The eviction notice crackled in my fists, parchment edges singed by the ambient heat. I stood beneath the leaking roof of the dungeon lobby, lava dribbling in slow, ominous droplets onto a pile of overdue rent receipts. The heroes’ guild’s demand was clear: either clear out of this condemned warren, or face forcible reclamation—plus interest.
The mimic mail clerk peered at me from behind the counter, his tongue nervously flicking a stamp onto the corner of another eviction notice. Goblin laundry bags bulged in the hallway, the air thick with wet fur, singed socks, and the faintest whiff of ozone. From somewhere deeper in the labyrinthine maze, the haunted elevator let out a howl—either mechanical or ghostly, it was always hard to tell.
I clutched the rusty master key in my pocket, feeling its rough teeth dig into my palm. My first day as landlord, and already the dungeon threatened to collapse—literally and administratively. A puddle of lava hissed two feet away from my shoes. Two oozes in boiler suits were debating if they should charge me for overtime while shoveling smoking basalt chip into buckets.
The Monster Union rep, a bespectacled kobold with a clipboard, appeared at my side. "The tenants want answers," she hissed. "The roof leaks, the elevators are possessed, rent's three weeks late, and now we're being evicted? What’s your plan, landlord?"
Her golden eyes bored into me, daring me to speak—while above us, another blob of lava landed with a sizzle.
I could already hear the murmur of monsters gathering in the recreation cave. Tension prickled along the corridor; this was the moment to act. The whole dungeon waited for me to make the first move.