Two centuries ago, Earth died. The skies blackened, oceans boiled, and the surface cracked under the weight of humanity's self destruction. Civilization collapsed under climate catastrophe and nuclear fallout. The planet that once nurtured life became a graveyard full of death, unfit for human survival. Then, as if in answer to humanity's desperate prayers, a dungeon appeared, it rose from the ashes of the world, a labyrinth of endless floors, twisting passages, and hidden dangers.
At first, it was simply a place to survive, the first refugees huddled near its entrance, scavenging what they could, avoiding the monsters that roamed its dark corridors, and praying that the next day would come. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months and months turned into decades.
Humanity learned to endure. They farmed underground rivers, mined glowing crystals for light and heat, built shelters and slowly carved out pockets of civilization. Cities emerged on dungeon floors, linked by perilous stairways and tunnels. Some knowledge of the dungeon's mechanics, its monsters, hazards, and hidden resources was painstakingly recorded and passed down through generations
The dungeon became more than a refuge. It became humanity's home. Its floors once feared as tombs transformed into thriving settlements. Here, deep underground, civilization endured. Here, among the monsters and the mysteries that lie in the shadows, humanity had a chance to survive. This dungeon. This labyrinth of endless floors was humanity's last floor.