When the light went out, nothing remained but silence – a thick, almost tangible silence – and before me, stretching endlessly, was an infinite expanse of barren land, cracked by drought. Not a trace of water, not the slightest sprout of vegetation. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Above, a deserted sky, frozen, a gray without depth.
I slowly turned on myself, scanning this naked universe, each movement weighing a little more on the oppressive solitude of this place.
— So… this is what I have to start from?
Then, in the distance, I saw it. Instantly, without a shadow of a doubt, I knew what it was: the heart of the dungeon. My heart, from now on. That fragile core which, if destroyed, would drag me to death with it. The absolute center of this desert world.
I approached it, step by step, each stride resounding like a silent vow. Excitement rose in me, mingled with a strange serenity. I fully accepted the weight of this new existence that awaited me.
On Earth, I had no family. Only child, orphaned for a long time already, I had ended up devoting myself entirely to my work, my only real passion. Everything else had faded away.
And now… a senseless opportunity presented itself: to create a world, an entire universe, thanks to that goddess. One thing was certain: whatever it cost me, no matter the years or the centuries, I would repay her this favor. I wasn't naive; I guessed she was using me, a docile instrument for her own purpose. But in the end, what did it matter? All I wanted now was to begin. To shape this world. To give it life.
And then I was there, facing the heart.
It was gigantic, magnificent, of a deep violet. It seemed to pulse gently, animated by slow, almost hypnotic movements. Geometric shapes – circles, spirals – spun around it in a silent ballet, while an unreal glow emanated from it, vibrant, fascinating.
Yet I knew what it was: a blade hidden beneath silk, a dazzling trap meant to attract intruders, to lead them to their downfall. But still… it was beautiful. Strangely beautiful.
I remained there for a few moments, contemplating this thing that was now mine. My heart. And, thinking of that absurd idea, a smile escaped me.
One could literally say I was beautiful, I thought as a small laugh slipped out.
— But well… now, it's time!
Excitement almost devoured me. I sat down on the ground, eyes shining, and rubbed my hands with impatience.
— System!
And it appeared.
[Dungeon System]
Please begin by naming your Dungeon.
— A name?
I brought my hand to my chin, thoughtful. A name… That was never really my strength. Finding something impactful had never been my specialty.
Alright. Let's think logically, as always.
What was my goal here? What were my objectives? To create a perfect ecosystem, capable of generating souls in a loop, self-regulating to perfection. My ambition was clear: to make this place an autonomous mechanism, an absolute ecosystem, without a single flaw.
EcoDungeon? No… too bland.
EcoWorld? Neither. It lacked soul, precisely.
Maybe avoid the word "eco"… Find something more striking, more… meaningful.
Something more impactful, yes… Because my enemies would come from up there, from the world I once came from. That blind, insatiable world.
To them, I would become a utopia. A paradise. But a paradise that would devour them. A magnificent trap, sculpted to suck in their souls.
So why not…
Utopia of the Requiem.
I whispered the name to myself. It echoed in my mind, heavy with promise.
— Magnificent. Let's go with Utopia of the Requiem.
[Dungeon System]
The name Utopia of the Requiem has been successfully registered.
Please now choose your assistant. Ten options are available:
[The Hidden Architect]
— Ability: digs galleries to reorganize the dungeon floors as needed.— Advantages: doesn't need to feed, works continuously, efficient in building and modifying structures.— Disadvantages: extremely fragile, avoids all direct contact by staying hidden in its tunnels. Very poor fighter.
[The Hollow Reaper]
— Ability: master of illusions, manipulates the minds of intruders by distorting space and creating mirages. Lengthens paths, misleads enemies in deceptive labyrinths.— Advantages: autonomous, requires no food or maintenance, excellent for delaying and disorienting opponents.— Disadvantages: incapable of physical combat, totally ineffective in direct confrontation.
[The Mired Viper]
— Ability: deadly venom, fast and efficient in close combat.— Advantages: excellent fighter, formidable in ambush.— Disadvantages: carnivorous, requires regular prey; vulnerable during digestion, a period when she is very weakened.
[The Tomb Colossus]
— Ability: overwhelming physical strength, can temporarily raise skeletons to reinforce defense.— Advantages: unmatched brute strength, enhanced autonomy in the presence of corpses.— Disadvantages: must consume bones or organic remains; becomes exhausted and weakened without organic matter.
[The Ashen Molossus]
— Ability: breathes fire, terrifying howl that inflicts fear on intruders.— Advantages: excellent deterrent, ranged attack and ability to sow panic.— Disadvantages: feeds on fat and oily substances; vulnerable to wet environments or water attacks.
[Abyssal Terror]
— Ability: hydra with rapid regeneration of lost heads.— Advantages: high resistance, constant regeneration in aquatic environments.— Disadvantages: needs a source of pure water and prey; if food is lacking, some heads temporarily die; without pure water, it weakens considerably.
[The Horned Devourer]
— Ability: devastating charge capable of destroying nearly everything in its path.— Advantages: grows stronger when it bleeds, a true scourge on the battlefield.— Disadvantages: feeds on raw flesh; gets sick and weakens quickly if not fed regularly.
[The Thorn Queen]
— Ability: summons thorns, carnivorous plants, controls surrounding flora and can fuse with it to regenerate.— Advantages: excellent controller of vegetative territory.— Disadvantages: needs light and fertile soil; very weak without sunlight or in poor terrains.
[The Grey Widow]
— Ability: creates dense fog to isolate and slow down enemies, captures prey in sticky webs.— Advantages: formidable tactician, ideal for ambush and terrain control.— Disadvantages: fragile if discovered; ineffective without her webs.
[The Ashen Titan]
— Ability: causes earthquakes, its attacks burn and fracture the ground, extremely robust natural defense.— Advantages: living wall, very hard to damage in regular combat.— Disadvantages: feeds on minerals and lava; vulnerable to cold and aquatic environments, risks fissuring if it cools too much.
— Wow… I wasn't expecting all this.
The list was impressive. Many choices, on the surface, but deep down… I knew. At the beginning of my utopia, there were really only two viable options.
Sure, some assistants seemed powerful, terribly promising. That hydra, for example… a real war machine. But I couldn't afford such a risky bet. Not now. I lacked too much information, and the priority was stability. Those formidable creatures all required specific resources, and in the beginning, it would inevitably be difficult to feed them properly. A starving assistant was a weakened assistant – and that was out of the question to build the foundations of my ecosystem.
I had to stay rational. Bet on absolute autonomy. The choice had therefore narrowed itself.
The Hidden Architect… or The Hollow Reaper.
I had to weigh the pros and cons.
On one hand, the ability to reshape the environment: digging galleries, redesigning floors, laying the foundations of an evolving architecture, and even diverting those tunnels into deadly traps. A tangible, concrete control.
On the other, something more insidious: illusion. The power to distort intruders' perception, to infinitely lengthen paths, to lose them in imaginary meanders. A strategic advantage, certainly, but more… vague, less tangible.
The choice wasn't obvious. Both were skilled, each in their field. But in the end, what tipped the balance… was their appearance.
I saw them displayed on the system, materialized as animated icons.
The Hidden Architect? A slender creature, with oversized limbs, almost arachnid, all in broken angles. Its skin seemed made of a whitish, chalky substance, and its tiny eyes glowed with a sickly yellow light. Always crouched, always ready to burrow into the ground, it looked like a furtive shadow among the rocks.
The Hollow Reaper? Nothing more than a classic scarecrow. A stiff silhouette, planted there, made of twisted wood and patched-up old rags. Its face was a simple split mask, frozen in an empty expression. It exuded a muffled, immobile aura, with that unsettling presence typical of things that shouldn't move… but might at any moment.
Both were weak. Totally. At the mercy of death itself if ever discovered. Useless in combat, incapable of defending themselves.
I knew it. That scarecrow… that was precisely its strength. At the beginning, no one would suspect a simple scarecrow, lost in the middle of a field or natural decor. Who would be wary of an inoffensive, still silhouette? No one.
And later… later, when my dungeon would grow, I could create hundreds, even thousands. A silent army of Hollow Reapers, scattered everywhere, scrambling the trails, until it became impossible to locate the true one.
A perfect decoy, a living camouflage.
The other, the Architect… despite its tunnels, despite its ability to hide, remained a moving being, a creature that, by misfortune, might one day cross paths with a too-powerful intruder. And die stupidly, without me being able to do anything.
That simple difference weighed heavily in the balance.
So, naturally. Logically. The choice imposed itself.
— I choose The Hollow Reaper.
And it appeared. Right there, beside me, emerging from nowhere.
The defender of my dungeon. My partner for this adventure.
Seen up close, it was far more impressive. One thing is to look at an image on a screen… but having it beside you, in the flesh – or rather in wood and rags – was something else. It exuded a heavy, almost oppressive presence, all the more striking because one knew it was… alive.