...in the game? Too many to count.
Each time, I'd waltz right up to it, thinking this is the run, only to get punted halfway back to the entrance by the Wampa—or worse, cursed into a bug-eyed toad for five minutes straight.
So, yeah. I had beef with that sword.
Alice stepped closer, her eyes fixed on the blade. She didn't even flinch from the chill in the air—it rolled off her like it had no permission to touch her. Typical.
"It's beautiful," she murmured.
It was. The sword had a sleek, slender design—not bulky or brutish, but regal. Elegant. The kind of weapon you'd see in paintings, wielded by kings with tragic fates. Its silver sheen glowed faintly, and frost had formed a perfect circle around its base.
But I wasn't admiring.
That sword was the trigger. The tripwire. The Hello, you're dead moment.
Every instinct I had screamed that this was the part where the music would change, the boss bar would appear, and a massive furry hand would punch me into the ceiling.
