crystal shard barely larger than her nail tip. Practically trash in the eyes of others and left between the cracks of a dungeon's floor. But for her, it was enough to create 0a flame strong enough to light the tip with just the slightest dip of her mana stores.

The hit of nicotine hit her, allowing her a momentary release of stress. She blew out the faintly colored smoke from her nose, leaning back against the cool wall. She closed her eyes and let herself try to relax.

"Maybe pizza tonight." She muttered to herself, far too comfortable with keeping herself company.

"HELP!"

She sat up at the sound of the scream, nearly choking on the smoke. She looked down the tunnel, battery powered lanterns illuminating small patches in the darkness. It was deeper and darker than anyone dared to pass once they found the stairway down. She had laid those lanterns a few days ago, the walls still shimmered with ores showing no one had traveled that path yet.

"SOMEONE HELP" The voice came again, further away, desperate. She blew out more smoke as she debated getting up, did some newbie get lost? She didn't remember any newbies in the group this morning, or seeing anyone take that path away. Everyone stayed together in their groups for safety.

The protocol in situations was to exit the dungeon, tell the Guild Rep someone was lost and let them send a team. But usually that was her. She would rather not do a back trip. She groaned at the thought of extra work.

"Damnit!" She finished the cigarette before pinching the ember off. Instead of leaving her trash everywhere, she dumped the butt into one of her little ash bags she would empty tonight.

"SOMEONE HELP! PLEASE!" The voice called out again.