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The path ahead stretches like a serpent coiled in shadow, uneven platforms etched with ancient glyphs glowing faintly beneath his boots. Somewhere beyond the jagged horizon, she waits—her voice a ghost in his memory, her face blurred by time but etched into his bones. The air hums with menace. Spiked orbs rise from the ground, rotating slowly, their needle-like thorns dripping with a venom that eats at resolve as much as flesh. Each step risks collision, each misjudgment bleeding vitality from his limbs. But the ring on his finger burns now, a molten band searing power into his veins. Muscles surge with inhuman force, bones hardening to steel as he leaps—not over the obstacles, but through them. Fists shatter stone, sending shrapnel flying, but every impact costs him. The spikes’ poison lingers, a creeping frost in his blood. He races, a comet tearing through the gauntlet, strength waning even as his fury mounts. Her name becomes a chant in his mind, a lifeline. One final orb looms, larger, its spines gleaming like cursed ivory. He roars, charges, and the world explodes in light and pain. When the dust clears, he’s standing, trembling, alive. Ahead, the platform ends. And there she is—not a memory, not a ghost, but flesh and breath and widening eyes. He staggers forward, mortal again, every wound screaming. Her hands catch him as he falls. The superhuman is gone. The man remains. It’s enough.
