Today was the day. Isabelle Thorne and her "Liberators" were due for their much-publicized "cleansing" of the Sector 7 Farm. He'd read her arrogant pronouncements, seen her heroic selfies. It was time to give them a taste of true Demon King hospitality.
"Alright, Pixia, my little flying Google," Ragnar said, addressing the tiny pixie librarian hovering anxiously near his shoulder. "Final check on Operation: Irritate Them To Death. Floor one, the 'Welcome Mat of Infinite Annoyance,' is fully stocked?"
Pixia adjusted her comically large spectacles. "Yes, my Lord. Five hundred slimes, freshly jiggled. Three hundred giant rats, all given extra squeaky toys. Two hundred bats, instructed to fly directly into faces. And the new 'Confetti Caltrops' have been liberally scattered. The psychological profile suggests a 78.3% chance of inducing severe irritation within the first fifteen minutes, rising to 95% if they encounter the 'Corridor of Slightly Off-Key Caroling Goblins'."
Ragnar shuddered. "We're not using the caroling goblins unless they really deserve it. That's a war crime even for me." He glanced at Chloe, his Dark High Elf Bloodkin, who stood silent and impassive as a beautifully carved statue of impending doom. "Chloe, your Goblin Snipers are in position to observe, not engage, on floor one. I want a full report on their facial expressions.
A sharp chime echoed in his mind.
[Invaders have entered the Domain. Invader Count: 8.]
"Showtime," Ragnar said, a wicked grin spreading across his pale, fanged face. He tapped his phone, bringing up the live feed of the entrance.
The Liberators strode in, a beacon of heroic purpose. Isabelle Thorne was at the front, her dark ponytail swinging, katana held ready. Her expression was grim, focused.
Beside her, Miyamoto Masakado, a handsome man with a hero-complex visible from orbit, swaggered with an air of effortless superiority, his hand resting on the pommel of a glittering sword.
Behind them followed a burly, shield-bearing man – Torvin the Tank – a nervous-looking woman in robes – Elara the Healer – a stern-faced archer, and three other similarly geared individuals.
"This is it, Liberators!" Masakado announced, his voice booming. "The so-called 'Farm.' Prepare for a swift cleansing!"
Their heroic entrance was immediately ruined as they stepped onto the first section of the "Welcome Mat." The floor was coated in a thick layer of blue slime. Masakado, mid-swagger, yelped as his feet shot out from under him. He landed hard on his backside with a wet squelch.
"BOOM!"
The impact, though minor, sent a tremor through the immediate floor. The wind shrieked for a moment as he flailed.
"What in the blazes?!" he roared, covered in goo.
Before anyone could answer, the air filled with the flapping of wings and high-pitched squeaks. Two hundred bats, as per Pixia's earlier report, swarmed from the ceiling, not attacking, but dive-bombing faces and getting tangled in hair. Simultaneously, three hundred giant rats scurried from holes in the walls, running between their legs, squeaking incessantly.
"Ugh, vermin!" the archer snapped, swatting a bat away from his face. Isabelle moved with fluid grace, deflecting the creatures without harming them, her focus unwavering.
Torvin planted his shield.
"BOOM!"
The ground shuddered as his shield hit the stone. "Form up! These are just nuisances!"
The wind howled as he swung his shield arm, trying to clear a space.
They pushed forward, slipping and sliding, swatting and cursing. The bats would occasionally get a lucky hit.
"BOOM!"
A particularly fat bat collided with Masakado's forehead. A tiny shockwave rippled, and he staggered back, clutching his head. "My perfect hair! You demonic fiends!"
The heroes retaliated. Isabelle's katana was a blur, but she only used the flat to bat creatures away. Masakado, however, unleashed a furious sword strike.
"BOOM!"
His sword cleaved through a rat. The air cracked. A visible shockwave exploded from the impact point. He took three heavy steps back from the resultant force, panting.
"Take that, you oversized rodent!"
"Masakado, conserve your energy!" Isabelle warned, her voice tight. "These are distractions."
They cleared the initial swarm, only to find themselves in a corridor filled with tripwires. Each one, when triggered, set off a loud bang and a shower of brightly colored, incredibly sticky confetti.
"Seriously?" Elara the Healer muttered, picking glitter out of her robes.
The next section featured pitfalls, shallow and easily escapable, but filled with more slime and, inexplicably, rubber chickens that squeaked loudly when landed upon.
Torvin the Tank, ever vigilant, took a step and vanished with a yelp and a loud SQUEAK.
"BOOM!"
His landing shook the floor. He emerged moments later, dripping with slime and clutching a rubber chicken, his stoic face a mask of profound bewilderment.
Ragnar watched from his throne room, actively cackling. Pixia was taking meticulous notes, occasionally murmuring, "Fascinating stress response." Chloe remained impassive, but Ragnar thought he saw the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of minor indignities, they reached a small antechamber. In the center, on a pedestal, sat a single, ornate treasure chest.
Masakado's eyes lit up. "Aha! Finally! The spoils of... well, this inconvenience!" He shoved past Isabelle and kicked the chest open.
"BOOM!"
The lid flew open. The wind shrieked as it arced through the air.
Inside, nestled on a velvet cushion, was a single, crudely carved wooden sword.
Masakado stared. His face went from eager anticipation to confusion, then to a deep, puce rage.
"A... A WOODEN SWORD?!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the dungeon. The ground itself seemed to tremble with his fury.
"This is an INSULT! An AFFRONT! I AM MIYAMOTO MASAKADO, THE 'YAY LOL' OF JUSTICE! I DESERVE EPIC LOOT!"
He snatched the wooden sword.
"BOOM!"
With a furious roar, he swung it against the stone wall. The wind howled around the flimsy weapon.
"CRACK!"
The wooden sword shattered into a dozen pieces. A visible shockwave, surprisingly potent for such a pathetic weapon, blasted outwards. Masakado stumbled back, his arm numb, staring at the splinters in his hand. The sheer force of his rage-fueled attack against the unyielding wall had sent a shockwave through his own bones.
"This... this dungeon is mocking me!" he shrieked.
Isabelle sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Masakado, control yourself. This is clearly a tactic to unnerve us."
"Unnerve us?! I'm PREPARED TO COMMIT WAR CRIMES, ISABELLE!"
Ragnar, watching the feed, wiped a tear from his eye. "Oh, this is gold. Pixia, make sure we get a highlight reel of this. Psychological warfare, my friends, is a beautiful art form."
He leaned back, deeply satisfied. The Liberators were annoyed, confused, and their most arrogant member was on the verge of an aneurysm. Phase one was a resounding success. The real pain was yet to come.