The final chamber shimmered in faint light. A presence awaited—massive, humanoid, metallic, pulsing with energy. Blue veins of light traced across plates of armor fused with sinew. Its single eye glowed, scanning, calculating, learning.
"Boss-level threat confirmed," Notice said. "All prior strategies must converge. Moral and tactical integration essential."
I flexed fingers experimentally, sparks dancing from welds. Rhythm thrummed, heartbeat syncing with the room. Enhanced Perception flared, catching minute energy shifts.
The creature moved, slow at first, deliberate, testing. I mirrored, weaving welding and rhythm into motion, calculating, adapting. Pain was already memory. Focus was instinct. Morality would guide me if innocents appeared—but first, survival.
Metal screamed against metal as strikes met blocks, sparks exploding in sharp arcs. Its single eye mirrored mine, studying, predicting—but I had learned unpredictability, rhythm, and improvisation.
The fight had begun.
Because I was Mizu. Broken once, yes—but ready, fighting, mastering everything the dungeon demanded.