Chapter 1: When Dungeon Burps
The first goblin didn’t see Phong. It stood ankle-deep in a gutter of black water, picking at something that might once have been a diver; its ears twitched, its yellow eyes scanned the broken street—they slid right over him. Phong adjusted the straps of his canvas backpack and walked past the creature like he was late for class.
A translucent panel hovered at the edge of his vision.
Name: Phong Tran
Class: Farmer
Level: 1
EXP: —
Neither a bar nor any numbers—only a single dash, as if the system itself had shrugged.
A year ago, when the first Gate opened over the Hudson and the sky cracked like glass, people had screamed; governments had tripped over themselves to respond; influencers had livestreamed their own near-death experiences for sponsorship deals. Now it was Tuesday.
The Gate on Canal Street pulsed like a soap bubble stretched across reality. Divers in mismatched armor and branded tactical gear moved in and out, laughing too loudly and bleeding too much. Drones hovered near the perimeter, streaming feeds to research departments and news networks hungry for the next miracle mineral or pre-collapse relic. The era already had a name: Modern Day Gold Rush.
Gold just happened to bite back.
Phong stepped through the Gate; the world inverted with a soft, nauseating tug, like being pulled through warm syrup. Then he was standing in the ruin-town again. Floor One: Eastern Habitat Cluster 7, according to Columbia’s Dungeon Cartography Department. To everyone else, it was Goblin Block.
Crumbling stone buildings leaned over narrow streets; moss swallowed rooftops. Faded murals depicted a civilization no Earth historian recognized: tall, antler-crowned figures carved into sandstone, their faces chiseled away by time. Neither skyscrapers nor wires nor tech—just bones. Bones of something old. Ancient.
Goblins skittered through alleys: three feet tall, green-gray skin, crude blades. They hissed and bickered; they ignored him. One bumped into his leg, glanced up, blinked, then scurried away. Phong didn’t smile; he’d stopped finding it funny months ago.
Being invisible to low-level mobs was the only thing his class gave him. There were not active skills, passives, or any stat boosts he could feel—only this strange, system-blessed irrelevance. Phong would have chosen a combat class, or even a chef class if he could. But alas, the class system was randomized, so people with production class like him were destined to be irrelevant.
He walked into the central square, where a half-collapsed fountain served as a makeshift trading post. A cluster of divers were farming respawn points, pulling goblins from a side street, cutting them down, then waiting for the trickle of system notifications. A girl in mismatched leather armor wiped her blade on a rag; a guy in a varsity jacket argued about loot rights.
Phong dropped his pack onto the fountain ledge. “Battery packs,” he called out. “For flashlights and fans. Two for ten. Thick socks, moisture-wicking. Battery banks. Energy drinks, cold sodas. Yes, still cold.”
Heads turned—not because he was important, but because he was convenient.
A lanky diver jogged over. “You got electrolyte tabs?”
“Cherry or lime>”
“Lime.”
Transaction complete; Cash App pinged. Modern problems, modern dungeon.
Phong worked quickly, trading small comforts for small margins. It wasn’t glorious, but it paid rent to his aunt and uncle back in Queens; it helped him finish a degree he already knew was useless. Three years into Urban Planning. Now entire cities were studying dungeon zoning permits instead.
A shadow fell across his goods. “Yo.”
Phong didn’t look up immediately; he recognized the voice. Joshua Harlan—university golden boy, son of a major sponsor at the university they attended.
Phong finished handing a pack of AA batteries to a diver before raising his eyes. Three of them: branded armor with sponsor patches, fresh gear, clean blades—the kind of divers who had farmed Goblin Block often enough to think that meant superiority.
Josh cracked his knuckles. “You setting up shop in our farming spot again, Tran?”
Phong kept his tone even. “Public square.”
The guy grinned. “Public my ass. We keep this area safe. Goblin density stable. That’s infrastructure.”
“Didn’t know goblin murder came with zoning rights.”
A few divers nearby snorted; the grin vanished.
“Protection fee,” the second one said. “Twenty percent.”
Phong looked at his backpack, then at the thin stack of bills he’d earned so far. “I can’t afford that.”
The tallest one stepped closer. “Then you can’t afford to be here.”
A goblin darted between them, shrieking. None of the three bullies noticed it; Phong did. He also noticed how it didn’t notice him. Josh punched the goblin’s head clean in, skull cracking, green blood splashing everywhere—pure intimidation—then he grabbed Phong by the collar. “Maybe we’ll take payment in merchandise.”
A blade of light slid between them: a slender rapier, translucent and humming, pressed gently against the bully’s wrist; he froze.
A woman’s voice, calm and edged like glass, cut through the square. “Let him go.”
She stood behind them, dark hair pulled back, leather coat cut somewhere between fencing attire and vigilante cosplay. A slim domino mask concealed her eyes, but not the authority in her posture. The psychic rapier shimmered in her hand. A second flicker of force tugged at the bully’s collar. Telekinesis, subtle but unmistakable.
“Mindblade,” someone whispered.
One in ten million—one of the rarest classes ever recorded in the human population.
The tallest bully swallowed. “This isn’t your business.”
“Harassment inside an active dungeon?” she said lightly. “Seems like everyone’s business.”
Her rapier tilted a fraction; the message was clear. They backed off, muttering, pride wounded but survival instincts still intact.
When they were gone, the rapier dissolved into motes of light. She turned to Phong; up close, he recognized her. Alexandra Vogel—campus queen, med school, the kind of person professors referenced in speeches. Here, she wore a different name, but Phong had seen enough livestream clips to know it was her.
“You’re going to get killed,” she said bluntly.
“Statistically likely,” Phong agreed.
She studied him. “What class?”
“Farmer.”
She blinked. “You’re joking.”
“I wish.”
Her gaze flicked to a goblin perched on a rooftop behind him. It stared at her with murderous intent; it didn’t even look at him. “…Huh,” she murmured.
“You should hire security,” she said after a moment. “Or join a team, if you want to continue this kind of work.”
“I can’t afford a bodyguard.”
“That wasn’t a joke.”
“Neither was mine.”
For a second, something in her expression softened. Then the vigilante mask slid back into place. She picked up a can from his cooler. “Energy drink.”
“Four.”
She tapped her phone; payment pinged. As she turned to leave, she paused.
“Next time,” she said, “I might not be around.”
Then she vanished down a side street, goblins scattering before her psychic blade. Phong exhaled; she was probably right.
He’d been naive to think an ordinary guy like him could make a living as a shovel vendor in a gold rush. Turns out, spots like these were reserved for people with influence—people like Josh.
Still, the pride he felt when he brought his earnings home... when he helped pay back his aunt and uncle for years of care and support... made him hesitate. Maybe a little longer, maybe until he paid off his student loans. Then he’d stop.
He packed up after another hour. Sales were decent; the bullies didn’t return. The deeper streets of Floor One were quieter. He wandered, not toward the farming clusters, but toward the outskirts of the ruin-town, where the stone buildings gave way to fields of knee-high silver grass. Wind moved through it like breath; he felt it then: not danger, or notification, but something else.
The soil beneath the cracked cobblestones near the edge of town looked darker than usual. Richer. He crouched, pressed his palm against it. For a split second, the world sharpened; he could feel moisture levels, density, nutrients. Then it was gone. There was neither a system window nor an unlocked skill—only a phantom sensation, like remembering a dream.
“Hey, farmboy!” A booming voice snapped him out of it. Phong looked up. A massive man in reinforced gauntlets and street-legal boxing boots strode toward him, armor scuffed, grin wide; he carried a tower shield like it weighed nothing. Dominic Torres. Class: Judgenaut. Semi-pro boxer turned dungeon diver—built like a tank, smiling like a golden retriever.
“Tell me you saved me one,” Dominic called out.
Phong straightened slowly. “Depends.”
Dominic pointed dramatically at the cooler. “Pepsi Max. Please tell me you didn’t sell out.”
Phong reached into the ice, pulled out a single cold can, and held it up; Dominic’s eyes lit like he’d found treasure.
“Brother,” he said reverently, “you are a saint.”
Phong tossed him the can. As Dominic cracked it open, the metallic hiss echoed across the empty field. Somewhere beyond the silver grass, something massive shifted; the ground trembled.
Dominic paused mid-sip. “…You feel that?”
Phong did. This time, when his palm brushed the earth, the soil pulsed back. Phong knew that tremor: a shifting event.
The dungeon didn’t obey tectonics; it didn’t care about conservation of mass; it didn’t even pretend to be acquainted with Earth physics. Sometimes Floor One would burp, vomiting a slice of some lower biome upward while swallowing part of itself back down, like a bovine bringing up grass to chew again. Tropical marsh became frozen tundra overnight; ruin-town turned into coral forest. Divers who didn’t move fast enough disappeared into places their levels had no business surviving.
The ground heaved again; silver grass rippled violently, then flattened as if something enormous had rolled beneath it. Dominic’s grin vanished. “Oh, hell no.”
“Run,” Phong said; he didn’t need to say it twice. The air warped. The skyline of crumbling sandstone flickered, half the buildings phasing into jagged obsidian spires before snapping back. A fissure tore open through the square behind them, goblins shrieking as they tumbled into a red-glowing abyss that hadn’t existed seconds earlier. Divers screamed; system notifications cascaded in the air, glitching and overlapping.
WARNING: ENVIRONMENTAL RESTRUCTURING
WARNING: FLOOR INSTABILITY
Phong ran, not toward the Gate—that would already be clogged—but toward the outer ridges, where terrain tended to settle instead of collapse. The soil buckled under his feet; Dominic swore, then simply scooped Phong up one-handed like he weighed nothing.
“Bro, you are not dying over twenty-dollar batteries!”
Phong’s world tilted as Dominic slung him over his shoulder like a sack of rice. The sky tore; there was no other word for it. Blue fractured into something darker; a shadow passed overhead, too large to be a creature and too deliberate to be random. Then the roar came—through the air, through bone. It ripped across the landscape like a god dragging a blade over glass.
Every diver in sight dropped. Dominic staggered mid-stride; his shield slipped from his grip. Phong felt the sound hit him a heartbeat later. Sound became pressure; pressure became knives. He didn’t hear himself scream.
Blood burst from his nose first, then his ears. His vision exploded red as capillaries ruptured in his eyes. His mouth filled with copper; he tasted iron, bile, dirt. Something warm ran down his neck from his scalp; his lungs convulsed; even the edges of his vision seemed to bleed. It felt like the roar had reached inside him and tried to wring him dry.
Dimly, he was aware that Dominic had collapsed, still trying to shield him with his body even as unconsciousness dragged the giant down. Phong hit the ground; the earth beneath his cheek felt… alive. For one terrifying instant, he thought the dungeon was swallowing him. His thoughts fragmented: This is it. Level 1. Farmer. Losing his life in silent irrelevancy.
The roar cut off as abruptly as it had begun. Phong lay there twitching, blood seeping from his eyes, nose, ears, lips. Even his tear ducts burned; he tried to inhale and felt something tear in his chest. A hair closer; one more second of that sound and he would have burst like an overripe fruit.
Footsteps approached—slow, careful. “Look at that,” a familiar voice said. Josh. Phong couldn’t move; he could barely see. One eye was swollen shut; the other painted the world in smeared red.
“Told you he’d get what was coming,” another muttered.
“Mind Blade bitch is out cold somewhere,” the third said. “Whole floor dropped. Perfect timing.”
A boot nudged his ribs; he felt it distantly, like it was happening to someone else.
“Still breathing.”
“Shame.”
They didn’t hesitate this time: a kick to his stomach—something cracked. A stomp on his shoulder, another to his face. Pain flared bright, then vanished under the greater agony already flooding his nerves; he tried to curl up, but his body wouldn’t answer.
They grabbed his backpack and ripped it open; cans spilled into the grass. “Protection fee,” the tall one sneered.
A fist slammed into his jaw; that one he felt. White light exploded behind his eyes. Another punch, another. Blood sprayed the silver grass dark.
“You think you’re special?” the bully hissed. “Walking around like mobs don’t see you? Freak.”
A heel ground into his hand; something snapped in his fingers. Phong almost wanted to laugh. Special? He was a Level 1 Farmer who sold socks.
A distant part of him registered heavy footsteps—fast, angry. “HEY!” Dominic’s voice—ragged but thunderous. The bullies froze—too late.
The first one flew sideways as Dominic barreled into him like a freight train, gauntleted fist driving into ribs with a wet crunch. The second raised a blade; a shield smashed into his face. The third tried to run; Dominic caught him by the back of his sponsor-branded armor and drove him into the ground hard enough to crater stone.
“YOU,” Dominic roared, eyes bloodshot, blood still leaking from his own ears, “TOUCHED. MY. FRIEND?”
Each word landed with another impact. Somewhere beyond the haze, Phong thought he saw a flicker of translucent light, like a rapier forming in unsteady air. Alexandra, maybe, dragging herself upright through the aftermath. But the world was fading; sound tunneled; Dominic’s shouts grew distant. The sky above him flickered again; for a split second, as consciousness slipped, Phong felt the soil beneath his body pulse once more. Warmth seeped into him from the ground itself, threading through cracked ribs and ruptured vessels like roots searching for water.
Then everything went black.