The Warden retaliated with a slam that shattered the floor. Frostfire geysers erupted from the cracks, raining down shards of ice. Rhys spun through them, cloak tearing in streaks, his sword glowing with mirrored colors—one half dark, one half luminous.

The boss's hammer came again—downward, faster than before.

Rhys met it head-on, crossing his blade. The two weapons collided in a burst of frost and mana that blew open the chamber. Both were forced backward—Rhys sliding, the Warden skidding with deep grooves tearing through the ice.

Their gazes met. Two forges burning opposite flames.

The Warden lifted its weapon again, a rumbling voice echoing like thunder:

"YOUR FLAME IS UNTESTED!"

Rhys raised his sword, smirking. "Then let's test it."

He poured everything into the next strike—light, water, darkness all swirling into a blinding storm. The Ruinous Darkness Blade flared, a living torch of paradoxical color.

"[Soul Fusion – Flowing Eclipse]!"

He leapt. The sword descended in an arc of twin elements—silver light and void-black shadow entwined like lovers.

The Warden swung upward to meet it.

The collision shattered the world.

Light exploded outward, blinding. Frost melted. The ceiling cracked, and molten metal rained from above like liquid stars. The Warden staggered back, armor breaking apart, molten fire bleeding from its chest.

"Now!" Puddle's voice rang in his mind. Strike the core!

Rhys lunged, blade spinning in a blur. He drove it straight into the Warden's chest—piercing the Heartfire Core.

For a second, everything went still.

Then the entire forge howled.

A blast of steam and flame erupted, hurling Rhys backward. The Warden's body glowed from within—cracks of pure light splitting across its frame. Its hammer fell, hitting the ground with a ringing note that echoed like a bell of ending.

The massive form slowly knelt, embers spilling from its chest.

Rhys landed roughly, rolling to his knees, his blade still raised but trembling. The frost around him evaporated, leaving trails of steam.

The Coldforge Warden fell to one knee. Its hammer dug into the floor, the impact echoing like a bell tolling the end of an age. Steam hissed from the cracks in its armor; molten blue light leaked from dozens of wounds where Rhys's strikes had found their mark.

Rhys stopped just short of it, chest heaving. His blade still shimmered with the last remnants of fused mana—liquid light dripping from its edge and turning to frost the moment it touched the floor. The forge trembled around them, unstable, as though the dungeon itself couldn't decide whether to burn or freeze.

Puddle's voice rippled through him, weary but alert.

Master… it's losing coherence. The Heartfire Core is destabilizing. One more strike should—

The slime's tone broke off, replaced by a low hum.

A pulse—deep, rhythmic, ancient—rolled through the forge.

The blue flames leaking from the Warden's chest suddenly reversed course, flowing back into its body. The molten light turned crimson, then white-hot. The frost coating its hammer evaporated in an instant, leaving only a molten glow in its wake.

Rhys's eyes widened. "No—"

The Warden's head snapped up. Its cracked mask of ice split fully open, revealing the molten skull beneath—eyes twin furnaces of dying stars. Chains along its arms and shoulders liquefied, reforming into lines of burning metal that wrapped tighter around its frame like a living armor.

Its voice was no longer the sound of anvils—it was the scream of the forge itself.

"THE FIRST TEMPER IS NEVER THE LAST."

[ Phase Two – Coldforge Warden, Ascended State: The Heartfire Awakened ]

The dungeon roared to life.

Every forge, every anvil, every vein of frozen steel in the walls ignited. Fire and frost bled together into a raging storm. The ceiling above them split, releasing cascades of molten snow—liquid fire that froze midair, then shattered into shards of burning ice.

Rhys barely had time to raise his blade before the Warden moved.

It wasn't slow anymore. It blinked. One moment it was kneeling; the next, it was in front of him, hammer wreathed in fire so bright it turned the world white.

The blow connected with his sword—

—and it felt like the world shattered.

Rhys was flung across the forge, crashing through a half-melted wall. He rolled to his feet mid-air, barely stabilizing with a flare of [Mana Shield]. The shield cracked instantly, his left arm numb from the backlash.

"Puddle—status!" he hissed.

Mana feedback spiking—! Stabilizing! You need distance, Master, it's radiating both heat and frost simultaneously!

"Yeah, I noticed!"

The Warden dragged its hammer across the floor, leaving a trench of molten frostfire behind. The energy that gathered around it wasn't just destructive—it sang, like a smith's chorus, dozens of spectral forges echoing through the chamber. The song wasn't beautiful; it was purposeful. It was creation and destruction made one.

Rhys's grip tightened. "If it wants to forge me, I'll just forge back."

He vanished—

—[Swift Cut]!

The moment he reappeared, he struck for the Warden's neck. The Ruinous Darkness Blade howled as its mana flared, but the Warden caught it mid-swing with its free hand. The impact cracked the ground in a spiderweb pattern, fissures glowing white-hot.

The Warden leaned in, voice low and resonant.

" You will soon be another dead man in this forge!!!"

It released him—only to swing the hammer in a spinning arc. Frostfire trailed behind, cutting a blazing circle through the air. Rhys dropped low, rolling beneath the blow, and countered with a burst of [Fireball] point-blank to the Warden's torso. The explosion tore open its chest again—yet instead of spilling light, the wound turned into a vortex of burning frost.

"Adaptive regeneration," Puddle realized aloud. "It's using both elements to stabilize itself—!"

Rhys didn't wait to listen. He darted upward, rebounding off a chain that had melted into the air, and brought his sword down like a meteor.

"[Whirlwind Slash]—Enhanced!"

The attack spiraled through the air, tearing through the lingering blizzard. It met the Warden's chest with a detonation that split the forge's floor. The molten ground exploded outward, hurling shards of white flame into the walls.

The Warden sank to one knee again—but this time, instead of faltering, it drove its hammer into the molten ground.

"FORGE—REBORN."

A shockwave exploded from it, but this time it wasn't an attack—it was a summoning. The scattered pieces of the shattered Sentinels began to move, fusing into glowing constructs of half-fire, half-ice. They formed a ring around the battlefield—six, then eight, then twelve—each one radiating fragments of the Warden's will.

Puddle's voice turned sharp. "They're drawing power from its core! If they finish linking, it'll overload the dungeon!"

"Then we cut the link."

Rhys's aura flared—light and dark twisting in sync. "[Magic Missile]!"

Bolts of black and silver energy tore through the air, striking the summoned Sentinels one after another. Each explosion disrupted the rune chains connecting them to the Warden, but for every one destroyed, two more formed in its place.

The Warden raised its hammer skyward. The forge's ceiling responded, igniting with a thousand spectral flames.

"ALL FLAME RETURNS TO THE ANVIL."

The hammer fell—

—and the entire forge inverted.

Gravity warped. Rhys and Puddle were thrown upward as the world rotated, molten metal raining like a burning storm. Rhys twisted midair, channeling every drop of his remaining mana into a shield that flared like a falling star.

"[Mana Shield]—Overdrive!"

The heat and frost crashed into him, devouring the light. His vision burned white—then black. For a moment, he couldn't see, couldn't feel. Only the sound of his heart—and Puddle's echoing pulse beside it.

Master. Don't let go. You're almost through.

He exhaled. The darkness cracked.

When the light returned, he stood atop what was once the ceiling—now the battlefield, inverted and molten. The Warden towered below him, hammer burning brighter than ever, runes across its body flaring like constellations.

Its voice was quieter now. Almost reverent.

"THEN SHOW ME… THE FLAME THAT DOES NOT DIE."

Rhys raised his sword. His entire aura blazed into brilliance, threads of water, light, and dark weaving together into a storm of creation.

He whispered,

"[Soul Fusion – Limit Mode]."

The forge began to glow—everything within it drawn toward their clash. Molten rivers curved upward, embers hung motionless midair, the Warden's hammer and Rhys's blade both humming with divine resonance.

And as they charged for the final time, the dungeon itself seemed to hold its breath—

—for the moment when steel would meet will, and both would decide which one could endure the flame.

The world erupted.

When Rhys and the Warden met, sound ceased to exist. The moment of impact was too vast for noise—only pressure, light, and the grinding clash of intent filled the air.

The Ruinous Darkness Blade struck the hammer, and for an instant both weapons sang. Not the metallic cry of battle, but the voice of creation itself—two wills that had forgotten they were separate, meeting in perfect opposition.

The collision tore the forge apart.

Waves of molten air spiraled outward, rolling across the inverted walls. Rivers of liquid frost boiled into steam, then refroze in perfect fractal shards. Every anvil shattered, every rune that once bound the dungeon burned to ash.

Rhys's arms screamed with pain. The weight pressing against him was impossible—his bones felt like glass. But Puddle's mana pulsed through his veins, rhythmic and strong, keeping his body from tearing itself apart.

Anchor through me, Puddle's voice echoed inside him. You can hold it.

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