The air shifted before me, thick and metallic, curling around my skin like liquid ice. I stumbled, disoriented, heart hammering in my chest. One second, I was on the familiar rooftop I had claimed as my practice ground; the next, the world had changed. The ground beneath me cracked and shimmered faintly, glowing along jagged seams I couldn't explain. My stomach twisted in confusion, unease clawing at my chest.
"Environment unstable. Adaptation required," Notice whispered, calm and steady, but even that couldn't steady the tremor in my hands.
I looked around. Towers of jagged metal scraped into a fog-heavy sky, their silhouettes warping in the dim light. Shadows flickered unnaturally, slipping along walls, twisting like smoke with intention. A low, guttural roar echoed, vibrating through my teeth and making my ears ring. My stomach knotted; instinct screamed to run—but where?
Three figures emerged from the fog. Too fast. Too deliberate. Too inhuman. They moved with coordination, their limbs jerking like marionettes yet flowing with a terrifying rhythm. I felt my chest tighten as adrenaline surged, the familiar fear mingling with a strange, sharp thrill. My hands tingled with anticipation, pulsing with the latent energy of Best Welder.
"Threat assessment: high. Tactical application of all skills necessary," Notice warned.
I flexed my fingers, feeling the hum of energy through my veins. My mind raced. I didn't know this world, but survival required action.
The first figure lunged. My heart lurched, chest constricting, as I twisted a broken shard of metal from the ground. Sparks flew when I struck it into place as a barrier. The creature shrieked, a sound that cut through the fog like a knife, and I felt it graze my sleeve—cold, sharp, almost alive.
I rolled, chest heaving, the taste of iron in my mouth, heart hammering. Every step, every movement, demanded instinct and calculation. Rhythm, perception, welding—they all had to work in tandem, a symphony I barely controlled but desperately trusted.
The second figure charged. My pulse thudded painfully, echoing in my ears. I twisted the metal staff I had welded moments earlier, meeting its strike with precision. Sparks stung my eyes, and the smell of scorched metal filled my nostrils. Fear clawed at me, but determination steadied my muscles. I can survive this. I will survive this.
Enhanced Perception lit faint traces of movement I wouldn't have seen otherwise, letting me predict the creatures' next strikes. Sweat ran down my temples, stinging, as I ducked another attack. My chest heaved, muscles screaming with exertion, mind working frantically to anticipate the next lunge.
The third figure circled, calculating, intelligent. My breath came in ragged bursts as adrenaline surged and ebbed. I focused, letting the rhythm of my own heartbeat guide me, timing movements with precision, blending instinct with learned skill. Every strike, dodge, and welded barrier was a test of everything I had trained for.
Minutes—or maybe hours—passed. I couldn't tell. My body ached. My lungs burned. My mind buzzed with calculation. And then, finally, the last creature recoiled, slipping back into the fog from which it had emerged.
I sank to the cracked ground, chest heaving, knees trembling. The metallic air still bit at my skin. My fingers tingled from the energy of welding. Heart racing, mind buzzing, I realized something vital: it didn't matter where I was. My skills, my judgment, my ability to adapt—they weren't tied to one world. They were me.
"Adaptation successful. Survival confirmed," Notice said softly.
I exhaled slowly, letting the fog around me settle. My pulse began to slow, though my chest still ached, adrenaline leaving behind exhaustion. A thrill curled in my gut, sharp and electric. I had faced a world not my own—and I had survived.
And for the first time, I felt it—the exhilaration of a challenge beyond comprehension.
I was Mizu. Broken once, but learning. Growing. Ready.