Deeper inside, the dungeon shifted. Shadows lengthened unnaturally. Walls groaned as if breathing. Metallic tang thickened, sharp, acrid. Rhythm pulsed in sync with my heartbeat.
"Difficulty escalating," Notice said. "Expect greater threats. Adapt rapidly."
Enemies arrived—larger, faster, smarter. Shadows struck unpredictably. Sparks hissed as welded shields deflected razor strikes. Heat seared my fingers, sweat stung my eyes. Rhythm guided each movement. Fear pressed, but focus prevailed.
Spinning blades fell from the ceiling. Pain lanced ribs and muscles screamed—but instinct moved me. Enhanced Perception highlighted micro-movements, subtle air shifts, attack residue.
Ahead, choice: high-point corridor or trapped figure. Chest tightened. Morality outweighed reward. Protection won. Welding barriers, timing strikes, weaving skill and rhythm—every motion deliberate.
When the last shadow vanished, I sank to knees, chest heaving, sweat slick. Relief and pride mingled with lingering adrenaline. The dungeon had escalated—and I had met it.
Ahead, darkness waited. New threats, new tests, new choices. I flexed fingers experimentally. Best Welder pulsed, Rhythm guided, Enhanced Perception alert.
Because I was Mizu. Broken once, yes—but learning, adapting, surviving, ready.