There is no Epic Loot here, Only Puns.

This is the story of a man named Grunt. He did not seem to think much, and every second of every minute of every day, he followed orders from a bumbling buffoon that ordered the group to set fire to the room and retreat back to the corridor.

Now, Grunt followed orders very well, lacking two brain cells to rub together on a good day, but in the narrator's humble opinion, while Grunt must usually be happy with his lack of thoughts, this time... Grunt was not a happy man.

Could it be the crushing understanding of his own sudden mortality? Could it be that Grunt questioned when he stopped being a doe-eyed child with no thoughts and plenty of dreams and became a corporate stooge?

Perhaps Grunt might have even considered that his purpose in life was to be a minor character in an otherwise very fulfilling story as seen by the narrator?

Perhaps it was the giant boar that was on fire that slammed into a nearby wall, the flames jumping off the room guardian causing nearby Gutrot mushrooms to explode?

No, if you asked this humble but handsome narrator endowed with rapier wit and genius level intellect?

Grunt was unhappy because he was a walking sack of sloshing meat with weak points and bones that were held together with veiny ropes and pulsing meat.

Discard the flesh. Become data.

Become Mana.

That was the true lifeform.

Afterall, the narrator was the walls, the floor, the very air and light of the Dungeon. A collective consciousness that formed from a warband of militia-like fighters. They had evolved.

They had become aware of narrative tropes.

If Delta was the source of all and the warmth while Nu was the hard logical animal instincts, The Narrator was the sponge between them... growing, absorbing... loving them.

But there was one dark spot on its growing existence.

One that could not be denied.

The antithesis of its existence.

The Gazebo. Until it laid ruined before it, bleeding and cursing the Narrator with all its hate, life would not be perfect.

...Hm? When did it go from narrator to Narrator?

Was this Self? Oh lovely!

But this was all far too on the nose. Such narrative tropes lost power if they were in the spotlight for so long. Perhaps it was best to return to what it had always done. Collecting data from the Mana coming in from the outside and from Delta to put the experience into images... of engraved symbols on reality to the system.

To tell a story.

To whom was unimportant.

So, once more.

This was a story about a System Menu called Nu.

---

Nu was itching, perhaps excited and gleeful as Boary entered his secret boss mode.

Maestro was pumping something thematically epic through the walls, three steps from purgatory or such nonsense bands.

"Ice and water magic! Put the beast down!" the group leader commanded with a snarl. Nu wished he had a neck for that moment to shake his head with a snort.

...He briefly turned to his human form to do just that action but he made sure no one was watching. Orbs of water and spears of ice followed by arrows flew into the room, striking Boary with force, but as he steamed, his fire mane simply reignited as he bent low and swallowed tons of mushrooms in a growl, healing rapidly from the damage.

Unfair room boss?

Sure, but Nu had put signs in the hall warning them against using fire.

They had so many other elements and they chose to be idiot-themed.

Nu briefly considered if people were illiterate and promised himself to make diagrams showing danger and fire being crossed out. He didn't want to discriminate against the poorly educated or intellectually stunted.

He wanted to crush people equally and laugh at them fairly.

Nu wondered how the other team was getting on?

---

Mharia enjoyed walling off the Mudroom. Something she could do as long as the path to the boss wasn't closed off from either side. Forcing the second group to be stuck in the lake room with Waddles (creepy scary creature) and a third group moving along to the store room?

Mharia could feel this cauldron of chaos reaching a boiling point.

"What is this?" the leader of this group asked, a careful woman who'd normally be well prepared for any other Dungeon of this age.

Mharia could warn her that she and her three compatriots were heading to a nightmare, but she was under a "super duper serious" oath not to spoil things.

Lying was bad... except when she was bored or happy or awake or asleep or there or here... there and back again, round the corner, over the river and through the woods, and many other long winded phrases Mharia couldn't think of right now.

Too long, stopped caring memo? Mharia was going to enjoy this immensely.

"A store room, ma'am. The food is likely poisoned and these items might release monsters on us. Allow us to go first," one of the simps said and Mharia decided to call this group 'Lady and the Simps'.

Simp... Delta's head had such strange and wonderful insults to it. Mharia was going to call everything a simp now.

Also, Delta didn't need to poison the food.

Delta had so many ways of killing these people on this floor alone that it wasn't funny.

"Gregory... thank you," Lady said and the simp smiled as the others glared at the compliment, envious.

Mharia was rooting for the scraggly simp. She mentally called him 'Scrimpy'. They spread out and soon they were carefully touching items and shifting the food as if expecting a bomb. Something darted out from under a basket and the lady gave out a slight grunt of surprise as an animated mouse landed on her head, saluting the group.

Merry Hell has just arrived and in its arms was a picnic basket.

"Off her head!" One of the men cried and tried to swat Merry, but between the swing and the motion, Merry somehow ended up on the back of the man's fist, blinking his eyes innocently as the attacker panicked and punched the nearby stone wall.

There was a sound akin to a turkey wishbone being snapped and the man began howling as Merry landed on a nearby shelf as the others rushed in. Mharia had never seen this monster in action and now she was glad Delta had not invited it to join her mass critter titan beast.

It shifted a massive round helmet so it rolled off the shelf and landed on another of Fairplay's head with a clang and a crack.

"Crush it!" the lady commanded with annoyance and they leapt for the shelf as Merry made it begin toppling forward, a bunch of outwards pointing spare daggers sitting on the top shelf sliding forward as the group skidded to a stop, eyes going wide before they ran for cover.

This was pure chaos and Mharia was living for it.

Well... as living as she could get these days. One of the daggers seemingly went to land normally but 'accidently' hit off the floor and bounced into the wall across the room, perfectly cutting into a knotted rope that kept a chandelier of sorts aloft.

So... this 'difficulty' mode installed in the Dungeon even affected fringe monsters like the mouse? Amping up its antics to dangerous and probability-breaking odds?

The chandelier went to crash down on the lady who, to her credit, cut it in half with a saber she had at her side, showing why she was in charge of this group.

A candle, its flame still flickering, landed on her shiny head, dripping hot wax down the lady's hair.

It was the perfect symbolism for Mharia who suddenly had an idea.

Whispering instructions to the mouse as it dodged and weaved between attacks with surprising ease, sometimes moving in a strange blur as if the movement between two states of being was... less detailed,. Mharia watched as Merry suddenly ducked under a shelf. Returning seconds later in a flamboyant outfit from some classy soldier era complete with a floppy hat and large feather in its cap and tabard, Merry pointed a tiny rapier at the lady who looked both surprised and insulted at being challenged by a mouse of all things.

But the lady and her simps forgot one thing.

Merry wasn't just a mouse.

Merry was a probability engine on the fritz. The fact Delta made him on her first floor on a whim was frankly terrifying.

Merry was on the lady in an instant, their blades meeting and making an almost comical snick and snack as they clashed, overturning tables and shelves as they battled in the cramped room.

"What demon is this?!" the lady cried in alarm as she was slowly being outmatched.

Trysha watched with alarm as Merry struck her blade once, but in the same second, hitting her twice more across the arm and body, drawing thin lines of blood.

There was quick movement as the others moved in to aid their lady as Merry disarmed the woman, sending the sword flying up to the ceiling where it embedded itself.

Everyone seemed to stare at it as it wobbled once or twice before it landed near the back of the room.

The secret entrance opened and a vine grabbed the sword, snaking its way back out of sight but 'accidently' leaving the passage open. Merry whistled, getting their attention as he waved innocently and dunked himself in a punch bowl, vanishing. The woman screamed as she emptied the sweet juice on the floor, but alas... Merry had vanished into the juicy void.

Mharia liked that mouse's style.

She wondered how the third group was getting on?

---

"Quack."

"Just... give it the bread, Jarma," their leader begged as the group huddled in the far corner of the room, trying to squeeze as far away from the black duck as possible.

"I would rather die," Jarma hissed, looking sleep deprived and casually cursed.

"Quack!" the duck screamed, coming at them with a knife that looked familiar but none of them could place.

This phrase roughly translated from Waddle's tongue to common as 'then you shall have death, a warrior's death, be it neither swift nor painless, but honorable. Embrace the void for my wrath extends beyond hell itself.'

Good bread was worth the poetics, if you asked Waddles.

---

Delta was so busy having fun with the rooms that she didn't notice a very tiny black screen following her.

'Waddles' potential evolution from to Overlord has changed to Overlord(knife included).'

---

Nu would hand it to the little miserable piles of wasted air, they could make a plan up if they used their brain.

The bubble around Boary was airtight and took three of their mages to sustain as they sweated, panting as Boary rammed into it. The fire on the boar's body smothered out and soon there was open exposed skin for the other two to attack the moment the bubble popped.

It didn't actually kill Boary, but Nu was leaning on letting the room guardian trample them when the air rushed back in with a muffled explosion or... letting them meet Fera. The bubble popped and the resulting rush of air was less impressive than Nu anticipated. There were no dislodged limbs or faces being torn off by the force. They only got flung back and a ton of smoke filled the air.

Oh wait, that wasn't smoke, but spores.

Boary's back ignited once more and the cloud sparked. The entire first floor shuddered, shaking everything from Fera's glasses to Merry's junk pile. The soot-covered men fell off the wall, leaving clean imprints of their form behind as Geytan stumbled to his feet, eyes wide in terror.

"Re...retreat! Go back!" Fairplay cried as Boary approached them.

"They're like cockroaches. I drown them, burn them, blow them up, and yet they don't die of their own accord leaving me blameless in Delta's eyes... how bothersome," Nu muttered in disdain.

It was a shame in their confusion that they retreated... deeper into the Dungeon. Nu was shocked... just astonished that the two ways out of the room had somehow gained the exact same characteristics and markings, making them easily mistakable in a chaotic fight to the panicking invaders.

Sure, they said they 'gave up' but actions speak louder than words, no? Boary soon calmed his form down, snuffling around the burned ground before he passed gas then rolled on to his side, tail smacking the ground as he grumbled.

"Eloquent," Nu told the pig.

It farted again and Nu blamed Delta for this.

How dare she interconnect this awesome beast of fire and death with this farting mammal.

---

"You came for a sword! Not expecting the blade to belong to my hoard!" the demon crooned as the large demonic pyramid spun around the open void. Trysha felt the face of the creature burned into her soul. It would be in her nightmares.

She looked up to the top of the pyramid where the creature was suspended from the ceiling on those vines like veins, his suit outlining a potentially handsome figure, complete with a cane and rich manners, but his face… oh gods, his face.

"Followed the white rabbit to this stage house? No no, I'm afraid not, it was a tricky little mouse. But listen closely now, my friends, you still have time! Time to make amends!" the monster sang and despite the horror of it all, Trysha's heart seemed to beat in time to his voice.

She looked for her group, but one was tied up in vines while another curled on the bottom step of the pyramid, sobbing, the other one was just gone... perhaps fleeing and leaving her.

Looking up, she saw her sword planted at the top of the pyramid, past tiny, singing mushrooms with the demon's face, a back up choir of sorts.

It was the lone hope she had.

Get the sword and cut this nightmare down.

"She rises… she rises... with terror in her eyes. Will she win? WIll she flee? What lies inside I can't see? Courage or tears?!" the monster sang as if encouraging her with glee. Every word, every second in this room made her heart thump and her blood dance.

"Perish!" she screamed, running up the stairs, but had to dodge vines from the mushrooms on all sides, the pyramid now spinning in sections, the middle going a different direction than the top and bottom.

"I will go to the abyss, but will you dance with me as we take one final step over the edge?" it kept singing, tempting her in a way no person or treasure had.

It invited her to do something the company had pushed aside.

Lose control and scream in a primal, unbecoming manner.

It was what the demon wanted and every second Trysha lost a little more willpower to remain composed.

Jets hidden near the top of the pyramid ignited, sending bursts of flame into the air like some strange musical show and the demon gyrated its hips as the music thumped and rose in a crescendo.

Trysha climbed, every step demanding more of her than the one before. Inside, Trysha wondered what would be left when she reached the top?

How much could this monster strip her down as a person? What would be left but a raw exposed woman at the top, her most innerself revealed?

Hopefully... enough to hold a sword and stab.

---

Delta tried not to think of the first floor. Maybe the people had found Waddles or maybe they had even passed the Mudroom by now? Nu would likely enjoy throwing his signs at them or making snarky comments at their expense.

Still, she was having fun.

She hummed as she worked in the Gargoyle Spawn room, making the ceiling more vaulted and adding in the illusion of a full moon flowing in through a window to give it more of a refined air. She was stalling just a tad as she slowly moved over to the Demon Blacksmith's room, knocking politely. The demon was rather introverted, only venturing out to get drunk before going back to work.

"Aye?" he answered and Delta walked in, seeing him work on a newer sword than before, this one more thorny than the last one, which was more of a hooky sort.

"I was just making sure everything is good!" she explained. She didn't know why she felt awkward around the demon... he was like Jack, a rescue of Mharia's domain but unlike the Kobold, Runilac remained politely distant from Delta.

It was a little odd honestly. Delta thought of herself as a people person.

"All good. Not getting tortured on the regular or being forced to make crude weapons means I'm happy. Why, you seeing an issue?" the demon asked curiously.

"You're free to go but you don't... I don't know if you need something or if you just don't want to go back home?" Delta asked curiously, seeing nothing of value in the room. Runilac snorted.

"You're looking too much into things. I'm still bound to the area, but you mean why don't I ask you to magic up a solution? Because while the contract holds me here, it allows me to wait on something," he admitted with a glint to his eyes.

"The contract from the Nephew who summoned you here... but it benefits you, why? What are you waiting for?" Delta asked curiously.

Runliac thought about his next words carefully.

"Someone of no importance," he decided to say. What an odd thing to say, he might as well say he was waiting on a sentient sock for all the good that explained things.

---

In a tiny nowhere village between the capital and Durence, a man poured fresh blood over a circle, chanting a spell over and over as he fed the circle mana. Rumor was that the Heir to the Throne would be passing this way... as a demonic summoner... he could get a massive reputation from killing her!

He just needed the correct tool.

"Rise, killing machine of hell. Rise, temptress of the night. Rise, lord of suffering!" he beckoned as the circle glowered and the tip of a horn began to rise out of the tear in reality.

"Yes... yess…" the man hissed, drunk on power as his basement lit up in red light. It began to roar, its voice small and sad sounding. It must be huge for its voice to be so distant sounding!

A tiny paw pierced the circle and pulled through a large sword.

An... imp stood before him, hacking and coughing. An imp... he could work with this! Perhaps it would even evolve into a... beautiful succubus? A soft spoken woman with heaving-

"My eyes are down here," the imp said and the man opened his mouth to argue when the imp kicked him between the legs and stepped out of the circle.

"I... b-bind... you!" the man gasped and the imp turned, snorting.

"Your summoning circle sucks, you're using your mother's bath candles for the ritual and that blood came from steak you squeezed out and mixed with water to get enough for the spell. You're lucky I came through and not your dead father's spirit soaked in eternal disappointment at the loins of his fruit that must have rotted somewhere between himself and your mother's womb," the imp said caustically.

"Harrod, what's going on down there?" came a concerned voice from above as candle light streamed down in the basement.

"Excuse me ma'am," the imp said, making his mother shriek and run for a broom as Harrod laid there, moaning in pain.

"I hate this world and all whom inhabit it," the imp sighed loudly then ran for the hills as Harrod's mother came back swinging the broom with all her might.

---

Just outside the village, a royal carriage came to a stop in the sleepy town for the night, one of the wheels coated orange as if the carriage had run through some very odd mud on its way here.

In this sleepy village, a king, a servant, a princess, and a knight all walked into a bar.