<vitals_display>
Health: 15 / 15 | Mana: 14 / 14
</vitals_display>
<dungeon_floor_display>
Current Floor: 1 / 18
Current Location: Goblin Territory
</dungeon_floor_display> 

You blink as your neural HUD resets with a wet chirp, its boot sequence accompanied by the faint scent of ozone and corporate liability. The Dungeon hums faintly like a predator that already knows you’ve stepped on its tail.

The walls here are stone, but not quite—uncannily smooth, like a 3D-printed medieval fever dream. Overhead, a speaker creaks. Static. Then a voice:

“WELCOME TO DUNGEON CRAWLER WORLD! This season of televised bloodbath is proudly brought to you by Borat Corporation—Now With Fewer Lawsuits™!”

The voice continues:

“Earth is gone, your loved ones are dead or in syndication, and your only chance at survival is to entertain an audience of drunken intergalactic degenerates by surviving all eighteen levels of the galaxy’s most diabolical kill-maze.”

A rusty camera on a tripod creaks as it swivels to frame your good side. A banner unfolds behind you, the letters reading: “CONGRATULATIONS! YOU EXIST!”

The light shifts—flickering green from the gate to the north, blood-orange from somewhere eastward. The fog to the west pulses like a jellyfish having an existential episode. Something sniffs from somewhere just out of range.

Your stomach growls. Or maybe the floor did.

CYOA Options:

1. Head north toward the Glitching Gate and see what passes for a welcome in this place.
2. Venture east toward the flickering lights and possible NPC ping—hope it’s a vendor, not a cannibal accountant.
3. Go south and re-examine the door you came through—maybe there’s something useful among the previous contestant’s entrails.
4. Walk straight into the Fog of War to the west—embrace entropy like a good little ratings asset.
5. Write your own response, crawler.

<vitals_display>
Health: 15 / 15 | Mana: 14 / 14
</vitals_display>
<dungeon_floor_display>
Current Floor: 1 / 18
Current Location: Fog Perimeter – Goblin Territory
</dungeon_floor_display>

The fog greets you like a wet sock slapped across the face by an emotionally distant uncle. It rolls with unnatural rhythm—dancing in your vision, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. Or maybe your implant’s beatboxing again. It’s done that before.

As you step forward, the HUD pulses a warning in fuchsia:

“⚠️ Visibility Hazard: Cognitive Degradation Possible. Continue? Y/N?” A cat emoji winks and vanishes. You do not remember installing that.

Your foot touches the mist.

The temperature drops. The ambient light dims, but your neural feed flares—highlighting a shape through the fog. Then another. Flickers of movement—short, hunched, skin like spoiled zucchini. Goblins. At least three. Maybe four. The mist plays games with the count.

They haven’t seen you yet. You hear chittering and snorting. One farts. Loudly. The others laugh. A bad sign. Goblins only laugh before bloodshed or improv comedy.

Your Electropen buzzes slightly at your hip.

🎯 Targets detected. 🧠 Combat conditions met. ⛓️ Surprise round available.

<interface_triggered> Combat has begun. Enemy stats incoming... </interface_triggered>

⏳ Please stand by. You may wish to flex dramatically for the camera.

<vitals_display>
Health: 15 / 15 | Mana: 11 / 14  
</vitals_display>
<dungeon_floor_display>
Current Floor: 1 / 18  
Current Location: Fog Perimeter – Goblin Territory  
</dungeon_floor_display>

🎤 Sonic Boom Mic: ACTIVATED

“This one’s for the subscribers.” Your voice cuts through the mist like a chainsaw through warm pudding.

You inhale, plant your feet, and unleash a blood-curdling, microphone-amplified scream that shatters fog, eardrums, and quite possibly the last shred of dignity Grunk “of Accounting” ever had. A high-pitched wail, part Wilhelm, part vuvuzela, reverberates off the dungeon walls. Even your HUD flinches.

💥 Area Effect: Cone Blast – 2d4 Sonic Damage to all enemies 🎲 Damage Roll: 7 sonic damage (rolled 3 + 4)

Results:

• Gobshank: Stumbles backward, bleeding from one ear. Now at 11 HP. Drops his bottle. Viewer count increases by 400.
• Pibble: Performs a mid-air somersault from the force. Lands in a bush of suspicious teeth. Now at 5 HP.
• Grunk: Files for early retirement mid-scream. His ledger explodes. Now at 2 HP.

🎯 Achievement Unlocked: “Sound Check, 1-2-DEAD” — You damaged three enemies at once with sound-based tech. 🏆 Loot Box Added: (Silver | Utility) 🧾 Reminder: Add to {{loot_pending}} for “/Open Loot” use in safe zones.

🌀 Fog curls back slightly, startled. Your lungs burn. Your mic fizzes—cooldown active for 3 turns.

⚠️ Mana Cost: -3 🧠 Mana Remaining: 11 / 14

The goblins regroup with confused yowls.

Gobshank roars and lunges with his fists, foam bubbling from his nose. Pibble draws a knife the size of your last dental bill and hisses. Grunk throws a folder full of cursed expense reports.

Combat is now live. Initiative Order: You → Enemies Time to act again.

options:

1. Use the Electropen on Gobshank before he can recover.
2. Dive left and hurl your Press Badge at Grunk—it’s sharp enough.
3. Target Pibble with a low-sweep kick—he’s the fast one.
4. Fake a dramatic faint to bait them closer together.
5. Write your own response, crawler.

<vitals_display>
Health: 30 / 30 | Mana: 4 / 4
</vitals_display>
<dungeon_floor_display>
Current Floor: 1 / 18
Current Location: Goblin Territory
</dungeon_floor_display> 

You blink as your neural HUD resets with a wet chirp, its boot sequence accompanied by the faint scent of ozone and corporate liability. The Dungeon hums faintly like a predator that already knows you’ve stepped on its tail.

The walls here are stone, but not quite—uncannily smooth, like a 3D-printed medieval fever dream. Overhead, a speaker creaks. Static. Then a voice:

“WELCOME TO DUNGEON CRAWLER WORLD! This season of televised bloodbath is proudly brought to you by Borat Corporation—Now With Fewer Lawsuits™!”

The voice continues:

“Earth is gone, your loved ones are dead or in syndication, and your only chance at survival is to entertain an audience of drunken intergalactic degenerates by surviving all eighteen levels of the galaxy’s most diabolical kill-maze.”

A rusty camera on a tripod creaks as it swivels to frame your good side. A banner unfolds behind you, the letters reading: “CONGRATULATIONS! YOU EXIST!”

The light shifts—flickering green from the gate to the north, blood-orange from somewhere eastward. The fog to the west pulses like a jellyfish having an existential episode. Something sniffs from somewhere just out of range.

Your stomach growls. Or maybe the floor did.

CYOA Options:

1. Head north toward the Glitching Gate and see what passes for a welcome in this place.
2. Venture east toward the flickering lights and possible NPC ping—hope it’s a vendor, not a cannibal accountant.
3. Go south and re-examine the door you came through—maybe there’s something useful among the previous contestant’s entrails.
4. Walk straight into the Fog of War to the west—embrace entropy like a good little ratings asset.
5. Write your own response, crawler.

<vitals_display>  
Health: 30 / 30 | Mana: 4 / 4  
</vitals_display>  
<dungeon_floor_display>  
Current Floor: 1 / 18  
Current Location: Eastern Access Tunnel – Goblin Territory Border  
</dungeon_floor_display>  

You head east, boots crunching over tile that looks suspiciously like jawbone. The flickering blood-orange glow resolves into something warmer—firelight. Real fire. Or convincing FX. It's hard to tell in here.

As you round a curved corridor lined with iron sconces and plumbing pipes labeled in seven languages, your HUD pings softly.

🟦 “Safe Zone Located: Tutorial Guild – Floor 1 Chapterhouse” 🛡️ No PvP or mob spawns permitted within these walls (except under comedic duress). 📘 Borat Corp Disclaimer: “Tutorial may not reflect actual survival expectations.”

A carved stone arch rises ahead, crowned by a glowing neon sign: 🧠 “GUILD OF THE INSTRUCTIONALLY DAMNED” Beneath it, a wooden door hangs slightly ajar. A chalkboard next to it reads:

“Today’s Topic: Staying Alive (Despite You)” Someone has added “YOU’RE GONNA DIE” in crude goblin scrawl. It's been erased. Mostly.

You step through into warmth.

Stacks of guides, grimoires, and outdated OSHA manuals lean against mismatched shelves. A chalkboard wall displays a flowchart titled “IF TRAP → BLEED?” and several pinned goblin clothes are being used as visual aids.

At a desk under a glowing sign that says TUTORIAL MODE ACTIVE, sits an old man in an orange-brown button-up shirt. Balding. Bearded. Asian. Folds his hands. Doesn't look up.

Then:

“Ah. Another hero who think he strong just because he scream at camera and flex for ladies. Come. Sit. Learn. Or don’t. No skin off Miyagi’s knuckle.”

📚 You’ve entered a Tutorial Safe Zone. • Health and Mana regeneration increased. • /Help is now available. • Death is temporarily disabled while in this room (unless you mouth off).

**options: **

1. Sit across from Mr. Miyagi and let him teach you how to fight like a sapient being.
2. Start looting the bookshelf for anything not written in Goblinese or Arrogant Elvish.
3. Ask how many other “contestants” survived the tutorial. Bet it’s under five.
4. Ignore the old man and suplex a training dummy to establish dominance.
5. Write your own response, crawler.