The corridor before me twisted like a living thing. The walls pulsed faintly, shadows writhing across them as if breathing. My pulse quickened, each step echoing loudly against the stone floor. The air was cold, metallic, and heavy, pressing into my chest. Every breath carried the tang of ozone and something darker—something alive, waiting.
"Danger level: high. Adaptation, judgment, and skill integration required," Notice warned.
My hands tingled with Best Welder energy, the rhythm of my heartbeat syncing with the faint pulse in the walls. I knew instinctively this dungeon wouldn't just test my reflexes—it would test my mind, my judgment, my ability to remain calm under pressure.
The first trial appeared: a shifting maze, floors rising and falling beneath me, walls twisting as if they had their own will. My stomach churned with anxiety, muscles tensed as I calculated each step. Every misstep could send me plunging into a pit filled with molten light that glowed from the floor. The metallic heat made my skin prickle.
I leapt, rolled, and twisted pieces of broken stone into supports mid-air, welding them instantly. Sparks hissed, stinging my eyes and the back of my neck. Sweat soaked my hair, my clothes sticking to my skin. The maze seemed endless, breathing around me, pressing against me with every step.
Then came the creatures. Three figures, taller than any I had seen, coordinated, intelligent. Their claws scraped the floor, a metallic screech that made my teeth rattle. Heart hammering, I flexed every muscle, tensed every tendon, ready to move the instant they lunged.
Adrenaline screamed through me. I dodged, countered, welded, and predicted their movements. Rhythm pulsed in my mind like a metronome, guiding my timing. Enhanced Perception lit faint trails left by their strikes, allowing me to anticipate attacks moments before they came.
One of them lunged too fast. My pulse leapt into my throat. Sweat blurred my vision as I twisted a piece of debris into a barrier. Sparks flew and the smell of scorched metal filled my nostrils. Pain lanced my arm where the impact grazed me, but I pressed on, every muscle screaming in protest.
Minutes—or hours—passed in a blur of motion. My chest burned, lungs rasped, fingers ached, but I survived. The final creature staggered, slipping into the shadows. Silence fell, thick and oppressive.
"Points earned: 150. Next dungeon unlocked. Keep going?" Notice prompted.
I sank to my knees, chest heaving, sweat running into my eyes. Every heartbeat still thundered, my arms shook from exertion, my mind reeled from calculations and survival instinct. Yet beneath exhaustion, a spark of exhilaration flared. I had survived. I had adapted. I had grown.
Fear was still there, crawling along the edges of my consciousness—but so was thrill, determination, and the intoxicating realization that I could face this world and endure.
I pressed forward, hand trembling over the prompt: Keep going.
The next chamber loomed, darker, wider, more alive. My stomach twisted, my pulse raced, and the weight of anticipation pressed down on me. But I could feel it in every fiber of my being: I was Mizu. I could survive. I could adapt. I could fight.
And I would.