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"Stop squirming, or I’ll give you a reason to bleed," Vera snapped, her voice echoing through the cold, metallic corridor.
She didn't just grab me; she slammed me against the reinforced wall. The impact knocked the wind out of my lungs, and her hand clamped around my throat—not enough to kill, but enough to let me know she could. Her fingers were ice cold, smelling faintly of expensive ozone and sterile chemicals.
"What the hell are you?" she demanded, leaning in so close I could see the predatory glint in her pupils. "You're not a rat. You're not a goblin. You're something... wrong."
I clawed at her wrist, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "I'm... just trying... to survive," I managed to choke out.
"Survive?" Vera laughed, a sharp, jagged sound. She let go of my neck only to shove me forward, forcing me toward the glowing blue monitor at the end of the hall. "You've died six times in four hours. I've been watching the logs. The Maw doesn't let things come back. Not unless they're a boss, and you? You're a glitch. A mistake in the code."
I stumbled, my legs still shaking. Every time I looked at the air around me, I could see it—the shimmering, translucent numbers of the system. *Level 4. Trash Mob.* It felt like a brand seared into my soul.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, glancing toward the exit.
"Liar," she hissed. She stepped into my space, her presence overwhelming, her boots clicking rhythmically on the metal floor. "You remember everything, don't you? The teeth. The fire. The feeling of your ribs snapping. You're looping, Jessa. And the dungeon is starting to notice."
I froze. "How do you know my name?"
"I know everything that enters the Maw. I'm the one who sells the maps, the gear, and the souls," Vera said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. She reached out, her thumb brushing my jawline with a touch that felt more like a threat than a caress. "Right now, you're the most valuable piece of trash in this entire hole. But there's a problem."
She jerked my head toward the monitor. A red timer was ticking down in the corner of the screen. *00:59:42.*
"What is that?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"A purge," Vera explained, stepping back and crossing her arms. "The system doesn't like glitches. It’s running a cleanup script. In an hour, every entity that doesn't fit the dungeon's current architecture gets deleted. Permanently. No respawn. No loop. Just... void."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "You're kidding."
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" she snapped. "You have sixty minutes to become something the system recognizes as 'legal,' or you vanish. And since you're currently a Level 4 rat-thing with a human consciousness, you're the definition of illegal."
I backed away, my mind racing. "There has to be a way around it. A cheat, a loophole—"
"There is," Vera interrupted, a slow, cruel smile spreading across her lips. "But it's not free. You want to live? You do something for me. You're the only thing in this dungeon that can move through the glitch zones without triggering the alarms. You go into the Lower Vaults, find the Core Fragment, and bring it back to me."
"The Lower Vaults?" I stared at her. "I'll die in five seconds! I'm Level 4!"
"Then you'll die and come back," she shrugged, though her eyes remained cold. "Unless the purge hits first. Then you're just gone. It's a simple trade, Jessa. Your soul for a piece of rock. I think that's a bargain."
I looked at the timer. *00:57:12.*
"Why me?" I spat. "Why not send one of your professional delvers?"
"Because they're too 'legal,'" Vera said, circling me like a shark. "They trigger every trap. They're too loud. You? You're a ghost in the machine. You're invisible to the system's security because the system doesn't even know what the hell you are yet."
She stopped right in front of me, her breath warm against my cheek. The tension was suffocating. I could feel the power imbalance like a physical weight, pressing me down into the floor. She held all the cards—the knowledge, the exit, the clock.
"So," she whispered, "do we have a deal, or should I just stand here and watch you dissolve into pixels?"
I gritted my teeth. "I hate you."
"Get in line," she replied airily. "Now move. The clock is ticking, and I don't like waiting."
She shoved me toward the heavy iron door that led back into the Maw. As I stepped over the threshold, the oppressive dampness of the dungeon rushed back, smelling of rot and old blood. I could feel the system humming in the walls, a low-frequency vibration that felt like a headache behind my eyes.
I started running, my claws clicking on the stone. I didn't have a map. I didn't have a weapon. All I had was the memory of dying six times and a woman who viewed me as a disposable tool.
Every corner I turned, I saw them—other mobs. Level 1 slimes, Level 2 spiders. They looked at me with blank, mindless eyes. I was one of them, yet I was nothing like them. I was a freak. A glitch.
*I can't just go in there,* I thought. *I'll be shredded.*
But then I saw it. A small, shimmering rift in the air—a glitch. It looked like a tear in a painting, revealing a void of static and white noise. If Vera was right, I could pass through it.
I hesitated. The last time I'd encountered something like this, it had nearly ripped my arm off. But the timer in my head—the one Vera had imprinted on me—was still counting. *00:42:10.*
I lunged forward, diving into the static.
For a second, the world inverted. I felt my skin peel, my bones stretch, and my vision shatter into a thousand different angles. It was agony. It was ecstasy. It was the feeling of being rewritten.
When I popped out the other side, I wasn't in the corridor anymore. I was in a vast, open chamber filled with obsidian pillars. And standing in the center of the room was someone who didn't belong here.
He was tall, wearing blackened leather armor that looked like it had seen a hundred wars. A massive sword was strapped to his back, and his eyes—sharp, piercing, and utterly exhausted—locked onto me the moment I landed.
He didn't look surprised. He looked annoyed.
"Great," the man groaned, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble. "Another one of the system's mistakes. Tell me you're not here to kill me, because I'm really not in the mood."
I scrambled to my feet, my heart racing. "Who are you?"
"Someone who's been stuck in this hellhole longer than you've been a rat," he said, stepping forward. The air around him felt heavy, saturated with a level of power that made my Level 4 status feel like a joke. "Now, are you going to stand there staring, or are you going to tell me why the hell you're glitching through the walls?"
Before I could answer, the ground shook. A roar echoed through the chamber, loud enough to crack the obsidian pillars. From the shadows emerged something massive—a Guardian, its skin made of molten rock and its eyes glowing with a hateful, systemic light.
It didn't see the man. It saw me.
"Target identified," the Guardian boomed, its voice a mechanical distortion. "Glitch detected. Initiating immediate deletion."
The creature lunged, a mountain of stone and fire moving faster than I could blink. I didn't even have time to scream before the massive fist collided with my chest, sending me flying backward through a pillar.
*CRACK.*
Pain exploded in my spine. I felt my ribs shatter. My vision blurred, the world fading into a dull, grey haze. I lay there, coughing up something thick and metallic, staring up at the ceiling.
*Here we go again,* I thought. *Death number seven.*
But as the darkness closed in, I heard a voice. Not the system. Not the Guardian.
"Dammit," the man muttered, his boots thudding toward me. "I can't let the glitch die yet. Vera still owes me a favor."
I tried to speak, but only a bubble of blood popped on my lips. He knelt beside me, his hand gripping my shoulder. His touch was warm—staggeringly warm compared to Vera's coldness.
"Stay awake, rat," he commanded. "If you die now, we're both screwed."
Suddenly, my vision snapped back to the monitor in Vera's room. I could see her face, illuminated by the blue light, staring at the screen with a look of pure urgency. She wasn't looking at me. She was looking at the Guardian.
"Get it," Vera's voice crackled through the air, sounding like she was speaking directly into my mind. "Get it. Alive. Now."