He remembered that it hurt.

Gaining power hurt.

No one ever warns you about the pain that comes before or after. The blinding torture that racked his body for centuries was nothing compared to losing — well ... everyone.

He supposed he should have known things wouldn’t work out in the end — things rarely do for Gods.

* * *

The chains clacked as they struck stone. Blood dripped from the obsidian manacles that bound him to the dungeon wall. Complete darkness enveloped him, clinging to him like a noose — not that he cared, at least not anymore. The suffocating effects of the dark had eased long ago. Replaced by a warm, gentle breeze. He blinked his eyes to clear away the heaviness.

“Ahh, you are awake. That has been your longest nap yet,” a voice whispered in his mind.

He chuckled despite himself, “who are you to be concerned by the passage of time, Fenrir?”

Time. Precious ... precious time. He used to think he did not have quite enough of it. Now he was enslaved by it. Driven slowly into madness by it.

How many centuries had gone by since he had been imprisoned in this hell? He sobbed, tears spilling down his cheeks. Did it matter?

“I am you, as you are me, my dear Evan. We are one. Time takes it all, whether you want it to or not,” the voice replied as Evan struggled against the chains.

The chains groaned as they strained. For a brief moment, a giddy, bubbling feeling from deep within filled him. I will be free!

His fervor lasted all of ten seconds.

The chains tightened, slamming him against the wall and sending a blinding pain throughout his body. Fenrir, the dungeon core within him, roared in enmity. In longing. In defiance.

Pain turned to grief turned to rage in a dizzying flurry of emotions.

He grasped at the single thread of mana that he and Fenrir had been spinning for the last hundred years. The thread was the width of a needle. The gentlest of movements could cause it to collapse. To unravel. And with it — his mind.

“Be careful Evan. That is everything we have. Everything we are,” Fenrir whispered.

Evan could sense the urgency in the dungeon core’s voice. The pain. The finality.

He pulled at the thread. Minutes turned to hours turned to days. And still, he pulled. Until at last there was nothing left. The light blue string wove itself around his hand, up his arm, and down his throat. Fenrir rumbled in satisfaction.

“Do we have enough?” Evan whispered.

He already knew the answer. There would never be enough. Never enough.

Minutes passed as Evan waited for a response. But none came.

He panicked. “Fenrir?”

“I am here, my summoner,” Fenrir whispered. 

Evan breathed a sigh of relief at the voice. Fenrir was him. He was Fenrir. They were Evan. One could not live without the other. They did not want to.

“Well?” he pressed.

“There is … enough,” the core whispered back.

A moment later and the shadows in the cave shifted. Shadows coalesced into a single haphazard form. Neither complete nor broken. Abstract. Without a monster core, he and Fenrir were limited in what they could do. They could provide neither form nor power nor thought.

A single thread of pure black mana erupted from his chained hand and connected itself to the shadow. There was a tug on his mind as a connection formed and the thread vanished. 

He closed his eyes and saw himself through the eyes of his summoned shadow. Bloodied. Broken. 

Behold, the God-King of Shadows. The Scourge of The Labyrinth. The Black Core Summoner.

Fenrir chuckled at his thoughts. “Sleep, my summoner. They will come to check up on us soon.”

With that, he let the warm, gentle breeze drift him off to sleep.

* * *

There was a certain clarity that came with unconsciousness. It gave him time to dream, unobstructed by reality. He dreamed of his world, his first love, his family. 

When the portals first appeared in his world, they brought with them unbelievable powers. His people — his friends, had seemingly become gods overnight.

Evan had looked forward to developing his own powers. Becoming a Slayer. Ridding the world of the accursed Portals that threatened their very existence.

Yet, in the end, it was not meant to be. Days turned into months turned into years. His powers never manifested themselves. And his world, slowly, but surely shattered around him.

For every portal that the Slayers destroyed another two took their place. The Slayers and Guilds could not keep up with the sheer number of them. Dungeons broke and monsters were unleashed. Many died. Until, eventually, there was nobody left. Their lives snuffed out like the flame of a candle.

It was in their death that he was born. Trapped inside an impossible dungeon, without powers, without strength, without hope. There, he met Fenrir. The Shadow Core. Monarch of The Black Dungeon.

He wanted unimaginable power, and Fenrir wanted to be free of the Labyrinth. Two enemies brought together by fate. Entwined by simple promises. Held together by, what became, love.

Fenrir was him. He was Fenrir. They were Evan. One could not live without the other.

So together they hunted. They grew. They thrived. No portal could stop them. And for each portal that fell, their legion grew. Even the Labyrinth, home of the most powerful Dungeon Cores and their Portals, feared them.

Yet, in the end, it was not enough. For all of the power he commanded, he was but one man. No, that wasn’t entirely true. He was two. Fenrir was him. He was Fenrir. They were Evan. But, still, it was not enough.

The Ten Architects of the Labyrinth combined their forces, enslaving thousands of dungeon cores to their whim, and overcame them. Enslaved them. Tortured them.

Forced them to live out their endless lives in an empty dungeon. Bound by obsidian shackles that restrained their mana. With no hope of ever being found. Freed.

Or so they thought.

Empty dungeons would never, could never, appear on another world.

But Fenrir was a God. A god unable to use his powers. Dungeon cores didn’t do very well outside of a Dungeon it seemed.

A god nonetheless.

And Evan a King. King only in name, true. An empty title, used only by Fenrir and their summons.

A king nonetheless.

And together they were much more than they could have ever imagined. The God-King of Shadows. The Scourge of The Labyrinth. The Black Core Summoner.

* * *

Evan was driven out of his sleep by pain. His bright yellow eyes snapped open to find a sword embedded a foot into his chest. He grinned madly as black blood pooled around the wound. “Ahh, Architect Baal. To what do we owe this rare pleasure?”

Baal removed the blade with a wet plop. “Time may have caused the Council to practically forget about your existence Summoner, but I have not. There was a disturbance of mana here earlier. I felt it.” The man’s sunken emerald eyes narrowed as he inspected the obsidian shackles. “Tell me what you have done. Else you will suffer.”

Fenrir’s laugh rumbled throughout the cave. “Foolish elf. We have spent five centuries trapped here with nothing but our thoughts and regrets. There is no suffering you can inflict that we cannot endure.”

The ancient blue elf winced at Fenrir’s voice. Evan continued to grin as he looked at Baal. “You know as well as I do that our strength has been drained by your spiteful chains, Architect.” He leaped for the elf’s throat but was stopped immediately by the chains that bound him. Agony coursed through his body as he was forced to kneel.

Evan smiled as he looked up at the elf. “Centuries ago, had you made the mistake of standing as close as you are, I may have had the strength to kill you.” The elf’s eyes widened in fear as he realized how close he had been standing to Evan. “Time has dulled your instincts, elf. The only proof of my innocence - of my weakness - that you need, is the fact that you still breathe.”

Baal considered his words for an eternity before turning on his heels and walking away.

Evan sighed as the elf disappeared. “Fenrir, is it going to work?” Evan whispered. He knew he was begging. Pleading.

“Only time will tell, my King,” Fenrir whispered back.

* * *

People watched as an ethereal black static faded in and out of their vision. The air around the disturbance grew hot and there was an intense pressure that forced them to their knees. For a moment, there was complete silence. None of the usual clicking as fingers raced across phones sending text messages or taking pictures. None of the laughing and conversation as people went about their day. Not even the wind made a sound.

Then there was a flash of light that forced them to close their eyes and a violent explosion of air. The explosion launched everyone within a hundred yards off of their feet and ripped the air from their lungs. Many screamed as they smashed into the walls of nearby buildings, blood pooling around their broken bodies.

One of them opened her eyes to find a hundred-foot tall, shimmering black circle standing in front of her. No. Not a circle exactly. It looked like a massive whirlpool had sprouted right in the middle of downtown Los Angeles. The obsidian whirlpool was sucking in everything around it. Trash, gravel, and even the wind was being pulled into the giant black hole. She noticed, with no small amount of relief, that the pull wasn’t strong enough to drag her in. Her vision blurred as adrenaline began to leave her body, replaced by blinding pain. A single thought crossed her mind before unconsciousness claimed her. It looks like a portal.