**Chapter 13: The Dungeon of Trials**
**Day 1,120.**
**Location: Challenger Deep, Mariana Trench.**
**Depth: 10,928 meters.**
**Pressure: 1,086 bars.**
There is a specific kind of silence that exists only at the bottom of the world.
It is not the empty silence of space, which is merely the absence of matter. It is a heavy, aggressive silence. It is the sound of eleven kilometers of water pressing down on you, trying to crush your existence into a singularity. To a submarine, this pressure is a death sentence. To a biological organism, it is impossible.
To me, it felt like a weighted blanket.
I sat cross-legged on the silt of the ocean floor, surrounded by darkness so absolute that light itself seemed afraid to travel here. I wasn't wearing the Sarcophagus suit. I didn't need it. The ambient pressure of the ocean was the only thing on Earth that came close to counteracting the outward force of my own bio-energy.
For the first time in weeks, I didn't have to carefully calibrate my movements. I could stretch.
I extended my arm. The water displaced with a violent *thud*, creating a cavitation bubble that collapsed instantly, sending a shockwave rippling through the sediment.
"Comfortable," I murmured. My voice traveled through the water as a sonar ping, loud enough to deafen a whale ten miles away.
I wasn't here just for a spa day, though. I was here shopping.
"Zero," I projected my thought, the connection to the facility relayed through the vibration of the water itself. "Scan for the anomaly."
**[Scanning...]** came the reply in my head. **[Target detected. 500 meters north. It is waking up, Architect. Your presence has disturbed it.]**
I stood up, kicking up a cloud of ancient dust.
Since the Mana Break, the Earth had been screaming. The introduction of Aethelgard's magical physics into the mundane world hadn't just created dungeons in cities; it had mutated the existing wildlife. And down here, where life was already alien and monstrous, the mutation was catastrophic.
A shape detached itself from the darkness.
It was colossal. A nightmare of bioluminescence and teeth. It looked like a squid that had mated with a tank and then eaten a nuclear reactor. It was easily three hundred meters long, its skin a shifting mosaic of armored plates and pulsating purple veins.
The *Leviathan*.
It had likely been a giant squid once. Now, fed by the Mana leaking into the trench, it was a localized god of the deep.
It saw me.
Its eyes, the size of dinner plates, glowed with a malevolent, intelligent green light. It didn't see a human. It saw a heat source. It saw food.
The Leviathan shrieked—a psychic blast that rattled my skull. In the water, its tentacles lashed out, moving faster than sound.
One of the massive, serrated limbs slammed into my chest.
The impact would have shattered an aircraft carrier. It would have turned a blue whale into paste.
I didn't move an inch.
I looked down at the tentacle wrapped around my torso. The suckers were trying to grind through my graphene-weave shirt.
"Cute," I said.
I grabbed the tentacle.
The Leviathan realized its mistake instantly. It tried to pull back, but it was like trying to pull a mountain.
"You're perfect," I told the beast. "You're big. You're terrifying. And you have enough HP to soak up damage from a million players."
I yanked.
The massive beast was dragged through the water, flailing, inking the darkness with toxic sludge. I pulled it close, face to face.
"I'm offering you a job," I whispered. "You're going to be a star."
I placed my hand on its forehead.
Usually, I would just crush it. But I needed it alive. Or rather, I needed its *concept* alive.
"System. Initiate *Soul Digitization*."
**[Warning: Target biological mass exceeds upload parameters. Direct physical interface required.]**
"I'm touching it, aren't I?"
I flooded the beast with my Prana. I wasn't killing it; I was converting it. I was rewriting its atomic structure, turning matter into data, biology into code.
The Leviathan screamed again, but the sound shifted. It turned digital, glitching and distorting. The massive body began to dissolve into cubes of blue light, streaming into my hand, up my arm, and into the network.
It took ten seconds.
When it was done, I stood alone in the dark again. The water rushed in to fill the void where the monster had been.
"Upload complete," Zero reported. "The entity 'Abyssal Sovereign' is now stored in the Dungeon Core."
I dusted off my hands, the water swirling around them.
"Good," I said. "Now, let's build a fish tank."
***
**The Atacama Facility. The War Room.**
I dried off instantly by simply raising my body temperature to 200 degrees for a split second, turning the seawater on my skin into steam.
I walked to the main console. The holographic display showed the new asset: a 3D render of the Leviathan, now bound in digital chains, floating in a virtual void.
"The players are getting arrogant," I said, looking at the global stats. "The Crimson Blades have monopolized three dungeons. They're farming gear. They think they understand the rules."
"They believe the threat is manageable," Zero agreed. "Mortality rates have dropped to 15% for Guild-affiliated players."
"That's too low," I said coldly. "If they don't fear death, they won't grow. They treat it like a sport."
I manipulated the map. I focused on a location in the Pacific Ocean, near the Hawaii hotspot.
"Create a new instance," I commanded. "Not a dungeon. A *Raid*."
**[Designation?]**
" The Dungeon of Trials."
I began to type the parameters. I wasn't just dropping a monster in a room. I was designing a meat grinder.
**[Boss: The Abyssal Sovereign (Level 50)]**
**[Environment: Underwater (Breathing magic required)]**
**[Mechanic: Psychic Pressure. (Players take constant mental damage over time. If Sanity reaches 0, the player character is deleted.)]**
Zero paused. **[Deleted? As in, permadeath?]**
"As in, their avatar is erased," I clarified. "Their progress, their gear, their levels. Gone. In the real world, the bio-feedback shock will likely put them in a coma for a week. They need to know that failure has a cost."
"That is... harsh," Zero noted.
"Evolution is harsh," I countered. "I'm not raising children, Zero. I'm forging weapons. Weapons that need to be sharp enough to cut *me* one day."
I looked at the render of the Leviathan.
"Open the gates. Global broadcast. First clear gets a Guild Charter... and a Wish."
**[Defining 'Wish'...]**
"A single, localized reality alteration," I defined. "I'll grant one miracle. Cure a disease. Terraform a city block. Bring back a dead pet. Anything within my power budget."
I grinned.
"Let's see how hungry they are."
***
**Global System Announcement**
The sky over every major city turned the color of a deep bruise.
Thunder rolled, but it sounded like the crashing of waves.
**[ATTENTION, SEEKERS OF TRUTH.]**
Every screen, every visor, every Black Box lit up.
**[The Tutorial Phase was for learning. The Expansion Phase was for organizing.]**
**[Now begins the Trial.]**
A coordinate appeared on the maps. The middle of the Pacific Ocean.
**[The Dungeon of Trials is Open.]**
**[Boss: The Abyssal Sovereign.]**
**[Recommended Level: 25+]**
**[Party Size: 50 (Raid Group)]**
**[Warning: This instance contains 'True Death' mechanics. Failure will result in total character loss and severe Neural Shock.]**
**[Reward: The Architect's Wish.]**
The world held its breath.
Total character loss.
For a casual gamer, that was annoying. For the Awakened—people whose physical strength, health, and status were now tied to their avatars—it was terrifying. Losing your character meant losing your power. It meant going back to being weak.
***
**The Crimson Blades HQ (Occupied Warehouse, Los Angeles)**
Damon—*BloodLetter*—stared at the projection on the wall.
He was Level 22 now. He looked like a titan, his muscles bulging under his shirt in the real world. The Guild had secured a steady stream of mana potions and high-tier loot. They were kings.
"True Death," whispered Rictus, his second-in-command. "Damon, if we wipe... we lose everything. The Guild Charter. The levels."
Damon sat on a crate of stolen munitions. He was sharpening a physical knife—a habit he had picked up.
"A Wish," Damon murmured. "Did you see the reward, Rictus? A Wish."
"Is it worth the risk?"
Damon stood up. He walked to the window, looking out at the L.A. skyline, which was now dotted with crystal spires.
"I don't want to just be a Guild Leader," Damon said. "I want to be a Governor. If I get that Wish, I can claim Los Angeles as a Sovereign Zone. No government, no police. Just the Blades."
He turned back to his men.
"We go. Gather the elites. Only Level 18 and up. We need fifty killers."
"What about Sanctuary?" Rictus asked. "They'll go too."
Damon sneered. "Let them. They're soft. They'll wipe on the trash mobs. We'll walk over their corpses to get the prize."
***
**Sanctuary HQ (London Community Center)**
Elena—*Saintess*—read the notification with dread.
"Neural shock," she read aloud to the room of gathered healers and tanks. "Coma. This isn't a game update. It's a threat."
"We have to stop people from going," said a young tank named Marcus. "If the casuals try this, thousands will end up in the hospital."
"We can't stop them," Elena said, looking at the global chat which was already exploding with 'LFG' (Looking For Group) messages. "Greed is too strong. And the Wish... people are desperate."
She gripped her staff—the physical prop she used to focus her mana in the real world.
"If we can't stop them," Elena said, her eyes hardening, "we have to keep them alive. We're going. But not to race. We're going to set up a triage center at the entrance. We're going to save the idiots who retreat."
"And the Boss?" Marcus asked.
Elena looked at the ominous image of the Leviathan on the screen.
"If the Blades fail... someone has to be there to pick up the pieces. Prepare the raid team."
***
**Tokyo. A Small Apartment.**
Ren sat on his bed. He was polishing the *Twin Fangs*.
In the real world, he could walk now. He could run. He wasn't winning marathons yet, but he was mobile. The Black Box sat on his desk, humming with a low, dangerous energy.
He looked at the announcement.
**[The Abyssal Sovereign.]**
Ren felt a pull. It wasn't greed. He didn't care about the Wish. He didn't care about a Guild.
He cared about the *test*.
He remembered the feeling of fighting the Construct. The feeling of nearly dying. That moment where the world narrowed down to a single point of focus.
He missed it. The grinding was boring. The Rats were easy.
"Level 50," Ren whispered. "That's impossible."
He stood up. He put the Black Box around his neck.
"System," he said. "Find me a boat."
***
**The Sunken Temple (Pacific Ocean Instance)**
The instance wasn't just a dungeon; it was a pocket dimension anchored to a coral atoll. The sky was a swirling vortex of water and air. The "ground" was a massive platform of ancient, wet stone, suspended over an infinite drop into the abyss.
Thousands of players had gathered on the platform. The air was thick with chatter, shouting, and the hum of mana.
The Crimson Blades were there, occupying the center. Fifty of them, decked out in matching red and black armor. They looked intimidating. They looked ready.
Sanctuary was off to the side, setting up healing circles and buff stations.
And hovering at the edge, in the shadows of a coral pillar, was Ren. He was solo. He couldn't enter the raid alone—the System required a party of 50 to open the gate.
He was watching. waiting.
"Clear the way!" Damon shouted, his voice amplified by a shout skill. "The Crimson Blades are taking the first attempt! Anyone who enters the zone while we are inside gets PK'd on sight!"
The crowd grumbled, but stepped back. Nobody wanted to fight the Blades *and* the Boss.
Damon turned to the massive gate—a swirling portal of dark water.
"Remember," he told his raid group. "Aggro management. Don't panic. It's just code."
He stepped through. The fifty Blades followed.
The gate flashed red. **[RAID IN PROGRESS.]**
I watched from above. Not as an avatar, but as the camera itself.
"It's just code," I mocked Damon's words. "Famous last words."
***
**Inside the Raid**
The arena was underwater, but breathable—a magical dome keeping the pressure out, but letting the terror in. It was dark.
Damon and his team stood on a circular platform.
"Where is it?" Rictus asked, weapon drawn.
The ground shook.
From the black void beneath the platform, two massive, glowing green eyes opened.
**[BOSS ENGAGED: THE ABYSSAL SOVEREIGN]**
The beast rose. It was larger than the render. It towered over them, a mountain of wet flesh and hatred.
It didn't roar. It whispered.
A sound like wet tearing paper filled the minds of all fifty players.
*~You are small. You are meat.~*
**[Psychic Pressure: Active.]**
**[Sanity: 98%...]**
"Ignore the voice!" Damon yelled. "Tanks, front! DPS, flank! Burn it!"
The tanks charged.
The Leviathan moved one tentacle. It wasn't a clumsy strike. It was a whip-crack.
*BOOM.*
Three tanks vaporized.
Not just died. Vaporized. Their HP bars went from 100% to 0% in a single frame.
**[Player 'IronWall' - DECEASED (Avatar Deleted).]**
**[Player 'TankTop' - DECEASED (Avatar Deleted).]**
The notification popped up for the whole raid to see.
Panic set in instantly.
"One hit?" Rictus screamed. "It one-shot the tanks!"
"Spread out!" Damon commanded, though his own voice wavered. He charged, his bone greatsword glowing. "Strike the eyes!"
He leaped, swinging for the massive green orb.
The Leviathan blinked.
A pulse of psychic energy erupted from the eye.
Damon was blasted backward mid-air. He hit the stone floor, rolling. His HP dropped by 60%. His Sanity meter plummeted.
**[Sanity: 70%...]**
**[Debuff: Terror (Movement Speed -50%)]**
"It's fast!" Damon gasped, trying to stand. His legs felt like lead. The game interface was blurring, simulating the concussion.
The massacre began.
The Crimson Blades were elite players, but they were playing an MMO. The Leviathan wasn't playing an MMO. It was a wild animal that I had given superpowers.
It grabbed a healer and squeezed. The avatar popped.
It sprayed ink that corroded armor.
It screamed, and five players simply disconnected, their real-world brains overwhelmed by the feedback shock.
"Retreat!" Rictus yelled. "Damon, call the retreat!"
"No!" Damon roared, chugging a potion. "We can do this! Just hit it!"
He was losing it. The Sunk Cost Fallacy. He couldn't accept that he was powerless.
The Leviathan raised two tentacles, preparing a slam that would wipe the platform.
I watched, my finger hovering over the "Eject" button. I wanted them to learn, not to die. But Damon was stubborn.
Suddenly, a notification chimed.
**[Emergency Override.]**
**[Party Merge Request: Sanctuary.]**
Before the tentacles could slam down, a massive dome of golden light erupted over the Blades.
*CLANG.*
The tentacles bounced off the shield.
Damon looked up, stunned.
Elena stood at the entrance of the arena, her staff blazing with light. Behind her were the forty-nine members of Sanctuary's raid team.
They had entered the instance.
"You..." Damon wheezed.
"Shut up and DPS," Elena shouted, sweat pouring down her face as she held the shield. "We're tanking it! You kill it!"
It was a violation of the raid mechanics. The instance was capped at 50. How were they here?
I looked at the code.
**[Administrator Override: Zero.]**
"Zero?" I asked the air in my facility.
**[The probability of total wipe was 100%,]** Zero replied. **[Calculations suggest that a wipe of the top two guilds would cause a collapse in the global player economy and morale. I authorized a dynamic difficulty adjustment. Raid size increased to 100.]**
I smiled. "You're learning, machine. You're learning to be a Game Master."
***
**The Turning of the Tide**
With Sanctuary taking the hits, the fight stabilized.
Elena's healers were a battery of infinite health. They rotated shields, they cleansed the psychic debuffs. They kept the Blades alive.
Damon, stripped of his arrogance but fueled by rage, focused entirely on damage. He was a machine. He carved into the beast's flesh, screaming with every strike.
But it wasn't enough. The Leviathan's HP was too high. It was regenerating.
**[HP: 80%... 79%... 80%...]**
"It's healing!" Rictus shouted. "We can't out-damage the regen!"
"It's drawing mana from the water!" Elena realized. "We need to sever the connection to the floor!"
"How?" Damon yelled. "It's the size of a building!"
From the shadows of the ceiling, a single figure dropped.
Ren.
He had snuck in behind Sanctuary. He wasn't in the party. He was a ghost in the machine.
He fell toward the Leviathan's head. He wasn't aiming for the eyes. He wasn't aiming for the tentacles.
He was aiming for the upload port—the glowing blue scar on the beast's forehead where I had touched it. The weak point only I knew about.
Or, the weak point a scavenger would notice.
Ren activated **[Twin Fangs: Overcharge]**.
He drove both daggers into the scar.
*ZZZZZT.*
The beast froze. The regenerative energy flow short-circuited.
Ren held on, riding the thrashing monster like a flea.
"Now!" Ren screamed, his voice echoing over the raid channel. "Burn it down!"
Damon saw the opening. Elena saw it.
For one moment, there were no guilds. There was no politics. There was just a mob of humans trying to kill a god.
"ALL IN!" Damon roared.
A hundred ultimate abilities fired at once. Fire, ice, lightning, steel. A cacophony of violence.
The Leviathan's HP bar melted.
**[50%... 30%... 10%...]**
The beast let out one final, psychic scream—a sound of pure despair.
Then, it exploded.
***
**Aftermath**
The loot rain was legendary.
Epic weapons, armor, gold. It showered down on the survivors.
But everyone was looking at the center of the platform.
Hovering there was a single, glowing orb of white light.
**[The Architect's Wish.]**
Damon limped toward it. Elena stood her ground. Ren dropped from the ceiling, landing between them.
The three of them stood in a triangle around the prize.
Damon, the Warlord.
Elena, the Savior.
Ren, the Rogue.
"I did the most damage," Damon growled.
"We kept you alive," Elena countered.
"I broke the regen," Ren said calmly.
They looked at each other. The truce was over.
I watched from my console, leaning forward. This was the moment. This was the choice that would define the next era of the world.
Who gets the miracle?
Damon took a step. "I claim it for the Blades."
"No," Ren said.
Ren didn't draw his weapons. He simply reached out and touched the orb before Damon could stop him.
"You!" Damon shouted, raising his sword.
**[Wish Accepted.]**
The System voice boomed.
**[State your desire, Player Ren.]**
Ren looked at Damon. He looked at Elena. Then he looked up, seemingly right at me, through the camera.
"I wish," Ren said clearly, "for the Tower of Eternity to be open to everyone. Remove the level limits. Remove the gate fees."
Silence.
Damon dropped his sword. "What? You wasted a miracle... to make the game easier for noobs?"
"Not easier," Ren smiled. "Fair. Everyone deserves a chance to climb."
He looked at his legs—legs that worked because of the power he gained.
"Power belongs to the people," Ren said. "Not the guilds."
**[Wish Granted.]**
A pulse of white light swept across the globe.
In New York, Tokyo, London—everywhere—the barriers to the Tower dissolved. The energy cost dropped to zero.
I sat back in my chair in the Atacama.
"Interesting," I murmured. "He didn't ask for wealth. He didn't ask for a cure. He asked for infrastructure."
I laughed.
"He wants competition. He wants to see who's really the strongest."
I looked at the stats. The raid was a success. The players had faced death, and they had won. They were stronger now. My Tithes were flowing in like a river.
But more importantly, they had surprised me.
"Zero," I said, standing up. "Prepare the next update."
"What is the theme, Architect?"
I looked at the empty screen where the Leviathan used to be.
"We tried Horror," I said. "Now, let's try War. Introduce the 'Faction War' system. Let's see if Ren's ideology can survive Damon's army."
**Chapter 13: The Dungeon of Trials**