The shadows of the forest thickened around Jack as the Crimson Basilisk slithered into view, its eight stocky legs making almost no sound over the pine needle-littered ground. The dense canopy above muted the late morning light, casting dappled patterns across the basilisk’s crimson-scaled body, which glistened wetly as it advanced with eerie patience.

  Jack’s eyes narrowed, his stance shifting ever so slightly. The breeze shifted—cool and scented with moss and distant water—and the forest, which had moments ago felt serene, now seemed to recoil. A tremor in the ground. A low growl from Goldeyes. The world was holding its breath.

  Then it looked at him.

  A sudden pressure weighed on Jack’s chest as the creature’s eyes glowed a pale, unearthly red—ghost-light behind slitted lids. His breath caught. His vision blurred, for just a moment, as a whisper of something ancient brushed his senses. He could feel the creature trying to reach into him, to pull the blood from his veins through sheer malice alone.

  [You have resisted Wounding Gaze]

  The pressure broke.

  Jack exhaled sharply, steadying himself. His heartbeat slowed back to normal, though a thin line of cold sweat trailed down his temple. The Wounding Gaze had failed to pierce him, and he reminded himself—this wasn’t just a fight. It was a test.

  The Earthblood Ursine armor moved with him as he rolled his shoulders and adjusted his grip on Aetherspire. The bear-hide leather, shaped and sewn with hours of effort, clung close to his body but didn’t restrict him. In fact, it flexed with him, each piece of the suit working in harmony with his movements. The bindings made from treated bear gut held firm, and not once did the joints pinch or snag. It was breathable, grounded, and firm, with the faint scent of wild fur and cool stone still clinging to it.

  That armor had cost him time and effort. But now, under the burning gaze of a monster, he felt its strength. Its purpose. He suspected the armor’s built-in Blood Resistance was the only reason he hadn’t been crushed by the basilisk’s stare.

  The creature hissed. A low, guttural sound, rich with threat and growing hunger. Its claws flexed. Acid dripped in thick strings from its parted jaws, sizzling wherever it touched the moss and roots. It lowered its head and bunched its legs, ready to strike. That advantage alone made the effort he had put into the armor well worth it.

  The basilisk crouched lower to the ground, ready to strike, and Jack knew it was time.

  With a quick step, he slid into Coiled Vine, his body held low, spear drawn back. The flexible leather bent naturally with his spine, the thigh guards barely whispering as he twisted his stance. Then he exploded forward, drawing upon Laughing Wind, weaving around the basilisk’s initial lunge with a sidestep that felt more like gliding.

  Its acidic jaws snapped shut beside him, steam rising as droplets of saliva hissed against the mossy earth. Jack spun, one foot dragging a furrow in the soil, and brought Aetherspire sweeping in an upward arc—a half-formed Spiraling Climb meant more to test the creature’s reaction than to land a killing blow.

  The tip struck its side and skidded off with a scraping sound, slicing through scale—but only just.

  He backpedaled before the creature could twist. His armor absorbed the strain. The chestplate held firm, the enchanted soul gem pulsing once against his sternum as it warmed. The sensation was strange—not painful, not pleasant, but grounding. Anchoring. It made him feel less alone in this fight.

  Then he felt it: a sting across his forearm. A grazing blow from one of the creature’s claws, penetrating where his vambrace was weakest. Blood welled to the surface.

  The basilisk froze.

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  Its eyes dilated. The spines down its back rose like razors. Then came the shriek—a full-bodied roar that echoed through the forest like thunder in a canyon. It didn’t pounce this time. It launched, all eight legs driving it forward in a frenzy, jaws split wide.

  Jack didn’t fall back.

  He moved in.

  His body dipped into Sunken Root, bracing against the impact. The basilisk’s claws slammed into his arms and chest, the leather creaking but holding. Acid sizzled where it touched, but the bear hide had been soaked in the Pool of Purity—it resisted the corruption, if only for now.

  Jack thrust upward with Monkey’s Leap, a sudden, sharp jab that caught the basilisk beneath its jaw. The force drove it back half a step, but not before its claws raked his shoulder, tearing shallow lines. The armor dulled the blow, prevented the worst—but he could feel the sting.

  He grunted and followed with Whistling Tail, spinning in place, cloak snapping like a banner behind him as he delivered a sweeping cut across the basilisk’s front legs. The spear carved through one leg’s scale, leaving a shallow gash, but it only seemed to enrage the creature further.

  The beast shrieked and lunged again, driven by frenzy.

  Jack activated Soulrage. He needed more Strength to pierce the creatures scales and strike deep. This time he ducked low when the basilisk came at him, sliding beneath its belly. His armor brushed against the earth, flexible and close-fitting enough to keep up with him even as he moved in ways most warriors never would. There was no clatter of metal—just the creak of hardened hide and the steady hiss of breath.

  He lashed upward, Aetherspire flashing with fire, and left a smoking wound along the creature’s underbelly. The basilisk howled and thrashed, turning violently, trying to shake him off.

  Jack emerged on the other side, panting, focused.

  His eyes never left the beast.

  The armor was holding.

  So was he.

  Jack stepped back into Still Branch, centering his weight. His breath came steady, his grip firm around Aetherspire. The spear responded to the shift in his stance—its shaft pulsing with a faint orange glow as he began to channel. He let the sensation build, heat rising slowly from the base of his spine to his shoulder, then down his arm. He didn’t rush it.

  The fire wasn’t a weapon yet.

  It was pressure. Tension. Focus.

  The basilisk circled, blood trailing from its side and underbelly, hissing with every breath. The wound he’d carved beneath it still smoked faintly. It hadn’t forgotten the pain—but it hadn’t slowed much either.

  Jack rotated the spear, fingers gliding along the haft to reset his grip. The movement drew no attention. Just another breath in the dance.

  The basilisk lunged again.

  Jack moved.

  He slid into Laughing Wind, pivoting sideways, feet gliding across the pine needles in practiced rhythm. The spear tucked close to his body, head down. The basilisk’s jaws snapped shut inches from his shoulder.

  He didn’t stop.

  He turned with the motion, coming up into Spiraling Climb, the blade of Aetherspire sweeping in an arc from hip to shoulder. It scraped along the basilisk’s thick hide, carving another gash across its upper jaw. Not deep. But enough.

  The beast recoiled.

  Jack stepped forward, shifting to Coiled Vine. He lowered his stance, brought the spear in tight, and let the fire come.

  His fingers tightened. His breath stilled.

  Then—he released it.

  A pulse of heat surged from his chest, down his arm, and into the weapon. The weapon flared. Fire burst from the spear’s tip—not wild, not uncontrolled, but focused. Flames jetted from the spearhead in a tight, controlled stream. He drove it directly into the wound at the creature’s chest. The heat was focused, burning, cleansing. The scales cracked. Flesh boiled. The basilisk screamed—a high, shrill keening that cut through the forest like a blade.

  Jack held the fire for two more seconds.

  Then he broke it.

  He rolled back, using Sunken Root to absorb the landing. His boots dug into the soft forest floor. Steam and ash hung in the air, curling through the pine haze.

  The basilisk stumbled to one side, chest scorched and heaving. Its eyes glowed again—but the light was weaker now.

  It was still dangerous. Still alive. And it’s massive health pool was still mostly full.

  Jack pushed off the ground and moved in again.

  He surged forward, Aetherspire leveled low, aiming to drive the spear deep into the smoking wound he’d carved. The basilisk staggered, its legs faltering—but its eyes snapped to his just as he struck.

  They flared.

  This time, Jack resistance failed him.

  The Wounding Gaze hit him like a crashing wave, slamming through his skull and into his chest. His lungs seized. The world tilted. Red light filled his vision—burning, drowning. His grip loosened. He tried to force the connection away, to lock it out like before.

  But it was too late.

  The pressure grew teeth. He felt something sharp and invisible tear into his body. His knees buckled. Pain flared as what felt like knives tore bloody gashes in his body beneath the armor.

  He dropped to one knee, Aetherspire’s tip digging into the earth as he gasped. His heart thudded wildly, uncoordinated. Cold spread from his fingertips.

  The basilisk hissed, towering above him now, eyes burning brighter.

  And Jack knew—this time, it meant to end him.