The corrupted Golem let out a thunderous roar as it charged again, fists glowing red, eyes pulsing
with violent malice. But this time—Ethan didn't move. Not right away.
He stood firm, watching.
His eyes tracked the twitch in the Golem's arm joints, the staggered rotations of its torso, the
rhythm of its red-lit veins. Every twitch, every stomp, every surge of unstable mana—it all
repeated in subtle loops, only slightly shifting each time. A twisted kind of algorithm.
"Hmm," Ethan muttered. "So even at 200%, you still follow a pattern. Just better at hiding it."
He let out a long breath, sharpening his focus, feeling the weight of each pulse of corrupted
energy radiating off the creature.
The moment the Golem's right leg shifted—telegraphing a downward slam—Ethan burst into
motion. He twisted past the blow with surgical precision, Warlord's Fang whistling through the air
as he slashed the underside of its left arm.
Sparks and a trail of corrupted bark flew in the air.
