The jagged stone entrance swallowed the faint light above. I stepped inside, muscles coiled, senses sharp. The air was damp, metallic, tanging of rust and dust. Every inhale was deliberate, steadying my pulse, sharpening my focus.
"Mini-dungeon activated," Notice said. "Your skills, judgment, and morality will all be tested."
Best Welder thrummed faintly beneath my skin. Rhythm pulsed in time with my heartbeat. Enhanced Perception tingled at the edges of my awareness. Shadows shifted, whispers brushing the walls. Fear was sharp, insistent—but now, a tool, not a chain.
The first enemies darted from the walls—small, quick shadows, erratic and sly. Sparks hissed as my welded blades met their attacks. I moved in time with Rhythm, a pulse of motion and counter-motion. Each strike was exhilaration; each miss a lesson seared in adrenaline.
A trap triggered. Spikes erupted beneath me. I twisted, leapt, landed unevenly, lungs burning. The metallic tang of the dungeon clung to my throat, sharp and bitter. Danger and thrill coiled in the same breath.
Ahead, a choice: one path held more enemies—more points, more risk; the other hid trapped innocents. My chest tightened. Tangible reward pressed against the ethical pull.
I chose protection. Welding debris into a shield, I deflected attacks, pulled shadows away from those who could not defend themselves. Sparks flew. Shadows hissed. Sweat stung my eyes. Every motion deliberate—skill, rhythm, conscience intertwined.
The last shadow dissolved into mist. Silence pressed against me, heavy and hollow. Relief mingled with pride. I had survived. I had chosen.
"Mini-dungeon complete. Points awarded. Moral integrity maintained," Notice confirmed.
I flexed my fingers, feeling Best Welder pulse, Rhythm guiding, Enhanced Perception alive. The next dungeon loomed, larger, deadlier. But I was ready.
Because I was Mizu. Broken once, yes—but learning, growing, mastering.