The room felt smaller somehow, the air thick with energy and the faint tang of metal. My hands itched—not from the sweat or the burn in my muscles, but from the power waiting beneath my skin, ready to be tested. Best Welder hummed faintly, rhythm pulsed at the edge of my consciousness, and Enhanced Perception lingered, attuned to even the smallest movements.
I flexed my fingers experimentally, feeling sparks lick my fingertips as if eager to dance. The metallic tang in the air grew stronger, and I inhaled deeply, tasting it, feeling it crawl under my skin. This was different from the dungeon—it was safer, controlled, but no less thrilling.
I reached for a scrap of metal on the floor. In my mind, I visualized every weld, every joint, every line of energy that could flow through it. Sparks flared, bright and hot, making me wince. Heat seared my fingertips, but I barely noticed—it was part of the process, the cost of learning.
Rhythm guided me, a subtle hum beneath my heartbeat. I moved the scrap in time, testing the flow, the weight, the resistance. Sparks hissed against the wall, the sound sharp, almost musical. My pulse synced with the motion, and for a moment, everything else disappeared—the dungeon, the points, the moral weight. It was just me and the craft.
I experimented with a more complex move: welding two pieces of metal together mid-air, manipulating the energy to form a shield. Sparks flew, scorching the stone floor, and I staggered slightly as the energy pulsed through my arms. Pain mixed with exhilaration, a strange symphony that made my chest tighten. I could do this. I was learning. I was growing.
Enhanced Perception picked up faint anomalies in the air, tiny shifts in energy. I turned them into movements, adjusting my welding in real-time. Rhythm pulsed in my chest, guiding timing, letting my mind and body sync. The shield formed, imperfect, yet functional, and a grin crept across my face despite the burn in my muscles.
I took a deep breath, letting the hum of power settle in my veins. Each success brought exhilaration; each failure stung, sharp and immediate. But I felt it—the connection, the flow between thought, skill, and action. I was no longer just surviving the dungeons. I was mastering them, bit by bit, spark by spark.
I glanced around the room, seeing every discarded scrap as an opportunity, every flaw as a lesson. I could feel it deep in my bones: I was Mizu, broken once, but now—learning, experimenting, shaping not just metal, but myself.
And when the next dungeon came, I would be ready—not just to fight, but to adapt, to create, to survive, and maybe even to thrive.