The guardian's attacks slowed. It flinched, staggered, energy pulsing irregularly. Blue veins of light flickered, signaling instability. Rhythm guided me. Best Welder thrummed with latent power. Enhanced Perception pinpointed weakness—small gaps, micro-pauses, openings in motion.
I welded mid-air again, forming jagged blades and shields in a seamless flow. Sparks erupted as I struck. Pain flared in arms and legs, heat scorched fingertips, but precision and rhythm carried the motion.
It lunged one last time, predictable now, beaten in strategy and adaptation. I dodged, countered, and drove a welded spike into its chest. Light flared, pulsing violently, then dimmed. The guardian collapsed into fragmented mist.
Silence filled the chamber. Exhaustion, relief, pride—all surged through me.
"Points awarded. Moral integrity maintained. Skills enhanced," Notice confirmed.
I flexed fingers experimentally, Best Welder humming faintly, Rhythm steady, Enhanced Perception alert. I was battered, yes—but alive. I was victorious. I had mastered survival, morality, and adaptation in tandem.
Because I was Mizu. Broken once, yes—but learning, surviving, adapting, mastering everything the dungeon demanded.