The World's First Dungeon Vs Zane

The old wind-up alarm rattled to life just before dawn, its shrill cry dragging the house awake. One by one, the sleepers stirred—groaning, stretching, rubbing away the fog of too few hours of rest.

Breakfast was cold and quick: cereal, bread, fruit snatched without fuss. The table buzzed with low chatter, the kind meant to hold nerves at bay.

Kia finally said what they were all thinking.
"This is the big one. What we do today will affect everybody."

The words hung in the air like smoke. Silence followed, heavy and raw.

Bell was the first to push through it. "Letting it get to us before we even know what we'll need to do will do nothing but wear us out."

Zane nodded immediately. "You're right, honey. Let's all just relax. No system checks, no overthinking until we're inside the dungeon."

Kai, who had been seconds away from pulling up his map like he always did after breakfast, sighed and pushed it aside. In his mind, he flicked his interface to what he jokingly called the off position. For once, he would do as his parents said.

That small moment broke the tension. Teasing came next, little jokes and the occasional nervous laugh. Every one of them carried the same thought: today would decide everything. Even the air in the house felt like it was holding its breath.

When the last crumbs were cleared away, they moved with purpose. Packs slung over shoulders. Straps tightened. Weapons checked again and again until the motions became ritual. Each click of metal and tug of leather seemed louder in the morning hush.

Despite the weight pressing down on them, morale was high. Defiant, even. They had made it this far together. There was no turning back now.

Outside, the first true light of morning spread across the paddocks, painting the grass silver with dew. Their boots left wet prints as they walked in a loose line, side by side.

Ahead, the black cube loomed. It squatted against the brightening horizon, unnatural and absolute.

No one spoke as they drew closer. The time for words had passed. All that remained was the crunch of boots on damp earth, the thump of shifting gear, and the unspoken promise that whatever waited inside, they would face it together. That was until Tarni broke the weight of the situation.

"Well," he said dryly, sword resting on his shoulder, "if this thing eats us alive, at least none of us have to worry about unpacking the cars."

After some light groans at his joke, everybody's step was a bit light as they walked.

Maya was not happy. She'd been in the tactical unit for nearly four years, and this was the first time they'd dragged a normie—sorry, "untrained personnel"—along on a raid. Sure, sometimes some bigwig tagged along to see the "real work," but those people usually came with their own minder to keep them alive. Barry was neither a bigwig nor had anyone assigned to babysit him. And that grated.

They'd linked up at the staging area and moved in on foot. Everything had seemed straightforward, but when they reached the property, the first cracks appeared. More vehicles than expected were parked outside the house. She realised just how much she had taken satellite oversight on her missions for granted.

Her team had circled wide through the treeline to get a better read on the black square building half-hidden among the trees. Standard doctrine—secure the unknown structure before storming the house. That left Maya crouched behind a thick gum tree with eyes on the main residence. A boring but necessary role, since no one expected movement at this hour.

Except there was movement.

As the first wash of dawn crept across the field, the back door opened and five figures filed out. For a heartbeat, Maya thought her eyes were playing tricks. They weren't carrying rifles, weren't geared in tac-vests or plate carriers. Instead, they bristled with swords, knives, and longbows. Armour covered them in a bizarre patchwork: motocross chest plates over mail, leather bracers, the steel gleaming in the half-light.

They moved like a unit—disciplined, purposeful, dangerous.

Maya's pulse spiked. This wasn't some militia cosplay. Even without optics, she could see it in their stride: the economy of movement, the certainty in how they held themselves. Predators, every one of them.

She kept her rifle close but resisted the itch to sight them in. Some people could feel a scope on their back, and her gut screamed these ones would.

Her thumb clicked the transmit key on instinct. "Eagle to Bravo Team, be advised—movement at the target house. Five armed, melee weapons and bows. Repeat, melee and archaic armour. They're moving toward the black structure. Over."

Static.

Her stomach sank. They'd checked comms at the staging area—clean. Now she had nothing but dead air.

Jaw tight, Maya shifted her weight, following the five figures as they strode across the property straight toward the outbuilding—straight toward where the rest of her team had gone to investigate.

Every instinct in her body screamed at her to act. Break cover, sprint across, try to warn them face-to-face. Or stay put like the plan demanded, watching it all unravel, powerless.

Her finger hovered over the useless radio again. Her breath hissed between her teeth.

Whatever these people were, they weren't civilians. They were dangerous in a way she didn't have a word for. And her team was walking right into them.

Barry had convinced Lewis to take them extra wide of the black building. He'd been here before—felt that strange, crawling pressure on his skin—and the memory of it had sunk claws into his gut. He hadn't been able to explain it properly, only insisted that they should circle the building and approach from the side with the white semicircle. Reluctantly, the Staff Sergeant had agreed.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Now, as the dawn light bled into the trees, Barry knew it had been the right call.

Because if they'd gone straight in, they would have walked right into them.

From forty metres off to the far side, he and the rest of the team crouched low in the scrub, he saw them clearly: five figures leaving the Rider house and cutting directly across the paddock toward the cube. At first, Barry's brain refused to match what his eyes were seeing. No rifles. No tac vests. No helmets. Instead—steel glinting, bowstrings taut, swords resting against shoulders. Armour, patched together from medieval steel, leather straps, and even dirt-caked motocross gear.

It should have looked ridiculous. It didn't.

Barry's heart banged against his ribs. He looked to Lewis, who was already gesturing hand signals to the unit, ordering them to stay down.

Why hadn't Maya reported this? She was eyes on the house. She should have called in their movement the moment the door opened. Unless—his throat went dry—unless they'd already found her. Silenced her.

He tried not to picture it, but the thought wouldn't leave.

And the weapons. My god, the weapons. Swords weren't meant to look that sharp. Even at this distance, Barry could see the edges flash in the morning light. The bows weren't cheap sporting gear—they looked handmade, reinforced, lethal.

"What the hell…" he muttered under his breath, unable to stop himself.

Lewis shot him a sharp look to shut up, but Barry could feel panic rising, hot and unstoppable. None of this fit. This wasn't how raids went. This wasn't how anything went.

He leaned closer to Hutch who had crouched beside him. His whisper cracked: "They don't look normal, do they?"

Hutch didn't answer, just kept watching, knuckles white on his weapon.

Barry's mouth was dry. What if Maya never called because she couldn't? What if we're already too late?

And what if whatever was in that black building… wasn't meant to be opened at all?

Tarni walked in the lead, his boots crunching softly against the dew-slick grass. The others fanned out behind him, silent in the half-light of dawn. Ahead loomed the structure—the black cube, sheer and impossible, its sides swallowing the rising sun like a void. Set into its eastern face was the only break in its featureless geometry: a smooth, white hemisphere, gleaming faintly, like polished bone.

Tarni, with his Sword resting across one shoulder, raised his free hand, and pressed his palm against the surface. The cool, unnervingly perfect texture sent a shiver up his arm. A familiar blue screen burst into view before his eyes, text crawling across it like the voice of some ancient machine.

Dungeon Found
NAME: Dungeon at the End of the Beginning
Level: Unknown
Type: Final Calibration
Highest Level Completed: 5
Party Members: 1 of 5

Do you, Tarni Walker, Level 10, Class: Ozzy Assassin, wish to enter the Dungeon at your highest level reached (6)?
Yes / No

(Mate, this is it. Let's gooo.)

He frowned at that last line. The System's tone had shifted lately—more playful, more… personal. It made the hairs on the back of his neck twitch. Without moving his hand from the surface, he turned his head and glanced back.

Zane and Bell weren't paying much attention, caught up in their own little moment—sharing a smile that was far too soft for what stood in front of them. Tarni rolled his eyes.

"The type's Final Calibration," he said. "And for reasons, the system seems excited about it."

Kai stepped forward, his face drawn in quiet determination. He placed his palm against the hemisphere beside Tarni's. His message filling his vision.

Dungeon Found
NAME: Dungeon at the End of the Beginning
Level: Unknown
Type: Final Calibration
Highest Level Completed: 5
Party Members: 2 of 5

Do you, Kai Rider, Level 10, Class: Battle Healer, wish to enter the Dungeon at your highest level reached (6)?
Yes / No

(You've got this. We believe in you.)

Kai blinked. A faint blush crept into his cheeks.

Lily, sharp-eyed as always, caught it instantly. "What are you blushing at, Kai?" she teased, sliding up beside him. Her fingers brushed the dome, and her own message snapped into existence.

Dungeon Found
NAME: Dungeon at the End of the Beginning
Level: Unknown
Type: Final Calibration
Highest Level Completed: 5
Party Members: 3 of 5

Do you, Lily Rider, Level 10, Class: Water Dancer, wish to enter the Dungeon at your highest level reached (6)?
Yes / No

(I hope you enjoy your Class. I had to use a lot of power to add it to your options.)

Her breath caught. She'd been ready with a joke for Kai, but the words evaporated as she stared at the message. "Wait—did… did the System say it had to use power to help you?"

Both Tarni and Kai shook their heads.

Lily's brow furrowed. She looked down at her hand still pressed against the white dome, her pulse racing. Why was the System talking to her differently? And what did it mean that it had spent power for her sake?

Staff Sergeant Lewis's heart rate was steady as he observed the five figures. They moved with a strange confidence—armoured, armed with swords and bows like something out of a reenactment gone rogue. He didn't shift from his position, content to watch what they intended to do with the black building before escalating.

Distance was on his side. They had range, concealment, and what he considered infinitely superior firepower. A bowstring might hum, but a semi-automatic AR-15/M4 carbine could spit death 50 times faster. If it came to a fight, he knew how it would end.

The only sour note was Maya's silence. That lack of warning still gnawed at him. But once his checks confirmed that none of the radios were working, he chalked it up to the same interference that had been screwing with their satellite feeds. That had been the whole reason the raid got greenlit in the first place. He remembered Captain Ansley's sharp words in the briefing:

"Any group with the know-how or money to deploy a satellite jammer is not mucking around. And I don't want an organisation like that in my backyard."

Lewis made his call. He tapped two fingers, flicked his hand flat, and gave the signal to hold position. His team melted into the undergrowth, barrels steady, waiting.

Barry, crouched low beside him, wasn't nearly so calm. His heart was thundering in his chest, pounding like it was trying to break out. He knew these people. The Riders. Walker. And they were… they were giving off the same feeling he had got from the black cube when he was here with Dave. Bell Rider laid her hand on the pale surface, and the black monolith seemed to shimmer faintly in response.

Barry's mouth went dry. They were speaking—he could see Tarni's lips moving, animated, confident—but he couldn't hear the words. Couldn't know. And he needed to know.

Almost without thinking, he brought up his Heckler & Koch HK416, settling it against his shoulder. The scope caught Tarni's face in perfect clarity, magnifying every detail.

Walker looked… calm. Steady. Like someone who knew what he was doing.

Barry's hands trembled around the rifle. He wanted to believe he was imagining it, that this wasn't what it looked like. But deep in his gut, fear surged cold and sharp.

Because his gut had no doubt—something was about to happen. Something far beyond what guns and training could stop.

That's when Tarni's mouth snapped shut, and he looked directly at Barry.