Kael pushed himself up from the ground. His muscles didn't obey, but he forced them.
His dagger weighed a hundred kilos. His legs felt like hollow steel.
But he stood.
Because what else was there?
He'd made it this far. Through suppression, through constructs, through blood and bone, and the endless dark.
He was not stopping now.
The first three came at once. Lvl 30. Blades like wind.
Kael stepped forward. Barely. Just enough. His dagger met one blade. Parried. The second grazed his arm, tearing open a fresh wound. The third thrust for his heart.
He dropped low.
The floor wasn't stable. It shifted beneath him, a tremor rolling through the void. The terrain had changed again.
He adapted.
Slid beneath the strikes. Rolled to his left. Dagger flicked up—sliced through the knee joint of the nearest construct.
He felt the pressure fade. One down.
Eleven remained.
No time to count.
