The oppressive silence of the Withering Spire enveloped Zami as he moved cautiously through the next corridor. The air was colder here, carrying a faint metallic tang that hinted at blood and stone. His silver eyes scanned the environment, his every step calculated, his katana ready in his hand.
Ahead, another platform emerged from the dim shadows, its surface smooth and foreboding. Zami paused, his gaze narrowing. He already knew what awaited him—battle.
"This place is predictable," he murmured to himself, his voice low. But his grip tightened on his blade. Predictable or not, the Spire had proven its challenges were no less deadly.
Karesh's voice whispered faintly in his mind. "You've seen its tricks, Zami. Be prepared for anything. The Spire does not test without purpose."
Zami stepped onto the platform.
For a moment, nothing happened. The air grew still, unnaturally so, as though the entire Spire held its breath. Then, with a deafening clang, the walls, floor, and ceiling erupted with motion. Stone spears—ancient, jagged, and countless—shot forth in a chaotic dance of death.
Zami's muscles tensed, his instincts taking over. This wasn't a battle of brute force but of precision and timing.
He entered *Flow State*, his world slowing to a crawl as the spears closed in from every direction. The first spear came from the wall to his right. Zami sidestepped, his katana deflecting it with a sharp clang. Another came from above—he ducked, the cold air of its passing grazing his cheek.
The room became a storm of relentless projectiles, each spear designed to impale and destroy. Zami moved like water, his body weaving and twisting through the deadly maze. His *Pierce Technique* found use not to strike enemies, but to shatter spears that were too close to dodge.
A spear shot from the floor, catching him by surprise. He twisted, but its jagged edge sliced across his thigh. Another grazed his left shoulder, tearing through his shirt.
He gritted his teeth but didn't falter. Every movement was calculated, precise, and instinctive.
Karesh's voice cut through the storm. "Zami, stay focused! It's not just about survival—observe!"
Zami's sharp mind caught the hint. He began studying the pattern of the spears, their rhythm and timing. It was erratic but not entirely random. Each wave had a momentary lull, a split-second gap that could be exploited.
With this knowledge, he adjusted his movements. He parried less, dodging with greater efficiency, conserving his energy. His katana flashed only when absolutely necessary, slicing through spears that left him no other option.
Minutes felt like hours, but Zami endured. Blood dripped from his minor wounds, staining the stone platform beneath him. Finally, the assault began to slow, the spears retracting into the walls, leaving only silence behind.
Zami stood in the center of the platform, his chest rising and falling steadily. He glanced at his injuries—none were severe, but they served as a reminder of the cost of this trial.
"The Spire tests more than strength," Karesh murmured. "It forces adaptation. Survival is meaningless without growth."
Zami sheathed his katana, his expression unreadable. "Then I'll grow," he said simply, his voice quiet but resolute.
The platform began to shift beneath him, descending slowly into the darkness below. Another trial awaited, but Zami was ready.