I crashed into the doorframe, stars exploding across my vision, and felt something wet running down my temple.

My blood.

Fuck! Can't even penetrate the armor. Think, dammit. Think!

The Wight advanced methodically, sword raised. It wasn't rushing, as it knew it had me.

I activated Debug Vision, focusing on its armor.

[Wight's Armor - Durability -60%]

The armor shimmered—

Then snapped back. The edit rejected, repelled like water off oil.

[EDIT FAILED: Target has Necrotic Resistance]

"What?!"

No. No no!

The Wight's sword came down. I leapt sideways, the blade sparking off stone where my head had been.

My one advantage.

My ONLY advantage. And it doesn't fucking work?!

Panic clawed up my throat.

But the Wight didn't let me spiral, it turned toward me with mechanical precision, raising its blade again.

I scrambled backward, mind racing, hands shaking.

And it lunged.

Damn it!

[EDIT: Doorframe - Structural Integrity -80%]

The stone above cracked... and a single chunk fell, which bounced off the Wight's pauldron with a pathetic tink.

The Wight didn't even flinch, it just kept coming.

"Shit!"

I turned and ran through the doorway into the chamber beyond, into the circular room with three stone pillars, and no exits.

Fucking brilliant, Jin. You just trapped yourself.

The Wight stepped through after me, debris crunching under its boots. Green light pulsed in those empty sockets, patient, knowing.

It closed in.

I backed toward the center pillar, sword raised in shaking hands.

[Floor - Friction -90%]

Its next step slid forward, but...

It caught itself instantly. Dropped low, adjusted, recovered like it had fought on ice a thousand times before.

My stomach dropped.

Are you fucking kidding me?

"Come on!" I shouted at nothing, at myself, at the universe that put me here.

The Wight came at me testing each step now, cautious, and I knew it was smarter.

It feinted left.

And I bought it.

Then it came from the right, blade sweeping at my ribs.

I twisted. But not fast enough.

The sword caught me across the side.

"Argh!"

Pain exploded through my ribs. My vision whited out for a half-second and when it came back I was on one knee, gasping, tasting blood.

The Wight loomed over me.

I threw myself sideways as its blade came down, embedding in stone where my head had been.

While it yanked the sword free, I staggered to my feet, clutching my side, every breath a knife in my lungs.

Can't win like this... Wait.

I don't need to overpower it.

I need it to think wrong.

Debug Vision flared as I focused not on its body but on its mind, if it had one.

[Neural Function Analysis]

entity_id: "blackwood_wight_B07"cognitive_state: "active"

systems: { sensory_processing: "enhanced (non-human)" spatial_awareness: "high_precision_combat_tracking"}

Yes. It perceives. It processes. It knows where I am.

What if it didn't?

[EDIT: Spatial Perception - 180° Rotation]

My skull immediately throbbed, pressure building behind my eyes.

But I accepted.

Then suddenly, Wight's head snapped to look behind itself, to where it suddenly believed I was standing.

It pivoted, raising its sword to strike at empty air.

I lunged forward while its back was turned, driving my blade at the neck joint.

But... the mail held. Fucking chainmail, and my blade skidded off.

The Wight's head swiveled back forward, reorienting, the edit breaking as it processed the contradiction between perception and reality.

Then it backhanded me with one gauntleted fist.

I flew backward, crashed into a pillar and collapsed.

Blood filled my mouth. My vision doubled, tripled, wouldn't focus.

"F... Fuck!"

The Wight advanced, patient. Already adapting. It had learned I could manipulate its senses now. Wouldn't fall for it twice.

I forced myself to my knees, head pounding, ribs screaming.

"Shit! It hurts!"

I'm in too much pain which made it harder to think and move right.

What if I wasn't?

I hadn't tried this before... but there's always first time for everything.

[EDIT: Pain Receptors = DISABLED (Duration: 5 minutes)]

[WARNING: DANGEROUS - Physical damage will accumulate without warning]

The pain dulled.

My cracked ribs stopped screaming. My head stopped pounding.

Not healed. Just... silent.

I felt light. Clear-headed for the first time since the fight started.

And I knew that this was incredibly stupid. I could be dying right now and wouldn't know it.

But I could move.

Before I could celebrate, Wight thrust at my chest.

I sidestepped and slashed at its sword arm.

But my blade scraped off armor, and it countered with a horizontal slash.

I ducked under, rolled forward, came up behind it.

And slashed at the back of its knee joint.

But nothing happened, its armor was too thick.

The Wight spun, faster than I expected, blade coming around.

I backed away, breathing hard.

Does this thing even have a weakness?

I can't win this with a sword. Can't penetrate the armor. And I'm running out of mana.

The Wight advanced, herding me backward toward the wall.

My eyes darted around the chamber. Stone pillars. Stone ceiling. Damp air. Old dust. The Wight's corpse-breath rattling in its helmet.

Air.

The air.

[EDIT: Air Composition (5-foot radius around Wight) - Oxygen concentration +40%, Hydrocarbon vapor saturation: MAXIMUM]

The air around the Wight shimmered, suddenly thick, and heavy.

But the Wight didn't notice. Why would it? It was already dead. Didn't need to breathe.

But I did.

I grabbed the lantern from my belt, reared back, and hurled it.

The lantern tumbled end over end through the air, oil sloshing inside, flame guttering.

Then it hit the Wight's chest plate and shattered.

Burning oil splashed across its armor.

And the air ignited.

WHOOOOOOM!

The explosion was instant, deafening.

A ball of fire engulfed the Wight, superheated air expanding in a shockwave that threw me backward.

I crashed into the wall, head cracking against stone, vision going white.

Cough! Cough!

Then I straightened, leaning against the stone and waited for the dust to settle.

And saw the Wight was staggering. Its armor had blackened and smoking. The leather straps holding plates together were burning. The dried flesh beneath its helmet was cooking, curling, blackening.

It swung its sword blindly, movements jerky, uncoordinated.

But it was still standing.

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