Sage barely regained his footing when the boss's form blurred, it wasn't slowly approaching; it was just there now. A massive limb swept toward him.
He raised his arms as wind exploded around him while flinging himself aside; still, the edge of the strike clipped him like a battering ram against his side.
He was hurled across the stone floor; pain detonated through his ribs as breath ripped from his lungs upon slamming hard and rolling to a stop against a fractured outcrop.
He coughed, blood spraying across the rock like a fountain. Before he could push himself up, the ground beneath him shifted again. He rolled blindly, narrowly avoiding a stone blade that erupted where his torso had just been.
He realized he wasn't just being attacked; he was being processed. The boss didn't strike randomly. Its attacks formed patterns, zones of control that forced his movements, each spike limiting his options. Every sweeping limb cut off potential escape routes.
