Tiren and the Lizard collided. The creature, towering and sinewed, wielded a crescent-shaped blade, constantly shifting its weight, searching for a gap. But Tiren's spear struck out with relentless rhythm, denying any approach. The Lizard twisted and weaved, its upper body bending in fluid, unnatural movements to evade the blows.
Tiren paused—something felt off.
The Lizard retreated in a blur.
Then it returned—quicker now, more aggressive.
Tiren moved first, spear jabbing low.
The Lizard shifted—
—but the spear halted mid-air.
Tiren pivoted, weight snapping to his rear leg, and his fist exploded upward.
A brutal strike cracked down.
The Lizard's head snapped back. Its body slammed into the dungeon wall. Stone split from the force, rubble collapsing around the fallen creature. Its blade clattered free, skidding across the ground.
No time to breathe.
Two worms surged forward, squirming in tandem. One barrelled straight down the centre, its circular maw lined with burrowing fangs. Tiren sprang upward—no hesitation. The worm adjusted mid-charge to follow, but too slow.
Tiren pelted his spear downward.
The tip punched into flesh, embedding deep. The beast lurched, pinned.
The second worm trailed close behind.
Tiren landed hard atop the first worm's back, forcing its lower half to lift from the floor. One hand gripped its slick, plated hide—hauling it up against his body like a shield.
The second worm collided.
Flesh split.
Gore burst outward.
At the peak of the chaos, Tiren vaulted clear—fingers locking tight around his spear's haft. He tore it free mid-air just as the second worm drove through the first.
As he landed, his blade raked the second's side.
The wound opened wide. The creature's own momentum dragged it along the spear's edge—tissue peeling, fluids spraying. It slowed with each moment—pulling itself forward, body twitching. Then, at last, it shuddered once…
... It lay still.
"Tiren!" Kin shouted.
He didn't look back. "...Yeah, I know."
The rubble shifted.
The Lizard rose.
Its posture had changed—coiled, sinister. A new presence radiated from it—waves of dull yellow energy pulsed from its skin, warping the air.
Tiren stepped forward. His spear steadied.
"That's no ordinary lizard," Senen muttered. "That's a Lizard General."
Sye stepped half-forward, tense, ready to join him.
Tiren raised a hand behind him, wordless but clear.
"What did I say?" he said, voice calm.
He placed both hands on his spear again. "
He's mine."
Sye stopped—uneased but understanding. It walked closer—measured, almost calm.
Then its pace shifted.
A blink—and it was already upon him.
Tiren's eyes widened, too late.
A hook buried itself in his gut.
Time slowed.
A hook slammed into his gut—his breath punched out, saliva spraying. The sensation of force coursed through his ribs like a ripple. Before the shock settled, a second strike flew for his head. Tiren's gaze locked onto the motion, his mouth still open, reeling. He moved to block—arms shifting—
—but it was bait.
The Lizard's opposite leg rose in a violent wave, catching him across the face. His torso twisted under the blow, boots grinding against stone.
Then—another blur.
The Lizard reappeared, fists erupting in bursts—too fast to count.
A storm of attacks: jabs, crosses, elbows—all pressure, all punishment.
Sye moved, ready to intervene.
The Master's arm extended from his side, wordless—stopping her.
She glanced up at him.
His face showed no alarm, no serenity—only a cold, unnerving focus in his eyes.
Sye froze, heart pounding.
Tiren grunted under the weight of the barrage. One cheek swollen, blood threading down his temple and nose. He managed to catch a few strikes, but others cracked through—thudding into his skin.
He struck back—low, sharp—a snap kick toward the Lizard's knee.
It recoiled in time, gliding backward.
"Tch... Smart bastard," Tiren muttered, dragging his arm across his nose, smearing blood.
"You're not just predicting my moves… you're mimicking them."
"What's he talking about?" Kin asked, blinking.
Senen answered his gaze unshaken. "Every tenth floor down, the beasts adapt. Getting Smarter. Crueler. A Lizard General's considered a high-tier—floor thirty class."
Kin didn't respond. He couldn't. His lips parted slightly. His stare remained fixed—drawn into the fight. Across the field, Tiren stood wide, grounded but uneven. One knee dipped beneath him, a subtle tremble in his thigh. Each breath shortening through clenched teeth.
His eyes dropped.
A shimmer of motion.
The Lizard reappeared—a phantom flicker, closing the gap like it had never left.
Tiren didn't flinch.
He ducked low—fluid, reactive—and thrusted his spear blind, one-handed.
The General bent backward mid-stride, torso arching to evade.
But Tiren's grip released—
—and the shaft snapped forward, catapulted by the torque of his arm.
The spear shrieked toward the Lizard's face.
It recoiled further—knees folding deep, balance tightrope-thin.
Tiren pivoted—his planted foot twisted.
The other lashed out, sweeping low across the Lizard's base.
A crack of impact.
Its legs flew sideways, body corkscrewing in the air—arms flailing to anchor against nothing.
Tiren didn't stop. His second foot came up like a piston—drove into the Lizard's abdomen.
A thunderclap rang out.
The beast careened backward, spine first into the far wall. The stone webbed on impact, fragments cascading like broken teeth.
Dust billowed.
It stirred—bloodied, still rising.
Tiren stood firm. Chest rising fast. A sheen of sweat and blood over his brow. No spear in hand. But that didn't matter. His eyes filled in determination an unburning fire brewed from within.
The Lizard lunged again—flashing into motion, relentless. Tiren braced.
Their strikes met, neither yielding. Flesh against scale, forearms clashing like iron rods, against each other's faces. A second swing—Tiren's fist drove across, but the Lizard twisted, arm recoiling for a return blow.
A sharp whistle sliced through the chaos.
The spear.
It streaked toward them like a thrown star, spinning on its axis.
The Lizard's peripheral caught it—head twitching, torso pivoting, evasive.
But Tiren moved first.
His hand lashed out—caught the creature by the throat mid-shift.
The spear veered past them, missing its mark—but it was never meant to hit.
Tiren's grip stayed firm around the creature's throat. For a heartbeat, neither moved. his other fist trembling, blood dripping down his knuckles. He drew in a slow breath, from deep within his chest—something answered. Then—something in the air bent. Tense. Waiting.
A flicker of light dimmed in the dungeon. Then another.
The shadows around his arm deepened unnaturally. Energy sparked across Tiren's hand. Shadows bursting forth like a breach in reality. Even the dungeon's glow seemed to dim... the glow of crystals faltering—consumed by the thing taking shape in his hand. Darkness, dense and unstable, his knuckles swarming in slow pulses.
The others didn't speak. Couldn't.
Even the creatures around them—watching from the dark—fell still.
Tiren inhaled once, slow and sharp, shoulders tense with strain. Blood ran down his arm, mixing with the black haze crawling up his skin. A silent pressure bloomed outward, thick and suffocating.
No one moved. No one breathed.
His voice ripped from deep within.
"ATOMIC..."
The shadows pulsed once more, the air curling in toward his fist.
"SMASH!"
The strike hits like the death of a star.
The result was instant.
The creature's body shattered, not broken. Not torn. Erased. Reduced to particles—gone before its feet left the ground. Blood mist spread across, smearing the cracked floor.
Tiren stood still, fingers closed around the empty air where the throat once was. Nothing remained but silence. He lowered his arm, breath thin and quick, expression steady. His chest rose—once, then again.
The Lizard General was no more.