Altered Intents

Demian slumped against a rough wall, catching his breath in the oppressive silence after the harrowing escape from the maze. His body ached with exhaustion, every step a reminder of the toll the rising water had taken on him. Still, there was no time for rest—he had to keep moving if he was to stand any chance of surviving the night.

After a brief moment of feeble recuperation, he resolved to explore his surroundings. The damp corridors of the ruined complex beckoned him onward like a labyrinth of forgotten history. His eyes scanned the crumbling walls until he reached a dead end—a wall whose surface, though mottled with decay, bore the scars of a long-lost era.

At the base of the wall lay remnants of weapons: scattered about in the gloom. Most were rusted and battered, their once-lethal edges now dulled by time. Yet even in their ruined state, they held a semblance of usefulness. Demian bent down, his movements slow and pained, and rummaged through the debris. After a tense search, he salvaged a couple of small daggers and, surprisingly, a gauntlet that looked to be in slightly better condition than the rest. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

Clutching his new acquisitions, he pushed himself to his feet and examined the wall more closely. Embedded in the stone was an odd, archaic sigil. With a cautious frown, Demian rotated the mana through his body toward the wall. Almost immediately, the sigil flared with a soft, eerie light, and new markings appeared, spreading across the rough surface like liquid runes.

A notification flashed on the translucent screen that materialized before him—a familiar interface . The message read:

[Name]: Demian

[Age]: 16

[Skills]: N/A

[Karma Level]: ERROR

**[Task]: ???

Now with a new section.

Dungeon Requirement: Karma Lvl -30

Dungeon Level: D

Demian frowned he had gained entry. That alone confirmed something important: his anomaly didn't outright disqualify him from dungeon access. But what did it actually mean? If he could enter a dungeon that required negative karma, would the same apply to one needing positive karma? Or was there something else at play? The system recognized his existence but didn't categorize him—like a loophole left unchecked. He'd need to test this further.

Demian paused, staring at the cryptic message. He had heard fragments of lore about such dungeons—places designed not for the uninitiated but for training.But this , it seems was not a regular training dungeon instead one most probably used to train rookie assains or executioners reason being its entry karma requirement.Such dungeon would only be accessible to people who knows killing not your run in the mill soliders.

But as it seems it might still be usable. And could help him answering the effects of his disrupted karma level, and wether it means if he exists outside the normal rules. Perhaps this was his chance to test the effects of his unique state. Even though a Level D dungeon was far too difficult for a rookie with no mana core, clearing it might yield rewards critical to his survival.

A bitter determination welled within him. With trembling fingers due to exhaustion, he began pouring what little mana he could muster into the wall, channeling his energy into activating the dungeon. The process was agonizingly slow—each drop of mana felt as if it were being siphoned from his very essence. Activating the dungeon was no mere flick of a switch; it was a delicate dance between his will and the magic woven into the stone.

Suddenly, without warning, space itself began to warp around him. His vision darkened as the very fabric of reality shuddered. In a flash—a dizzying blur of light and shadow—Demian was ripped from the crumbling corridor. The sensation was like falling through an endless void, his body suspended in a state between weightlessness and crushing pressure.

When his eyes finally fluttered open, he found himself in a confined space. The walls were close and unyielding, enclosing him in a dry, barren chamber. The air felt dry without an ounce of moisture quite contrary to the previous place.

A single beam of light pierced the darkness at the far end, offering a feeble promise of escape. His body trembled as he took a tentative step forward, but almost immediately, a wave of nausea hit him. His stomach churned violently, and he staggered, struggling to keep his balance.

Demian's vision blurred further as he doubled over, dry heaves wracking his body. It had been a day and a half since the test had begun; he hadn't eaten or drunk a drop. Now, even the smallest reservoir of hydration was nearly exhausted. His mind, usually stable and unyielding, was suddenly vulnerable to the ravages of hunger and dehydration. He could feel his strength slipping away, every muscle protesting the lack of sustenance.A few more dry gags wracked his body, but there was nothing left to bring up

Demian Gritting his teeth against the rising tide of nausea, he forced himself to stand. "Please," he murmured, voice raw with desperation, "let this god forsaken place have some food. Water… anything." The words echoed in the silent chamber, unanswered, leaving him alone with his torment.

He pushed forward again, each step a monumental effort. About a hundred meters into the chamber, the light started to shine more and more brightly . Shielding his eyes with a hand, he paused. The glare was almost unbearable, forcing him to lower his hand until his vision began to adapt. Slowly, his eye started to adapt to the shimmering light,as he slowly reached to the end of the corridor

Finally, at the far end of the chamber, Demian emerged into a vast, open space. His eyes adjusted to the blinding sunlight, and what he saw was both desolate and surreal—a vast expanse of dry sand, scattered all around like a ocean of sand. The endless dunes stretched out before him, their undulating curves merging with a horizon that offered no solace.

He stood there, heart pounding, the reality of his situation crashing down around him. In that moment, every hardship, every sacrifice, and every moment of pain culminated in a single, bleak truth.

"I'm SO FUCKED!!!"