The creature lunged. Faster than any enemy before. Each strike was mirrored, each feint reflected, each pause studied. Sparks hissed from my welded shields as I blocked, deflected, and countered in rhythm with the dungeon's heartbeat.
Notice whispered, almost approvingly: "Predict, adapt, manipulate. Use environment and skill synergy. Mental acuity is your edge."
I pivoted, threw welded debris to obscure vision, drew the shadows' attacks into predictable arcs, and exploited split-second openings. Rhythm guided me, but now it was not merely my heartbeat—it was the pulse of the entire hall, syncing movement, instinct, and calculation.
The creature's mirrored attacks began to falter. My unpredictability, the integration of Best Welder, Enhanced Perception, and environmental awareness, began to create openings. I struck deliberately, surgically, watching sparks and shadows respond like instruments in a symphony.
Pain lanced my arms and ribs, exhaustion tugged at my body, but focus never wavered. Every hit, dodge, weld, and feint was a lesson and a reply.
Because I was Mizu. Broken once, yes—but orchestrating chaos into order, adapting, surviving, mastering the dance of shadows.