The fire decayed into cold ash. Ambient temperature plummeted, locking around my frame like a rusted vice.

  Pulling my knees to my chest forced the iron bolt to grind against my forcefully healed shoulder. A sharp gasp escaped my throat, swallowed by the echoing acoustics of the room. Against my ribs, the rigid block of my father's Grimoire pushed back through my torn tunic. It had survived the fall with me. Glad to see you made it, dad.

  [ HP: 10/20 ]

  Overhead, the steady hum of the sanctuary barrier degraded into a wheezing rattle—thump-hiss, thump-hiss like a ruptured pneumatic pump. Viscous droplets of acid rain punched through the thinning field, hissing against the dry stone floor.

  Standing required fighting through locked, stiff muscles. The iron bolt throbbed with a dull, mechanical pressure, spiking into high-voltage agony every time my center of gravity shifted.

  The stone pedestal sat in the center of the room. Chaos had masked it as unremarkable, but my new found vision now saw the truth.

  [ Grid Overlay ]

  A sharp pressure spiked behind my eyes as the command executed. A blue wireframe washed over the black basalt pedestal, stripping away the surface texture to expose the pulsing mechanism beneath.

  [ Structure: Ancient Core (Damaged) ][ Time Remaining: 00:29:15 ]

  The countdown froze the air in my lungs. Twenty-nine minutes. The floating schematic ticked down, entirely indifferent to my biological panic. A life support system sat before me, running on a dead battery.

  As if I needed more reasons to feel anxious down here.

  Greasy soot stained the rim of the intake bowl. Beneath the dirt, the wireframe revealed a direct connection to a combustion chamber deep underground.

  Thick, toxic mist swirled against the flickering barrier outside. A dropped shield guaranteed a flood of Miasma and subsequent lung failure within minutes. Less than half an hour remained to find fuel.

  Teeth grinding together, I accepted the grim math. Slum-rats scrubbed pipes; they didn't hunt. But the System demanded a hunter. A single drop of acidic condensation striking my collarbone offered a cold reminder of the failing shield. Better a hunter than a dead man. I'll play your game.

  [ 28:45 ]

  Near the edge of the barrier, a pile of rotting timber collapsed into the mud. The grid cut through the moisture to analyze density. Most of the driftwood displayed as spongy and weak. Deeper inside the pile, the wireframe highlighted a single, gnarled branch.

  [ Material: Oak Heartwood ][ Density: 85% ]

  A sharp yank popped the wet suction of the mud, freeing the unbalanced oak heartwood. It would have to serve as a crude bludgeon.

  [ Acquired: Weighted Oak Club ]

  Testing the weight with my right hand proved difficult. The left side of my body hung uselessly, muscles seizing tightly around the iron obstruction in my shoulder. Since a full-force swing was not in the cards, gravity would have to deliver the force for me.

  The edge of the barrier offered a clear view of the forest—a graveyard of twisted roots and black sludge. A quick scan of the perimeter reinforced the need to hug the faint blue light. Wandering into the mist was a likely death in a matter of time. I was no hero.

  Slum-rats survive by ignoring the predator and hunting for the trash.

  The stench of sulfur and decay pressed against my nose, thick enough to taste. Twenty feet out, near the base of a collapsed stone wall, a soft, rhythmic pulsing of sickly yellow light broke the gloom.

  Distance closed slowly as my boots sank into the sludge.

  Suppressing the burning protest of the bolt, I let the Grid expand.

  The blue wireframe washed over the target, stripping the shadows to reveal the mechanics of the beast.

  [ Target: Flux-Beetle ][ Level: 1 ][ HP: 15/15 ][ Defense: Hardened Carapace ][ Tracking: Tremor-Sense ]

  Ah, so its sound that makes you tick.

  It grew to the size of a wolf-hound and wore armor like a core guard. The shell gleamed with a dark, iridescent oil-slick sheen—a biological armor built to deflect lethal impact. On its back, a translucent sac pulsed with yellow fluid.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Combustible fuel. I could certainly use that.

  Smooth chitin sealed the skull, while massive antennae swept the air, twitching at the micro-vibrations of rain hitting the leaves.

  My oak club would bounce right off that chassis. With 10 HP and one working arm, the recoil alone would shatter my wrist.

  I scanned the environment for something I could use. Something I could take apart. The grid overlay highlighted a ridge of loose shale and wet debris sloping sharply downward into a dense thicket of ferns.

  My father's advice echoed over the rain. Don't fight fair.

  A substantial stone sat nearby. I hurled it five feet to the left of the ridge. The stone struck with a sharp, echoing clatter.

  The Beetle stopped grinding the fungus. It swiveled, its antennae locking onto the vibration. Come on, take the bait!

  Releasing a high-pressure hiss of steam, it charged the noise. Yes!

  Its legs churned the mud, mandibles clicking with industrial rhythm.

  The unstable ridge of debris offered the higher ground. My boots planted firmly in the direct path of the beast. A clumsy stomp against the shale secured my advantage.

  The Beetle tried to correct its course. Blind aggression drove it straight up the incline. Heart hammering against my ribs, I waited for the perfect grid alignment, knowing a second too late meant the unthinkable.

  The Beetle crested the slope.

  Now! The oak club swung at the earth, the tip jamming into the loose shale directly beneath its lead leg. The leverage required my full body weight leaning into the wood. Proud of that patience, mom?

  The loose debris collapsed, plunging the Beetle’s right legs into the sudden void.

  Forward momentum betrayed the monstrous beetle. As the ground gave way, gravity seized me, collapsing the slope beneath both of us in a landslide of mud and slate.

  The Beetle tumbled, its heavy shell flipping onto its rounded carapace as it rolled down the incline.

  Gravity claimed us both.

  Impact against the slate was definitely not ideal. At the bottom of the ravine, a thick, overgrown bush offered a reprieve.

  I kicked my boots off the falling shale, aiming for the dense foliage below. Branches whipped past, scratching skin and absorbing some of my momentum before the mud finally broke the fall. A desperate gasp tore through my lungs. No shield needed this time.

  The bolt in my shoulder burned like a live wire, but my pulse held.

  A high, panicked shrieking filled the ravine.

  The Beetle lay a few feet away, rocking helplessly on its rounded carapace. Its legs flailed uselessly, scraping against empty air as the same armor that protected it now pinned it to the earth. Not unlike myself beetle, but I got back up. I smiled with the unfamiliar feeling of winning a battle.

  The soft, pale yellow underbelly lay exposed to the rain.

  The dense oak branch felt solid in my grip. Unfair and patient fighting.

  I swung the club up toward the ceiling and swung down, hard. Cartilage yielded with a wet, hydraulic squelch.

  The shrieking stopped.

  [ Target Eliminated. ]

  [ Experience Gained! ]

  One life takes another. Not an experience I want to gain. A firm grip on its leg allowed the hefty, slick carcass to slide toward the barrier. The effort strained my uninjured arm, drawing a fresh ache across my back.

  [ Time Remaining: 03:15 ]

  Breath tore at my lungs as the carcass crossed the threshold. Phew. The barrier flickered in and out of existence, a ghost in the rain.

  The beetle crested the pedestal.

  Too large for the intake bowl, the shell needed shaving down. A jagged shard of slate from the rubble sliced cleanly through the yellow sac on the beetle's back.

  Glowing fluid spilled into the stone bowl.

  The reaction hit instantly. The stone pedestal drank the fluid, hissing as it absorbed the liquid. The rock liquefied, expanding into a dark, viscous slurry that reached up and grabbed the beetle’s carcass whole—shell, legs, meat, and all. It crunched and churned like a jaw forged from granite.

  The flickering barrier snapped back to a steady azure. A faint, sickly yellow tint bled into the edges of the light, and the trapped air suddenly smelled of burnt sugar and sulfur.

  [ Fuel Accepted: Low (Scavenger Grade) ][ Time Remaining: 23:48:52 ]

  Dirty Burn. Contaminated fuel was good enough for us. I thought back to the less than ideal meals me and Elara had endured with no parents around to provide.

  The yellow tint and the metallic, greasy air triggered a sharp, horrifying sensory association. The smell was identical. The suffocating fog that rolled down from the Inner City walls every night—the Miasma that caused Elara's chronic cough—was just industrial exhaust.

  The so called divine magic of the High Lords wasn't a miracle. It was an engine, and we were choking on its smoke.

  A hollow, acidic cramp twisted my intestinal tract, reminding me that while the Core had its fuel, my stomach demanded the same. Still, twenty-four hours were secured.

  The skeleton's rations burnt a hole in my pocket, but I wasn't about to let our tradition die here.

  Red bristles in the mud caught my eye while swallowing the crumbs. Stiff horsehair. Dyed crimson. They sat dispersed in a wide arc around the skull.

  My father kept his red helmet plume bright and combed. The helmet was missing, leaving only these scattered torn shards. A flick of the finger cast the bristle away. If it was him, the helmet would be here. He ventured deeper down, my mom had told me.

  The broken sword hilt lying next to bones of a skeleton. With the blade snapped inches from the guard, it was clear violence had failed this stranger. Sorry friend, you don't mind if I take this, do you?

  I took the hilt with a tight grip. The jagged edge of the broken blade ground against the rough basalt of the pedestal.

  Friction worked the iron until the steel held a crude, lethal point.

  [ Acquired: Scrap Shiv ]

  The labor demanded a toll I chose to ignore.

  The glowing, mechanical grid of the Core held my gaze for a moment longer. I'd love to see what makes everything here tick. If you ever encounter a dungeon son, don't fight it. Dismantle it. My fathers words finally held meaning.

  But the silent promise faded as the adrenaline holding my shattered body together faded away. The white-hot agony of my ruined shoulder surged back with a vengeance, accompanied by a wave of absolute, crushing exhaustion.

  My knees buckled. The cold basalt rushed up to meet me. With the Grimoire pressed tight against my ribs, the comforting blue light of the barrier faded into a looming, dreamless abyss.