The Last Nightmare

The streets were alive.

The sun had fully risen now, its golden light spilling over the cobbled roads, casting long shadows between the worn buildings. Merchants shouted over one another, the scent of fresh bread mixing with the sharp tang of iron and sweat. Carriages rumbled by, their wooden wheels clattering against the stone.

But amidst the city's daily chaos, something felt different.

The air itself seemed charged.

People whispered behind cupped hands, their eyes flickering toward a single direction. An unspoken current of tension ran through the crowd.

And as if drawn by fate, Nate followed it.

The Dungeon Gates – The Threshold of Fate

At the city's edge, it waited.

The Dungeon.

Not a castle, not a fortress—but a wound in the earth. A vast, spiraling abyss that seemed to stretch endlessly downward, its depths swallowed by an eerie, shifting mist.

A bridge stretched across the chasm, leading to a massive stone archway embedded into the rock.

Symbols older than the city itself pulsed faintly across its surface, glowing with an unsettling, rhythmic energy—like the slow, patient heartbeat of something ancient.

Nate could feel it.

The Dungeon wasn't just a place.

It was alive.

The Dungeon Explorers – Those Who Defy Death

Standing before the gate was a gathering unlike any Nate had ever seen.

The Dungeon Explorers.

There was no single uniform, no banner uniting them. They weren't soldiers. There was no discipline here—only individuals, each standing for their own reasons.

Some were hardened warriors, clad in battered armor, their weapons nicked and stained. Their movements were confident, calculated. Survivors.

Others were green like him—newcomers. Their grips too tight on their weapons, their eyes darting around, trying to mask their fear.

And then there were the desperate ones.

Men and women whose clothes were threadbare, their skin stretched too tight over their bones, their hands trembling at their sides.

People with nothing left to lose.

Nate swallowed hard.

He wasn't a warrior.

But he was desperate.

And in this place, desperation was more common than courage.

The City's Gaze – Judgment, Envy, and Scorn

Beyond the gathered explorers, the city watched.

Merchants stood in the shade of their stalls, speaking in hushed tones. Nobles lounged on balconies, sipping wine, their expressions somewhere between amusement and disdain.

"More lambs to the slaughter," someone murmured.

"Look at them, clinging to rusted blades like it'll save them."

"One in twenty survives their first dive."

"Still," another voice mused, "if just one of them makes it back rich, we'll all be bowing by tomorrow, won't we?"

Laughter rippled through the onlookers.

Nate clenched his fists.

Hypocrites.

The same people who mocked Dungeon Explorers would be the first to praise them as legends if they returned victorious.

Such was the nature of the world.

The strong were worshipped.

The weak were forgotten.

And Nate…

He refused to be forgotten.

The First Step Into Hell

A sudden horn blast split the air.

A shudder ran through the crowd.

The Dungeon Gate pulsed.

The strange symbols carved into the archway flared with light, and from its depths, a deep hum began to rise—a sound that sent a primal shiver crawling up Nate's spine.

The Dungeon was opening.

The veterans began to move, their strides steady. Some cracked their necks, others checked their weapons, adjusting their armor.

The newcomers hesitated.

For many, this was the final moment—the last chance to turn back.

A girl near Nate clutched the edge of her cloak, biting her lip. Her hands shook. A boy behind her whispered something too soft to hear, gripping his sword so tightly his knuckles were bone white.

Fear.

It clung to them all.

But no one ran.

Nate exhaled.

His rusty katana felt heavier than before—not from its dull blade or worn grip, but from what it represented.

A farewell. A promise. A burden.

The world behind him—his home, his past, his mother's frail smile—was slipping away.

If he turned back now, nothing would change. His mother would still wither away. His sister would still cry in the night. And he… he would still be powerless.

So there was no turning back.

He stepped forward.

The Dungeon swallowed him whole.