Reginald refused to answer any more of Xander’s questions, but they arrived at their destination not long after. When they stepped into the throne room, Xander had to take another moment to gawk at the magnificent room. Light filtered in through stained glass windows high up on the walls that featured colorful flowers. More alcoves with creepily cool creatures lined the walls on either side, over a dozen in total, and there were a number of trees acting as columns on either side of a long green rug that lead up to the throne. And a throne it was indeed, a very large and imposing one made from a very large skeleton. The intimidating skeleton was sitting on a rock, with four arms and four legs providing the outer shape of the chair, while wooden vines filled in the rest and black moss provided the seat and backrest. Multiple flowers grew from various parts of the skeleton adding splashes of color to the otherwise imposing sight. The anatomy was all wrong, with a double sternum, twin spines, and twin skulls to go along with the additional limbs, as if someone had smashed together two regular (if oversized) skeletons.

  All in all it was just as imposing and cool as he could have possibly hoped, but it was also not where they were headed. “Open Sesame” Reginald intoned, and to Xander’s shock, the skeletal throne stood up and pushed aside the stone it had been sitting on, revealing a staircase that led down into the ground, magical lanterns lighting of their own volition. “Seriously?” he asked his D.I.E. “Is that even a thing in this world? I mean the chances of you guys having the same phrase seems farfetched.” Reginald just looked at him before snorting, “Of course it’s not a saying here, this whole place was made by your subconscious, more or less.”

  “Wait, so then you can read my mind?”

  “No, of course not, at least not without a system override or a particular spell, neither of which I have access to.”

  “Okayyyyy, so then how do you know it?”

  “Because I’m your D.I.E. and I have all the necessary information to do my job. Now quit dawdling.” the annoyed little entity waved him on. The room below was on the small side, probably only as large as a normal living room, and there was a large orange crystal erupting out of the floor. A medium sized cube with heavily rounded corners of the same material hovered above its tip at about waist level. At a touch from Reginald, the cube projected a very familiarly shaped window with information scrawling around it. “This is your main interface with the dungeon, you can control almost everything from this device. Traps, mana born minions, and even the layout can all be modified.”

  “Okay, cool…” Xander said, not really knowing where to start, but then asked “Can I add decorations and stuff from here too? I mean I like the vibe of the place, but it just needs something more, the walls are pretty barren.” Reginald turned to glare at him, but then huffed a sigh, “Yes you can, technically, but there are far more important functions to learn about. Right now everything is incredibly basic, it might as well be a dungeon without a Lord, and-” he started, but Xander cut in. “Wait, so everything is functional then? As in, it is already up and running?”

  “Well yes, but-” Reginald started, only to be cut off again. “Good, then I’m taking a break,” Xander said firmly, “In the last three days of consciousness I’ve died, been reborn as something totally different, then spent most of the rest of the time fighting for my life. This is not okay, and I just… can’t deal with any of this other crap right now.” Reginald opened his mouth to protest, but Xander just held up his hand to forestall whatever was coming, and then walked up the stairs and away.

  He wandered through the halls aimlessly for an indeterminate amount of time, not really seeing his surroundings as his mind scattered in a hundred different directions, most of them in a downward spiral. Depression threatened to take a stranglehold of him and suplex his skinny white ass into a world of hurt. Only he wasn’t exactly skinny or white anymore, he was a… lets face it, thiccc green plant chick. Xander had to pause, squeeze his eyes shut, and focus on breathing to avoid hyperventilating. He had believed the few trans people he had met back on Earth about the body dysmorphia that they had felt, but nothing could have prepared him for the visceral nature of the feelings.

  It wasn’t even just the gender swap either, his whole body felt alien and strange. Every movement was subtly wrong, every sense was slightly different, and the sensations and needs of his body were different than they had been before. He had been holding himself together and containing the negative thoughts for the sake of survival, but now he felt safe here in this strange mausoleum-like manor. That safety had begun to let all of his bottled up thoughts and concerns come swimming up to the surface, but they came too fast and thick and it was almost as bad as a deep sea diver getting the bends. He had fucking died, then had come a hairs breadth from being killed at least three more times. Not only that, but then he had killed other thinking beings multiple times, and would likely have to do so again.

  It was all too much, and he dropped down onto his hands and knees, a need welling up inside him. He would have thrown up if he had still been human, but he had felt neither hunger nor nausea since coming to this world of death, and the reflex simply wasn’t there. He had to let his emotions out somehow though; the pressure was building and building and it would destroy him if he couldn't let it all out. So he screamed. He screamed and screamed, wordlessly and without any thought behind it, just raw emotions. Fear of death, guilt at his survival, the discomfort of a body not his own, and a deep rage at the injustice of both worlds and the things he was going to have to do to continue to survive. Xander let his pain and trauma take full reign and lost himself utterly to his emotions.

  Time held no meaning during this outburst, but it eventually came to an end. Looking down he found his weird amber blood splattered around him. He had faint memories of ripping and tearing at his own skin and punching the ground until his knuckles split open, but it was all hazy. Ridiculously, he didn’t feel exhausted after his breakdown, rather he almost felt refreshed. The burden of his negative thoughts wasn’t gone, but was at least significantly reduced, and whatever magic and natural processes governed his strange body apparently had kept him in top physical form. Regeneration had even already healed whatever self harm he had committed, and that reminded him of its miraculous nature.

  His hands went to his chest in memory of where he had been skewered through twice, and of course those hands had themselves been regrown after being entirely burned off. Xander stared blankly in thought for a few more moments, but then froze as a thought hit him. He started giggling and flopped to the cold and hard packed earth of the floor uncontrollably. “You’re a frigging idiot…” he told himself, the feminine sound of his voice driving him into more gales of laughter. “With everything you’ve seen, and everything you’ve done, you still somehow managed to forget that there is FUCKING MAGIC???” He sounded a bit manic even to himself, and once again worked to bring himself back under control.

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  Magic was the solution to his woes, of course. He already had been planning on getting stronger to try to get home some day so he could see his family and his few friends again. Surely there was some sort of magic in this world that could give him back the body he once had. Hell, for that matter he could even set his sights higher and try to get himself a better version of his body while he was at it. There were things about himself that he hadn’t cared for, and for all of its other faults, this dryad body was pretty damned durable. But he wanted his face back, and his damned gender.

  Thinking about home took some of the manic edge off him again, and Xander calmed once more. He missed his family in a way that he never had when they were only a phone call away. There was some guilt about avoiding returning their calls and e-mails, but he had to accept that there was nothing that he could do about it now, especially since they would ‘know’ beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was dead. Closure wouldn’t be much of a consolation for his father and siblings, but at least he wouldn’t just be missing and let their hopes string them along for years. Murder documentaries always made sure to stress just how much that hurt families.

  “I can’t keep doing this. This is my second breakdown in two days, and I need to get a hold of myself. This world is frigging brutal, and if I want to survive and get fixed and get home, I may have to get just as brutal.” He had thought he had made peace with killing before, but he now knew that hadn’t been the case, not really. Looking up at the arched ceiling of dark leaves above him as he lay on the ground amongst the splatters of his own blood, he suddenly wished he had a camera to take a picture of the scene. It would be a really really cool shot.

  “Hrmmm… maybe that’s what I need. My art may be the only part of my life that I can really hold on to in this death trap, but at the same time, my magic is going to allow me to make some ridiculously badass pieces…” he grinned at the thought. “Alright Xander, time to stop feeling sorry for yourself.” He thought of all the movies and shows that he had watched, and there were always characters giving mini speeches or nuggets of wisdom. Many had sounded trite at the time while others sounded obvious or even laughable. Here and now, he had no one else to talk to who would understand or be able to help, so those snippets were all that he had.

  Thinking through what he could remember, one in particular resonated with his current situation. “You can’t control the actions of others, you can only control your own reactions” Xander said quietly. He wasn’t even sure where that bit of wisdom had come from, but here and now it felt right. he thought. His desires wouldn’t mean anything if he let himself get killed by trying to stick to the morality of the world that he had come from. People here seemed suspicious of him and kept trying to kill him or do… other things… to him in Augustus’s case.

  He snorted at the surge of embarrassment from that memory, finding it was easy enough to squash back down. Like it or not, he was stuck as a dryad for now, and it was time to get over it enough to at least function properly. It wasn’t fair, but having a second chance at life was also totally unfair to everyone else who didn’t get to retain their memories after reincarnation. Looked at that way, he should be very grateful, and fight tooth and nail to survive. He tried to think of anything else to add, but those two rules covered pretty much everything.

  “No… wait… one more. People don’t get to tell me what to do and push me around anymore. I’ve had enough of the Jakes of both worlds,” he vowed to himself, “And I’m done giving a shit what people think I am. If that means they are going to try to kill me or rape me or even just take my shit, then screw those guys. They can all take their chances with reincarnation.” Xander was almost growling by the last sentence.

  With that, he finally pulled himself to his feet and strode off to find somewhere to blow off a little steam and make some art. He had work to do and things to learn, but having a full blown meltdown did not count as relaxation, however much catharsis and determination were involved. He had a full mana pool and an entire dungeon that he was apparently the lord of, so by whatever gods ruled these lands, he would do some art.

  —-------------------------------------

  Far away, in a tastefully cluttered office, several powerful men and women listened to a moderately skilled adventurer. Each of the people had their own reasons to be there, and each had varying reactions to the tale being told. Patrician Kurtis Heintfeld was no different. He might not have even been included if his son hadn’t been involved in the whole mess, though the boy was not present himself. Taking down a Den Mother at his level was impressive, and a named one even more so, but Rheagan simply didn’t have the political clout or personal power to be in on this particular meeting.

  Listening to the swordsman’s story only took a small part of his attention; the rest was leveled at his peers. Brandina Kestrek was a fellow noble, and while the plump woman could be petty and vicious, she was also easy enough to bribe and work around. Regent Fizzelle Lombardo was almost exactly the opposite. He was almost painfully tall and thin, but cared greatly about both the city and its rules, not just his power within it. Then there was Reld Magnuson, the captain of the local guard. The scarred warrior was an unusual choice to lead a city guard, looking more like a barbarian who should be knocking down the walls rather than guarding them in his heavy furs. Lastly, there was the Guild Master of the very guild they were standing in. Ravira Delsen looked more like a mousey librarian than the dangerous mage that she was, and the pillars of written disks lining her office did nothing to dissuade that image.

  Between them they held the majority of the political power, and firepower, in Crandor and the surrounding villages. That was a problem really, because if Augustus was to be believed, there was now a Dungeon Lord in their backyard. Having heard a good bit of the story from his son ahead of time, Kurtis could focus on the reactions of the others and get a good head start on planning his next moves. There would be both danger and opportunity in vast measure, and he intended on taking full advantage of the latter while mitigating the former. Rheagan insisted that the dryad he had met would be amenable to reason, but the young often mistook their hopes for reality. Dungeon Lords were merciless entities that attracted treasure hunters and thrill seekers, both of which Kurtis considered loose cannons in their own right.

  Power was about to shift in this small backwater region, and danger loomed over them all, especially since the Dungeon Lord was likely a necromancer. His son denied that she was any such thing, but even he admitted that she had bone covered minions and bone armor. On the face of it, a dryad being a necromancer sounded ridiculous, but the well traveled and experienced Augustus had given him some doubts. Plus there was the name of the new dungeon to consider. Patrician Heintfeld’s mind was already laying down the groundwork for managing his fellows and the flood of dangerous monsters of all sorts to come as Augustus shared the irrefutable evidence of the odd and extremely disquieting system message with them all.

  

  The Bramble Den Dungeon is under new management and undergoing renovations. Coming Soon: Dungeon Lord Xander’s Grove of Bones!! Join him to experience your well deserved eternal rest, or to simply enjoy his exquisite art. Suggested level: Undetermined.