On the far end of the fractured dungeon, the ground was jagged and warped—splintered stone veined with flickering lines of unstable mana. Smoke drifted between shattered towers of basalt and half-collapsed stone platforms, some still trembling from the impact of the detonation.
The sky overhead—a false sky conjured by the dungeon's mana field—rippled faintly with distortion, as if reality itself were thin in this place.
Astron stood amidst the wreckage, crouched low behind a slanted pillar of obsidian, his coat torn at the shoulder, a thin line of blood trailing down his jaw. His breathing was controlled. His eyes, sharper than ever.
Three monsters circled in the haze around him—angular insectoids with shimmering, translucent carapaces, their movement silent, erratic, designed to confuse the senses.
But Astron's mind was still.
He watched. Measured. Let their motions play out twice before drawing a breath.
The instant the first lunged, he was already moving.
THNK—FWIP—CRRSH!
