The door opened.
Doors actually, as I now slither corrected.
It was two the whole time, meeting on the center line in a pair. The surface was so covered in rust and magical weirdness I couldn't even tell after starting at it for days.
But the door, or the doors, those don't matter now. They don't matter at all compared to what just wandered directly into the Giant Skeleton's floor trap.
Two tired looking, exhausted, beaten-up and dirt-covered, people: A warrior-woman of some kind, and a Mage that looks like Gandalf in his late-twenties. They marched right in like a couple of bad-asses, determined looks and grim-set faces staring down the unknown.
Then the barrier activated, and they spent a good ten seconds just staring in slacked jawed horror as the evil-theme music started to play.
Just kidding: no theme music actually started to play. That's just my human-side imagination running a bit wild.
Watching from my lower-balcony roost, overlooking this affair at Giant head-level, I find it difficult not to pity them.
Snake-side instinct doesn't care about humans at all, but I've got a whole mental and spiritual frame-work in common with them. I was a human for about 25 years before the Tiny-Snake-God granted me a second chance at life.
Watching two humans get slaughtered into fine red paste isn't something I'm looking forward to.
Not one bit. Hero-Frog was more than enough to check the pink-mist medallion off my bucket list.
Still, I can't look away.
It's like target fixation and Morbid curiosity: All rolled up into one. There are humans! Here! In this god-awful dungeon! We're easily hundreds of feet from the surface, and yet somehow there are people?
Does this mean something? Does this hold significance? Is this a blessing sent by the tiny-snake god?
If they die, will I have missed a chance for a better life?
I don't know, but as I watch from the balcony of cliff and stone:
The battle is starting.