The chamber rumbled, dunes trembling underfoot as three trapdoors slid into place.
Each one bore the same carving: twisting serpents, fangs etched into the stone, scales gleaming faintly in the torchlight. Behind them came the faint, unmistakable hiss of slithering bodies.
“Snakes,” someone muttered. Nobody admitted it, but all three nodded grimly.
Leo adjusted his glasses, notebook trembling in his hands. ““Three doors? That’s wrong. First encounter always three, second always two. This rhythm is broken. And all snakes? Is the dungeon running a virus? Statistically nonsensical—pattern violated.”
“Translation?” Bert asked.
“The dungeon is mocking us,” Leo said flatly.
Harlada folded her arms, glaring at the doors. “Fine. One has to be poisonous snakes. The other strangling snakes. The last…” She faltered. “…What’s left? Snake illusions? Snake accountants? Snake clowns?”
The crystal pulsed overhead, text dripping smug across the ceiling:
Door One: Snakes.
Door Two: Snakes.
Door Three: Also Snakes.
Only one path advances.
Bert cracked his knuckles, grinning. “Best odds yet. They’re all snakes. We can’t lose.”
“Correction,” Leo snapped, scribbling furiously. “We can lose three different ways.”
Harlada groaned. “I swear, if I die to a pun, I’m strangling the dungeon myself.”
The doors hissed together, waiting.
***
They stood glaring at the three trapdoors. Hissing echoed from behind them, constant and smug.
“Maybe if we just wait, one’ll open itself,” Harlada muttered.
Leo shook his head. “Incorrect. The dungeon is waiting for consensus. Statistically, silence will only prolong our suffering.”
They squinted harder at the carvings, hoping for a clue.
Nothing. Just snakes. All snakes.
Finally Bert huffed and crossed his arms. “Fine. Left snakes.”
The other two spun to stare at him.
“What do you mean, left?” Harlada snapped. “They’re all identical!”
“I didn’t say anything!” Bert protested. “That wasn’t me!”
A voice drifted out of the shadows, low and annoyed. “Unbelievable. You really can’t see it?”
They froze.
“Who said that?” Leo demanded, clutching his notebook tighter.
“Me. Other Bert,” the voice grumbled. “The one you picked up last level. Remember? The actual rogue? The one who can see things?”
They whipped their heads around. Nothing. Empty sand and stone.
“I don’t see him,” Harlada hissed.
“Of course you don’t,” the voice said. “You people couldn’t spot a bear in a broom closet. Your Perception is trash.”
Silence. Then, with growing dread, Leo asked, “…What exactly are we missing?”
“The doors,” Other Bert said flatly. “They’re not the same. Left is fangs — venomous snakes. Middle’s coils — stranglers. Right’s waves — sea serpents. Clear as day.”
The three of them squinted so hard their eyes watered. Still just snakes. All snakes.
“I don’t see it,” Harlada admitted.
“Same,” Leo sighed.
Bert puffed out his chest. “I definitely don’t see it.”
A groan echoed from the shadows. “Hopeless.”
The dungeon crystal pulsed overhead, text dripping smug satisfaction:
Perception Check Failed. Proceed Blindly.
Leo’s quill snapped in half. “I hate this place.”
“Left snakes!” Bert cheered.
“I DIDN’T SAY THAT!”
The trapdoors hissed, waiting.
***
The crystal pulsed smugly:
Path Selected: Left Snakes. Progression Pending.
The trapdoor yawned wide, sand sliding down its edges like a funnel. The three adventurers tumbled in with all the grace of potatoes.
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They hit stone. Dust puffed. Hissing filled the chamber.
Three snakes slithered out of the gloom, each the size of a horse. Their scales shimmered sickly green, fangs dripping venom that sizzled where it splashed the floor.
Leo adjusted his glasses, trying to keep his voice steady. “Poisonous. Statistically predictable. But our best option. Stranglers would incapacitate us. Sea serpents would drown us. Poison at least offers… probabilities.”
He raised his voice, practically shouting: “DO YOU HEAR THAT, OTHER BERT? THIS IS THE LEAST WORST OPTION.”
A voice snapped back from nowhere, dripping irritation. “Yes, I heard you. I’m right here. I’m not deaf.”
Leo blinked. “Oh. Sorry.”
“You’re not sorry,” Other Bert growled. “You’re just loud.”
The snakes reared higher, tongues flicking.
Bert hefted his cleaver with a grin. “Alright. Who’s tanking?”
Harlada scoffed, sparks dancing at her fingertips. “Not me. Mage. Paper armor. No thanks.”
Leo shook his head sharply. “Incorrect. I am the strategist. The one who records data. Statistically unwise for me to engage directly.”
They both looked at Bert.
He froze, grin faltering. “…What? No way. I already tanked rocks last fight. I’m not tanking snakes too.”
The snakes hissed in chorus, circling closer.
Other Bert’s voice floated from the shadows again, flat with contempt. “You’re all idiots. Just pick someone before they pick you.”
The three of them squabbled louder and louder, their argument nearly drowning out the snakes’ hissing.
The dungeon crystal pulsed cheerfully:
Encounter Initiated: Venomous Trio. Difficulty: Avoidable, but You Chose Wrong. Attempts: Pending.
***
The three adventurers stood in a loose triangle, shouting over one another.
“I already tanked rocks!” Bert bellowed. “Someone else does snakes!”
“I’m not wasting my spells just to get bitten!” Harlada snapped.
“Strategically, the tank role should rotate evenly!” Leo argued, scribbling furiously even as the snakes slithered closer.
The serpents hissed, venom dripping from their fangs. Their coils tightened, bodies flexing as they prepared to strike.
Still, the adventurers yelled at each other, louder and louder, until their own voices drowned out the sound of danger.
Then — three quick thuds.
The snakes dropped, heads severed cleanly. Their massive bodies twitched once, twice, then collapsed into steaming piles on the floor.
Silence.
A blade glinted briefly in the torchlight before vanishing again.
Other Bert’s voice drifted out of the shadows, flat with contempt. “Pathetic. Took me ten seconds.”
The trio froze, staring at the corpses.
“…Wait,” Harlada whispered, “did he just—?”
“Correct,” Leo muttered, eyes wide. “He executed all three without input, plan, or delay.”
Bert puffed out his chest. “I loosened them up.”
From the shadows came an audible groan. “You three could drown in a puddle.”
The dungeon crystal pulsed overhead, hesitating. The text flickered once, twice, like it was buffering:
Encounter Cleared (…Somehow). Attempt: 5.
Another pause. Then reluctantly:
Reward Generated (Uncertain).
A pedestal creaked up from the floor, wobbling like it didn’t want to be there. On it sat a small pouch and a vial glowing faintly green.
Leo leaned in, scribbling rapidly. “Statistically, the dungeon appears confused.”
Harlada plucked up the vial, squinting. “Poison resistance potion. Huh. Useful, for once.”
Bert grabbed the pouch, jingled it, and beamed. “Coins! Definitely me loosening them up.”
The crystal pulsed again, almost sulking:
Achievement Unlocked: Rewarded for Nothing.
Reward: Also Nothing.
Bert scowled. “Hey!”
Other Bert muttered from the shadows, “Fair.”
***
The pedestal creaked up from the floor, wobbling like it was embarrassed to be here. On it sat a dull green gem, pulsing faintly with venomous light.
The crystal pulsed uncertainly, text flickering like it wasn’t sure if this counted:
Reward Generated: Poison Resistance Gem. Party-Wide Effect Applied.
The gem dissolved into their chests, leaving a faint bitter taste on their tongues.
Bert flexed, baring his teeth. “See? I’m immune now. Snakes can’t touch me.”
Harlada raised an eyebrow. “That’s not how resistance works.”
Leo scribbled rapidly. “Correction: partial immunity, not total. Statistically misleading.”
From the shadows came a long, exasperated sigh. Other Bert muttered, “You three are going to lick a snake just to test it, aren’t you?”
They ignored him and turned as the far wall rumbled.
A new trapdoor slid open, glowing faintly with shifting dunes. Above it, text blazed across the air:
Next Path: Desert Challenge.
They exchanged a long, weary silence.
“Wait,” Harlada said slowly. “We’re going back?”
Leo adjusted his glasses, trembling. “Statistically impossible. Regression loops are prohibited—”
Bert shrugged and shoved the door open.
Sand blasted their faces. The dunes stretched in every direction once more. The heat shimmered. The horizon howled faintly.
They were back in the desert.
The crystal pulsed smugly:
Cycle Continuation: Desert Challenge. Attempts: Pending.
Bert groaned. “I hate deserts.”
Harlada sighed. “I hate snakes.”
Leo scowled at the endless dunes. “…I hate rhythm errors.”
The sand hissed under their boots, waiting.
