“There are other sweet things out there,” Delta said, watching as Foodie dove into the Network. Her idea of a super floor—a honey-themed wonderland, had been met with polite disinterest. Instead, Foodie opted for something more straightforward: six rooms in a tidy row, the final one morphing into a grand boss room.

  Delta soon learned that Foodie, like all Dungeons, she suspected, was as stubborn as an enchanted mule once a design decision was made.

  After a brief pause, Foodie tilted the layout so the rooms sloped upward, creating the impression of invaders climbing a series of levels, or shelves in a beehive. Each room grew larger and deeper than the last, like a honeycomb that had been hitting the gym.

  “Sure, might be other ‘sweet’ floors or food ideas,” Foodie buzzed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “But this is sweet honey! It’s simple! Like salt is simple! You start simple, then bam, go big!”

  Tim, who had been quietly standing by, shuffled his non-existent feet awkwardly, looking for all the world like someone caught between a swarm of bees and a pot of honey.

  “Of course,” he said, with the serene confidence of a core who’d never met shame and wasn’t planning on it.

  “My second floor was simple, too,” Delta offered, nodding sagely. “Took a lot of work in the… bee-ginning.” She grinned. Somewhere over the Network, there was an audible scoff before Delta reached out and unceremoniously shoved Nu out of the connection.

  Nosy menu.

  It had started simple. It wasn’t her fault things escalated into planting a tree goddess and unearthing a mime with a penchant for circuses.

  Delta had meant well, and everyone knows the road to joy and sunshine is paved with the finest intentions.

  “So, what will you do next?” Delta asked as Foodie seemed content to bask in the sugary glory of his creation. The honeycomb-lined walls and rivers of amber honey draped the rooms in a strange, dreamlike space that didn’t bother with the rules of geometry or reason.

  As Foodie mulled it over, Delta’s attention drifted. With a flick of curiosity, she dug into the Network and finally found Foodie’s upgrade history, her eyes darting over the descriptions of the floor in all its sticky, glorious chaos.

  Honey Pot: A sticky, golden-hued floor where anything related to bees or wasps can be purchased at absurdly low prices. Each room boasts its own buzzing colony, ruled by a supreme being that serves as the boss.

  “So, six mini-bosses rather than one big boss?” Delta mused, tapping her chin as she expanded the options. Her gaze landed on a blinking button, clearly meant for Foodie to pick the floor’s basic monster.

  But Foodie was, as usual, preoccupied.

  “You can pick!” Foodie squealed, his words tumbling out between laughter at his domain expanding. “Your methods brought back my human pet and the honey! You’re practically a genius!”

  He punctuated this declaration by flopping into the golden goo, rolling around like an overexcited sugar-addled child. The sticky substance clung to his avatar, making him look more dessert than Dungeon Core.

  Delta raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s… surprisingly trusting of you,” she said, glancing at the blinking button.

  “That’s quite clever!” Tim chimed in, his tone almost annoyingly earnest. “Delta will obviously have the most expertise in these things.”

  Delta, too busy scrolling through the menu of delightful and increasingly bizarre monster options, chose not to answer. The possibilities stretched out before her, and she was suddenly faced with the weighty responsibility of picking something appropriately “sweet.”

  Honey Golems: Tireless workers and steadfast defenders of the royal hive. Perfect for tasks requiring strength and durability, or for dessert, if you’re feeling particularly desperate.

  Hiveless Drones: Weak individually but overwhelming in numbers, these buzzing swarms flit from hive to hive, serving all without allegiance. Conveniently, they’re also a light snack if the mood strikes.

  Random: “It’s like a box of chocolates: you never know what you’re gonna get, except maybe a horrifying abomination.”

  Solid Honey Knights: Noble warriors formed from the densest, most unyielding honey. Armed with swords, shields, and a sticky determination to defend their hive. Rarer than the last piece of candy in a jar.

  Seasalt Icescream: A chilling blend of sweet and salty, these sentient orbs of frozen dessert have a terrible twist, they eat you. Proof that even ice cream can have an existential crisis.

  “Are you okay?” Tim asked, his brow furrowed as he watched Delta freeze mid-motion, her entire body stiff as a board.

  Internally, Delta was not okay. Her mind, shrieking incoherently for the allure of the unknown. The mystery box. The surprise. The forbidden fruit of randomness.

  Delta rigidly turned to Foodie, forcing her composure back into place. “Let’s discuss the options,” she said in a tone that sounded much calmer than the howling chaos in her head.

  Foodie tilted his core slightly, as if deep in thought. “Hmm, which one would you pick?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

  Delta opened her mouth. The screeching from gremlin-Delta surged, an unearthly wail of unfulfilled gacha dreams rising in her throat. She swallowed it down, barely managing to speak.

  “Oh, just… whatever grabs you,” she croaked, her forced smile strained.

  Foodie brightened, oblivious to her inner torment. “I want the Honey Knights! They’re dangerous but sweet, don’t you think?”

  “A solid choice,” Delta said through gritted teeth. “Literally. They’re made of solid honey, after all.”

  Delta nodded, plastering on a convincing grin as a small part of her soul wept. The unknown. The potential. The gamble. The gacha.

  It just meant one thing: Delta would be opening her fifth floor sooner than expected. New choices, new unknowns, new fun, and, naturally, proper Dungeon logical decisions.

  Totally logical. No chaos involved. Of course.

  The honey pool bubbled ominously, and moments later, a four-foot amber suit of blocky armor emerged. The honey gleamed, darker in some places to form patterned bands across its torso. It was both imposing and… oddly adorable, like an angry toddler dressed for medieval combat.

  “Terrifying,” Tim said dryly, his tone about as flat as the floor they stood on.

  “Shh!” Foodie hissed, waving a metaphorical hand at Tim. As if on cue, six more suits of honey armor rose from the pool, their sticky forms glistening in the light.

  They began to wander aimlessly, bumping into each other like lost jellybeans.

  Delta watched the scene unfold, her thoughts a whirl of bemused horror and undeniable amusement. She crossed her arms and leaned slightly toward Foodie. “You know, for terrifying honey knights, they seem a little… directionally challenged.”

  “Delta, I’ve got the upgrades for them. Should I buy one or two or-” Foodie began.

  Delta, caught completely off guard, blurted out her automatic response before her brain could intervene and save her dignity.

  “All of them. All. Everything. Select all, add to cart, add credit card. Package deal. Go past go and spend 200 dollars!” She took a dramatic breath, as if the words had physically winded her.

  It was only then, as the weight of her statement settled, that Delta actually read what Foodie was about to purchase. Her eyes skimmed the list, and a bead of metaphorical sweat began to form.

  Solid Honey Knight Upgrades

  Solid, Liquid, Gas: The Honey Knights diversify! Now they can occasionally spawn as Honey Liquid Assassins, swift and deadly blobs of syrup, or Spun Sugar Elementals, floating clouds of sticky chaos. Science would weep at the versatility.

  Sticky Barb: Each Honey Knight is now equipped with an adhesive upgrade that marks adventurers for all future bees. Say goodbye to stealth, protection spells, and any hope of staying clean. Congratulations, you’re now a walking bee target.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Hot Balls of Love: Upon defeat, Honey Knights can go out with a literal bang, exploding into fiery balls of molten honey. Dangerous, sweet, and probably delicious, but you’ll have to be brave, or foolish, to find out.

  Amber Casing: When the situation calls for it, Honey Knights can perform the ultimate sacrifice, encasing a foe in a solid amber prison. Great for stalling enemies, or creating a lovely keepsake to display on a shelf.

  Determination: The longer you stick around, the worse it gets. With every mini-boss defeated, the remaining knights evolve into stronger, more terrifying forms. Because nothing says “progression” like a honey-fueled power surge.

  “That seems… dangerous,” Delta decided, watching the Honey Knights shed some of their blocky charm in favor of a more streamlined, decidedly lethal look. Tim, meanwhile, seemed oddly captivated by the transformation, offering enthusiastic praise for the honey-inspired craftsmanship.

  “What’s honey got that salt doesn’t? You seem to hate salt,” Delta asked, turning to Tim as the Knights as they honed their edges, literally.

  “Honey preserves magic, while salt dries it out,” Tim explained brightly, clearly enjoying the topic. “Bees, like squirrels, likely hail from another god’s realm, so honey’s excellent in magical applications.”

  Delta froze mid-thought, her brain grinding to a halt.

  “Wait… bees are aliens? Squirrels are aliens?!” she repeated, spinning around to face Tim, her voice a mix of disbelief and mild betrayal.

  Tim blinked, genuinely surprised. “You didn’t know?” he asked, as if this were common knowledge.

  “Ah,” Delta muttered. “So honey is out of this world, literally.” she mumbled.

  “According to the tomes I devoured,” Tim began in a scholarly tone, “bees adapted quite well to this realm. Squirrels, however, did not. They’re constantly seeking dimensional fissures to return home but often get lost, making them the multiverse’s most common life form.”

  Delta stared at him, her mind struggling to digest the absurdity. Bees and squirrels were aliens. Aliens.

  If she didn’t already know for a fact, she’d have seriously started questioning whether the moon was haunted.

  But, of course, it was. By the siblings.

  Naturally.

  “I think for my first room, I want Tim to pick the type of bee colony that lives here,” Foodie announced suddenly, his tone casual, as if he hadn’t just dropped a massive responsibility into Tim’s metaphorical lap.

  Tim froze. His ball-like avatar seemed to deflate slightly as he stared, stunned. Then, with all the grace of a collapsing soufflé, he curled inward. “But… that’s important… to Dungeons,” he protested weakly, his voice quivering with the weight of the decision.

  “But you’re my friend and network buddy. That’s important, like my human,” Foodie said, his tone earnest.

  Delta clutched her hands to her chest, lips pressed tightly together to keep from making a noise. This was a rare and beautiful moment: the blossoming of core-broship. She wouldn’t ruin it, not for anything.

  “Are there magic bees?” Tim asked abruptly, snatching up the offer like a seagull eyeing a dropped chip. There was no sniffle, no emotional speech, no grand acknowledgment of friendship—just pure academic curiosity.

  Delta deflated, feeling distinctly… blue-feeled. It wasn’t heartbreak, exactly. Just a tiny, honey-glazed pang of disappointment that Tim had sidestepped the emotional breakthrough entirely.

  “Yeah! There’s Cryo-Bees, Stone-Bees, Bee-Bees, Boo-Bees, Bee-Gees, Cu-Bees, Vi-Bees,” Foodie rattled off enthusiastically, scrolling through the system’s seemingly endless list of bee options without pause.

  “Oh! Here we go! Spelling Bees!” Foodie exclaimed suddenly, his tone jubilant.

  Tim brightened up instantly, his ball-like form puffing out with excitement. “Spelling Bees? Truly? They exist?”

  Spelling Bees: These extraordinary creatures use their hive to form words, bringing the spelled word into existence through magic. For example, if they spell ‘sword’, the bees momentarily transform into a literal sword. If they spell ‘fire’, they ignite into fiery bees. If they spell ‘god’, they will-

  “Oh, that one! That one!” Tim pleaded, his voice rising. He sounded, Delta noted, like an overexcited child begging for a shiny new toy.

  Delta, however, was less enthusiastic. “What if they spell… bee?” she muttered aloud, already regretting the question. A faint ping drew her attention to a note in her private window, courtesy of Prim.

  ‘Not advisable. Highly self-feeding. Bees spelling bees spelling bees spelling bees. Might create a slight spatial gravity well of bees.’

  Delta stared at the words, her face blank. A gravity well… of bees?

  Of bees?

  “Oh,” she said softly. It wasn’t fear or panic, just the quiet, sinking realization that this was the exact sort of thing she was doomed to deal with.

  The first one appeared, and Delta’s heart nearly exploded on the spot. It was tiny, a fluffy yellow and black thing wearing a blue robe speckled with stars, its little antennae poking out like a wizard’s hat gone adorably wrong. It buzzed about, leaving a trail of magical sparkles in its wake.

  “Ugh, I’m going to die of happiness,” Delta declared with longing.

  “Look at it,” Delta whispered reverently. “A real bee-liever in magic.”

  She watched it dart around, radiating charm and wonder. Oh, she could bless it! Her excitement surged. And if she blessed it? It would only get cuter! The logic was unassailable. Still, she took a moment to consider things.

  On one hand: cute wizard bee, the pinnacle of existence.

  On the other hand: her history of blessings.

  Her track record had… results. Sure, Alpha was amazing, but Alpha had been amazing before the blessing. And there was Giant, who turned out fine, but, well, Giant was an outlier.

  Delta chewed on her lip, torn between caution and her overwhelming desire to make the world a better place through absurdly adorable wizard bees.

  “Bless, but a super small blessing!” she whispered, like a child sneaking an extra cookie.

  The bee glowed, a soft, golden light that pulsed around its tiny body. For a moment, it just hovered there, and Delta held her breath.

  All that happened was a single, tiny human eye appeared on its head, nestled awkwardly between its two compound bee eyes. It stared around, unblinking, as if gazing into the very void itself. The bee buzzed faintly, its expression, or lack thereof, eerily serene.

  Delta leaned closer, squinting as if that would help her see what it was seeing. The bee remained still, radiating an unsettling air of cosmic comprehension.

  “Whisper your secrets to me, little bee. What do your beelvish eyes see?” Delta asked, her tone reverent.

  The creature buzzed again, and a soft glow surrounded it. A system notification appeared:

  Awakened Spell Bee: This bee not only possesses word magic but an uncanny ability to gaze upon incomplete works and perceive their completion. It can ‘read’ the next ten pages or chapters of any unfinished story. It sees the rest of the artwork. It hears any incomplete song to its final notes. However, it does not share easily. That fanfiction you loved? It knows the ending. That show canceled after one season? It saw the rest.

  Delta stared at the description, her initial joy fading into confusion. “How does that help?” she muttered, frowning. She had hoped for more sparkles, maybe a glittery aura, or at least some extra cuteness. Instead, she had a cosmic literary critic in a bee costume.

  ----

  “Nu?” Prim called as she zoomed into the fourth floor, where Nu was busily planting signs on various islands. Each one bore a clear warning: Do not dive into the water.

  “Yes, minion?” Nu replied without looking up, his tone as dry as the parchment in Delta’s library.

  Prim hovered closer, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. “A lot of our library books that were put away, you know, the ones written by madmen or left incomplete, have suddenly been tagged as ‘readable,’” she reported.

  Nu paused mid-sign placement, the faintest flicker of interest crossing his usually stoic demeanor. “Any actually worth reading?” he asked, raising a metaphorical brow.

  Prim sent a list directly to his interface. It was an eclectic collection, brimming with theories on immortality, half-finished formulas for summoning eldritch beasts, and sigils that could, potentially, tear reality apart if completed.

  “These could change the world overnight,” she noted, her voice tinged with the gravity of it all.

  Nu, however, scrolled past the list with mild disinterest, his gaze settling on one title that stood out to him. A faint smirk graced his screen.

  ‘Traps and You: A Simple Book for a Complicated Hobby’ by R. Goldberg.

  Nu flipped through the pages with growing delight. Most of the designs were either hastily scribbled nonsense or so wildly convoluted they seemed to defy the laws of physics.

  He loved it.

  “Prim,” Nu began, his tone brisk and purposeful, “I need ten boots, three buckets of sand, a lot of rope, and something that might be a zebra.” Without hesitation, he absorbed the book into his focus, already planning.

  Prim hovered uncertainly, her crystalline glow flickering with mild skepticism. “Will Delta approve?”

  Nu paused for a beat, then smirked. “The buckets of sand will have star stickers on them. That’ll win her over,” he said with the confidence of someone who rangled wild horses.

  Prim merely disappeared with a tut.

  ---

  Delta found Foodie’s tasty theme undeniably adorable. Even with minor hiccups, like boiling Honey Knights, she couldn’t wait to see how the world would react to Foodie’s development.

  Maybe one day, Foodie would earn a cute footnote in some Interesting Dungeons of the World book or report. Or, better yet, make it onto a Top 10 Most Popular Tourist Spots list in some prestigious magical journal. That would be something.

  She patted the Spell Bee gently as it perched nearby, its tiny body glowing faintly with magical energy. Its singular human eye stared off into the distance, fixed on something she couldn’t see.

  Something far beyond her understanding.

  ----

  The Bee Saw.

  It gazed into the unwritten future, its vision capturing the raw, swirling threads of possibilities. Within that vast potential, it read the seedling of a book yet to come, a work the MOTHER-core unknowingly desired into being.

  ‘Top Places in the World Most Likely to Kill You and Why You Should Visit Them’ by H.P. Paws.

  The introduction crackled into the Bee’s mind:

  The world will kill you, and that’s just brilliant! But if you ask me which place is the best to be killed in, well, dear reader, that’s where the real fun begins.

  For example, anyone can die in some dingy bar in a “safe” city with a fancy king or queen lording over us scrubs.

  "Oh, hi, Death. Yeah, I choked on a stale candle on the same street I’ve always been on."

  Not exactly thrilling, is it?

  But let’s look at a few more interesting options, shall we?

  The Bee processed further, silent and enduring, as it uncovered a particularly compelling entry:

  The Island on the Crown: Home of the Hellmouth of No Greater Pleasure

  An island that floats atop a literal sea of flavors, this dungeon is ruled by the enigmatic core known as Fools Die. Those unfortunate, or fortunate, enough to perish on the first floor are said to feel a final sensation of grease, salt, and steam. No longer does the salt burn; it seasons. A peculiar, delicious end.

  Should one meet their demise on the second floor? That depends entirely on which hive claims the victory. Each hive brings its own flair to the experience of death: some sweet, some fiery, and others downright sticky.

  ---

  Delta watched the Spell Bee for a moment longer, its unblinking eye seemingly lost in the unwritten realms of the future. She leaned down, curiosity getting the better of her.

  “What are you reading, little buddy?” she whispered, her voice soft with awe.

  The Bee didn’t answer. But if it could have spoken, it might have replied: Something utterly delightful, and probably horrifying.

  Delta understood.

  She lived by that experience.