😈🟥 The square smiles first, then cheats
The camera drops into a glowing red room that pretends to be simple: four walls, a start pad, an exit you could toss a coin at. A sign says “Press Jump.” You press jump. A spring launches you sideways into a confetti trap that plays applause like it trained for this moment. Devil Square is a troll funny game that weaponizes your instincts and sells them back to you with a grin. It’s fast, readable, outrageously chaotic, and somehow kind enough to let you try again before your brain finishes the sentence, “Wait, what?”
🧠🙃 The gospel of doing the wrong thing right
Everything here is backwards with intent. Doors open when you stand still, not when you mash. Tiles labeled SAFE are safe only if you approach them while looking away. “Jump” pads punish jumpers but reward a polite crouch with a secret lift. Even the timer lies: sometimes it counts up, daring you to wait; sometimes it counts down and steals seconds whenever you sprint. The joy isn’t in memorizing gotchas; it’s in learning to sniff out designer mischief and answer it with your own.
🎮🌀 Controls that flip your habits (but feel great)
Movement is crisp on purpose. Tap-jump is tight, long-press carries just enough air to regret new ideas. Coyote time saves one late step like a coach with a soft spot. Then the square starts trolling: Reverse Zones flip left-right, Mirror Pads invert up-down on your next hop, and Sticky Corners slow your sprint unless you wiggle like a mischievous eel. The curve is fair—the rules announce themselves with color pulses, tiny sound cues, and the kind of smug sparkle you learn to respect.
📜🤡 Signs that lie, icons that tell the truth
Text is a clown; symbols are lawyers. Big billboards shout RUN while a tiny footprint icon quietly indicates “stand here.” A skull over a pit probably means “safe route underneath,” while a heart sticker might mark a disguised spike because the level designer values irony. The lesson lands early: read the icons, not the slogans; read the corners, not the center; read the room like it’s trying to be caught.
🏛️🎭 Rooms with extremely specific attitudes
The Polite Lobby teaches the language—blink once for a swap, twice for a lie, thrice for comedy. Mirror Market fills with glass panels that reflect fake doors while the real exit hums a half tone lower. Conveyor Chapel layers belts so walking beats running; the rhythm of your footsteps is the key that unlocks the aisle. Gravity Gallery rotates ninety degrees every time you jump, so the correct answer is not to jump at all, just stroll on the wall like you meant it. Echo Rooftops replay your last input half a second later, turning future-you into a teammate you must babysit. Each square isn’t just a layout; it’s a personality you learn to banter with.
🧩🔑 Troll puzzles that reward calm over panic
Nothing here halts the sprint for a lecture. You outrun laser sweepers by crouching, deactivate traps by refusing to press the button, and open a four-color lock by stepping on the colors in alphabetical order while signs argue for rainbow. A pressure floor wants heavy weight—but your shadow counts more than your shoes, so a last-second hop makes the tile believe you’re heavier. Keys exist, then vanish, then reappear if you do absolutely nothing for one count of four. It’s slapstick wrapped around clean logic, and the punchlines feel earned.
🕹️🎁 Pranks, perks, and curses
Blue lockers hide short-lived boosts that can save a life or ruin a clip. Slow-Mo Bubble stretches a couple seconds into a generous breath for threading a sarcastic laser grid. Ghost Step lets you pass through one fake wall that was loudly real a moment ago. Echo Dash replays your previous dodge at half distance, perfect for mirrored floors. Cursed picks show up because chaos has fans: Big Head Mode makes vents feel smaller but replays funnier; Mirror Controls flips left-right for five seconds that last a lifetime; Laugh Track adds a giggle every time you almost win, which is rude and motivating.
🔊🎶 Sound that teaches while it snickers
The square whispers its tells. Safe tiles tick in clean quarters; treacherous ones thwack slightly off-beat. Reverse Zones hum in a low, sly note; the hum rises a half step right before a swap. Fake buttons exhale a tiny puff when they’re meant to be ignored; real ones click like a camera shutter. Land five honest anti-moves and the groove adds a shy hi-hat; nail a full room with zero jumps and the bass warms like the arena approves your nonsense. Miss, and the highs duck for a heartbeat so your brain can reset without a scold.
🧠💡 Micro-strats you’ll claim you invented
Aim with your shadow on glossy tiles; reflections are stand-up comedians. On STOP pads, count “one-and”—doors open on the “and,” not the one. Slide into reverse conveyors at a diagonal and let them place you dead center for the next trick. If a sign screams JUMP, feather the tiniest tap; half the time it only wanted to measure your restraint. When Echo Rooftops mirror your inputs, pre-buffer a useless crouch while landing so the echo burns on nothing and your next step is clean. And the heretical rule of Devil Square: sometimes deliberately failing once reveals the path faster than being careful twice.
🎯🗺️ Modes for whichever brain you brought
Story Mode strings rooms into a sly arc from polite to feral, teaching you how to read jokes in level design. Time Trial measures rhythm more than speed; waiting in the right places is worth more than sprinting wrong. Gauntlet stacks mutators—reverse controls, silent tells, double-speed belts—and still plays fair. Zen Study widens windows, dulls traps, and lets the soundtrack coach your patience. Daily Square hands everyone the same seed; leaderboards track time and “fewest inputs,” because elegance deserves math in a game about restraint.
👥🤝 Co-op chaos and constructive sabotage
Two players turn the room into improv theater. One baits a RUN door by making noise while the other tiptoes through as it opens. High-five at a checkpoint and both of you get a one-shot Echo Dash; launch it midair and the camera leans like it’s proud of your friendship. Rescue levers spawn bridges that only appear if the rescuer stands still—so your hero literally does nothing while you sprint across. If your buddy equips Mirror Controls “for content,” stand nearby with the clap emote so the replay can capture science.
🛠️📈 Progression that feels like swagger, not chores
Unlocks are verbs. Late-Jump Leniency appears after a streak of clean landings and stays as long as you keep behaving. Patience Field widens timing windows whenever you’re not touching the stick. Decoy Footsteps record your best rhythm and play it down a side hall while you take the vent; drones love chasing ghosts. Cosmetics carry micro-utility: a visor tint that calms neon glare, sneakers that glow near honest tiles, a backpack charm that jingles one beat before a swap. You look cooler because you’re moving smarter.
🫶♿ Comfort, clarity, kindness in a prank-filled room
Color-safe palettes make safe pads, hazards, and reverses legible at speed. Calm flashes tame celebration bloom. Motion softness dials camera sway from cinematic to polite nod. Big text, remappable inputs, captions for audio tells, and haptics that purr on perfect stillness while whispering before off-beat traps. Focus Mode dims animated signage in mirror rooms so your eyes glue to signals, not spectacle. Accessibility here isn’t a toggle; it’s how more players get to enjoy the joke.
😂📼 Fumbles the square will replay at parties
You will salute a giant JUMP sign, trampoline into the ceiling, and applaud gravity for its timing. You will sprint proudly into a door that opens only for statues. You will stand perfectly still, sneeze, and reset a puzzle with slapstick precision. The restart is instant, the last eight seconds save automatically, and your second attempt will look suspiciously like you knew all along.
🏁🔥 Why the troll is worth trusting
Because a great troll game doesn’t just prank you—it teaches you to listen. Because ignoring a reflex at the perfect moment feels like a superpower you didn’t know your thumbs could learn. Because Devil Square on Kiz10 is loud in personality, honest in rules, generous in retries, and brilliant at turning “gotcha” into “aha.” One breath. One beat. Disobey with style, wink at the sign, and watch the exit arrive exactly when you stop insisting it should.