Chapter 1: When a God Crashes the End

A silence unlike any other fell upon the battlefield. The clashing of swords, the distant screams, the labored breathing of the few who remained — all ceased. Time didn't stop. The world didn't freeze. And yet, the moment felt like it did.

In the middle of the Dungeon's forest floor — a vast, eerie woodland nestled deep within the lower levels — Alfia stood in a scorched clearing, her dark cape fluttering weakly behind her, body trembling, lungs burning. The air reeked of burnt moss and acidic monster blood. Her lifeforce, already waning due to her incurable illness, was on the verge of collapse. Her crimson eyes, half-lidded and unfocused, stared at the cracked, root-twisted earth beneath her feet, where luminous spores drifted like dying fireflies.

Then — a circle appeared.

A soft hum, a low whisper, like forgotten winds through a crypt, echoed through the trees. A faint glow shimmered into existence, a perfect circle of runes and shifting geometries, drawn not on the earth, but within the air itself.

"...A magic circle? Here? Now?" Alfia murmured. Even her voice cracked with fatigue.

From within the glyph, energy pulsed — not violent or divine, but curiously amused. A breeze kicked up. Leaves danced. And in a flash of light, a figure fell through the portal, landing flat on their back with a dull, non-dramatic thump.

"OW."

Alfia blinked. That wasn't the dramatic entrance of a god. It wasn't the sinister arrival of a villain. It was... someone in jeans, a black T-shirt, a grey blazer, and very scuffed leather shoes. He lay there groaning, one leg twitching.

"Oh good," he said sarcastically, staring at the sky. "Another living world. Finally."

Alfia raised an eyebrow. "...Who are you?"

He propped himself up, brushed off some leaves, and gave her a tired look. His eyes — grey-blue, oddly captivating — shimmered briefly as if catching more light than they should have.

"I go by Nad. And I think I just ruined your dramatic death scene."

Alfia's expression didn't change, but her aura shifted — wary now.

"You're... a god."

"Guilty," Nad said, raising both hands in mock surrender. "But don't worry, I'm not one of those gods. You know, the ones that like meddling or starting cults or dressing like they lost a bet."

Alfia didn't respond immediately. Her body swayed slightly. Nad stepped forward, and she flinched — but he only held out a hand.

"I can feel it," he said gently. "You're sick. Not just injured. Something deeper. Soul-deep."

"I don't need your pity," she snapped, but her voice wavered.

Nad crouched beside her, his tone softening. "I'm not offering pity. I'm offering a deal. I can help you. But I need something first."

She narrowed her eyes. "A cost?"

"No, no, nothing dramatic. Just... monster crystals. Powdered, ideally. I can't use my divine powers fully here, and I need a medium. It's how this world works, right? You guys have rules."

Alfia blinked. That was oddly well-informed. "You just arrived."

"Yeah, well," he said, shrugging, "one of the perks of divine status: instant lore dump." He tapped the side of his head. "Got the full God-tier download right as I dropped in."

She stared.

He smiled crookedly. "I know what you're thinking. 'This guy just fell out of the sky, looks like a tired office worker, and now he's talking about healing my incurable disease with magic dust?' Honestly, I'd doubt me too."

Alfia, against all odds, let out a small huff of air that might have been a laugh.

"You're strange," she said.

"Strange is fun," Nad replied. "Besides, you're not exactly normal. You've got more power in your left arm than most adventurers do in their whole team, and yet you're letting yourself die. That's not normal. That's tragic."

"...I have my reasons."

"I'm sure you do."

He paused.

"Still," Nad continued, "it'd be a waste. A puzzle like you doesn't show up in every world."

Alfia's brows furrowed slightly. "A puzzle?"

"You're strong. Proud. And sick. You're dying, but you haven't let go. You're angry, but not broken. There's more to you than the Erebus stuff. I see it."

Silence stretched.

Then Alfia reached into her pouch and pulled out three glowing crystals. "I have these. They're from floor 35. Will they do?"

Nad's grin widened. "Perfect."

She threw them to him. He caught them with more grace than expected, then looked around. "Got a rock?"

"...A rock?"

"Or a hammer. I need to pulverize these babies. Ritual magic's not picky, just dramatic."

Alfia handed him a metal flask, wordlessly.

Nad stared at it. "...This might work. Wait, no —"

He suddenly grew chibi, eyes huge, face comically sparkling. A glowing exclamation mark blinked over his head.

"-- MINI ALCHEMIST MODE, ACTIVATE!"

Alfia took an instinctive step back. "What the—"

"Just ignore that," Nad said, returning to normal in a puff of pink smoke. "Sometimes my spells do that when I'm trying to be serious and they think I'm too gloomy."

"They think?"

He leaned close and whispered, "Magic's got a personality when you use enough of it. Mine's a troll."

For the first time in years, Alfia smiled. Just a bit.

A small circle of chalk-like symbols formed on the ground. Nad carefully crushed one of the crystals using the edge of the flask. The moment the dust hit the center of the circle, the runes lit up, spinning.

A pulse of green and silver magic flickered upward, spiraling around Alfia.

She gasped. Warmth — real warmth — bloomed in her chest. Her skin tingled. Her breathing eased. Her legs, weakened for so long, felt... stable.

"I... what did you do?"

"Healing. Not full," Nad said, suddenly serious again. "I'm limited until I get a home base and more crystal supply. But you should feel like you did before Leviathan."

Alfia placed a hand to her chest. "...You're right."

He stood, brushing his hands off. "Once I get my own place, I can build something better. A lab. A ritual chamber. Maybe a dungeon."

"You... want to build a dungeon?"

Nad blinked. "Wait, is that weird here?"

Alfia gave him a long, measuring look. "Yes."

He grinned. "Then I definitely want one."

A few hours later, Alfia and Nad walked side by side through the ruins of what used to be a monster nest, now a smoking crater of magical backlash and decapitated chimeras. Alfia's step was stronger, steadier. Her breaths didn't rattle in her chest like broken glass. But her suspicion hadn't lessened.

"You're too comfortable here," she said finally. "Most otherworlders flinch when they see their first carnivorous slime."

"I flinch when they try to flirt with me," Nad replied, tossing a small stone into the air and catching it. "Besides, I've crashed into worse worlds. One had literal sentient taxes."

"...What?"

"Oh yeah. If you thought about committing fraud, the paperwork attacked you."

Alfia didn't laugh, but she almost smirked. "And yet, you chose to stay here."

"I go where I'm pulled," he said casually. "Worlds that are on the brink tend to open cracks in the divine veil. This one? Big crack. Massive. I practically tripped through it."

She turned to him, steps halting. "Then you're saying... this world is ending?"

He considered that. "Dunno. Maybe. Could just be a big war. Or someone tampering with the flow of time. Or an ancient cursed thing waking up. Hard to say without more data."

"You're awfully calm about it."

"I'm a god," he said with a shrug. "But also, it's just who I am. When the world starts ending, I find the strangest person in it... and make friends."

Alfia crossed her arms. "I'm not your friend."

"Not yet," Nad said cheerfully. "But you haven't tried to stab me, so I'm making progress."

She did smirk this time. "Give it time."

They made camp near a quiet stream, the moonlight catching in the water's surface like polished silver. Nad sat cross-legged on a flat stone, sketching runes in the dirt with a twig. Alfia watched silently for a while, then spoke.

"You're not like any god I've ever heard of."

"Most gods want worship. I just want Wi-Fi."

"What is... Wi-Fi?"

"Oh right, not a thing here. Uh... imagine a magical web that connects everyone and lets them yell at strangers anonymously."

"That sounds like a terrible idea."

Nad sighed dramatically. "It really is. But also great. Depends on the cat videos."

She shook her head slowly. "You're insane."

He looked up at her, expression suddenly quiet. "Maybe. But insane people tend to notice things others miss."

"Like what?"

He gestured at her. "Like how you're trying very hard not to hope."

Alfia's eyes narrowed. "Hope is dangerous."

"Hope is human."

"I'm not fully human anymore."

Nad nodded. "Yeah. I felt that, too. You're... something else. A bit twisted by magic, maybe by the dungeon itself. You've changed."

"You talk like you know what that means."

He looked back down at his runes. "I do. I've been many things. God. Mortal. Concept. Once I was literally just a song in someone's head."

She blinked. "That's... not possible."

He winked. "Says the dying war-maiden who just got healed by powdered crystals and sarcasm."

Later, by the fire, she finally asked the question that had gnawed at her since his arrival.

"Why me?"

Nad didn't answer right away. He poked the fire with a stick, watched the sparks rise.

"Because you were breaking," he said softly. "But you hadn't shattered. You were going to die, and the world didn't care. But I did. I do."

She stared into the flames. "What happens now?"

He smiled. "Now? We go gather more crystals. Build a proper workshop. Find out what's wrong with the world and, maybe, punch it in the face."

"You think it'll be that easy?"

"Nope. But it'll be fun."

Alfia rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched upward.

"Fine," she said. "But if you turn out to be lying, I'll kill you."

"Fair," Nad said, stretching out on the ground like a lazy cat. "But if I'm telling the truth... then maybe, just maybe, you'll learn to smile again."

Silence settled between them. But not the same silence from before — not the hopeless kind.

This one had... possibility.

The forest floor of the Dungeon always whispered.

It wasn't the kind of whisper that came from trees swaying in wind — there was no wind this deep beneath the surface. It wasn't the rustle of leaves or scurrying of small creatures either. No, the whispers in the forest were older, deeper. They slid beneath your skin, curled around your bones, and made your breath catch without reason. The Dungeon was alive, and it didn't like being ignored.

I've walked this place a thousand times. Fought. Killed. Bled. I know these whispers.

But today, they speak differently.

Because today, I'm not alone.

Nad walks a few steps ahead, humming. He doesn't seem to notice the way the forest shifts with every movement. The way vines slither just out of reach, how the moss pulses when we step on it. He's too busy sketching something in the air with his finger — symbols I don't recognize, glowing faintly for a moment before fading.

Gods aren't supposed to be here.

And yet he is.

And I... am still breathing.

I don't know how I feel about that.

"You think it's watching us?" I ask, not sure why I break the silence.

Nad glances over his shoulder. "The Dungeon? Definitely. She's jealous."

"Jealous?"

"She wants to keep you for herself. Can't blame her. You've got this whole beautiful-warrior-meets-tragic-fate vibe going on. It's very collectible."

I snort — quietly. I don't want to encourage him. And yet, there's something infectious about the way he says things. Like he doesn't care if the world's ending, so long as he gets to see the punchline.

He slows, crouches beside a gnarled root, and brushes moss aside. Beneath it: bones. Human. Old.

I stop beside him. "Adventurer?"

"Yeah," he says, poking the skull with a twig. "Poor guy. Died confused. Probably didn't even know what spell killed him."

He says it like he's seen it a hundred times before.

I should ask him what he means — how he knows — but I don't. Instead, I keep walking.

He catches up quickly, hands behind his head like he's on a stroll through a flower field instead of the most lethal part of the Dungeon.

"I've been meaning to ask," he says casually, "why were you down here alone?"

I hesitate. "I had my reasons."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting."

"Fair," he says. "But I've learned that when people go looking to die alone, they usually want someone to ask them why."

I stop. So does he.

I look at him — really look. He's smiling, but there's something behind it. Not pity. Not curiosity. Just... understanding.

"You've done it too," I say.

"Many times," he replies. "Doesn't stick."

We stand there a moment. Two people who should be dead, still breathing.

Then the ground shudders.

Not a tremor. Not the usual Dungeon pulse. Something else.

Something angry.

"Great," Nad says, drawing something from his coat that looks like a wand, but sparks like a car battery. "You did mention you attract trouble, right?"

I draw my blade.

Here we go again.