Chapter 1: First Dungeon

“What am I doing? This is insane. I’m going to die. This is insane,” Thomas muttered to himself.

Probably not the best line of self-talk when trying to psych himself up, but that was literally all that was running through his head.

Standing twenty feet ahead of him was a strange distortion in the air. It looked exactly how it had on YouTube, kind of like a diamond-shaped heat haze. Or maybe a parting of curtains between two worlds. This particular one shimmered brown and blue, and as he stared at it, he got a strange feeling there were more colors right on the edge of his perception that he couldn’t see.

Actually… now he was face to face with the thing, it was a lot more intimidating and real than on YouTube.

Thomas’s mouth went dry. Standing there with a light backpack on and his only weapon in hand, he felt every inch the idiot. The two Army National Guardsmen who stood on either side of the magical portal to a dungeon also looked at him like he was being an idiot.

He couldn’t blame them. He looked nothing like the gung-ho Dungeon Diver actors that were plastered all over the government propaganda commercials, the ones that had been playing on loop since the official announcement had come out a week ago.

His friends and family thought he was a little insane for taking the upcoming “System Integration” seriously, but the moment Thomas heard it, things made sense. Growing up, there had always been a feeling that the rich and well-connected were given more chances than average folks. It went beyond luxury and opportunities. They just had… more.

Then, on Announcement Day, they had learned that for the last three generations or so, certain well-connected people had access to the dungeons and had locked in the spiritual gifts that came along with them. Those people had solidified their power into empires and had become oligarchs in their current countries. The gap between the haves and have-nots became wider. Blah, blah, blah, the usual drill.

Apparently, there was real-life magic involved. Magic that had finally been opened to the rest of them plebes.

As a certified plebe, Thomas was interested.

The aliens or gods or… it was still unclear, had announced this in a big, scrawled message in the sky. Kind of like writing from airplane exhaust except it was actual text. It was visible in all weather conditions and able to be read in whatever language the viewer was most comfortable with. According to some rumors, you could read it even if you were completely illiterate.

Magic, right?

Just thinking about it, Thomas reflexively glanced at the announcement and rules which were visible just through the pine trees.

Most world leaders did indeed provide guides, clarification, and a bunch of cover-your-butt, mea culpa, “sorry you feel that way” statements. Thomas subscribed to the theory that governments were going along with it because most of the population was about to gain magical powers and become very dangerous. They wanted to stay on their good side.

To say things had been shaking out over the last week was an understatement. All the more reason he wanted to figure out what his magical power—his “gift”—would be.

But he wasn’t going to be stupid about it.

Thomas had chosen a dungeon that was a good ways out in the wilderness, at the end of a hiking trail. He was surprised that it was guarded, actually, though the government had promised National Guard members to be on hand. Dungeons spawned every ten miles on land, so even large militaries were stretched thin.

That was probably why there were only two guys in camo standing there, looking at him while he looked at them.

“So,” he said awkwardly, as one does when they’re facing down guys with guns at their sides. “If I come out with my arm chewed off, is it your job to call an ambulance?”

“No,” said the older man. He was about Thomas’s age, early thirties.

The National Guard Army solider, a guy so fresh he thought he had just graduated high school, nodded vigorously and held up a big square device. “Got a satellite phone here, and we can call a helicopter.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“If you’re that hurt, chances are you won’t find your way back out,” explained the older army guy.

Meaning, Thomas would die alone with no one ever knowing what had happened to him. But he had already weighed the pros and cons of getting a gift versus ostriching and hoping all this weirdness would go away. Most of his friends and family were doing the second.

No, he was finding out his gift. Even if the rumors were true and some were so dangerous they made your skin like pudding or you breathed fireballs. He had to know.

“Have you two gone in?” he asked, though he kept his gaze on the older army guy.

“Yeah, of course!” the younger army guy chirped.

The older guy smiled, and Thomas got the feeling he had passed some sort of test by not balking at the ‘arm chewed off’ thing.

“It’s just a level one. Keep your head on a swivel. Though… most people bring someone with them.”

Thomas’s friends all had kids of their own to think about, as did his cousins. He had no rugrats, and he certainly wasn’t going to bring his mom or dad with him.