And of course—
It came true.
"What… what did I just witness?"
"Absolute cinema."
"But a **phase two**? Really?"
"Phase one was already a nightmare!"
No time to think.
I slid over to **Sovereign**, helped her up with a shoulder under hers, and pulled back toward our formation.
Time to observe.
To regroup.
"Hey—wait. This isn't DBZ. When he's powering up, shouldn't we interrupt him?"
"Good point! Don't give him a cutscene!"
...
I couldn't even argue with that logic.
So—
Dozens of players **charged in**, full speed, weapons raised.
Then—
***STAB***
Black tendrils — dozens of them — erupted from the boss's body.
They impaled the frontrunners without resistance.
Their cries were cut off mid-animation.
The **epicenter**?
The boss.
His head snapped up.
And his body... began to shift.
Not regenerate — **distort**.
Flesh reformed grotesquely. Muscles twisted, reknit.
Bones cracked into place. But this time...
There was **no robe**.
No corrupted glamour.
Just a **bare-chested man**, half his torso missing, skin ashen and tight,
a **goatee**, lifeless eyes—
And a blade **always ready**.
No stance.
No flair.
Just this sharp indescribable feeling.
---
Some players froze, the will to fight stripped clean.
Others?
They just cheered.
"Best. Game. Ever."
But one—
**just one**—
stepped forward.
An avatar.
**Naked**, save for a pair of **underwear** and an **ancient dragon vase** perched on his head.
Athletic build. Silent presence.
Player tag?
**"LET ME SOLO IT."**
Weapons?
One long sword. One shorter.
Classic.
Ah.
**Yeah.**
I remember this guy.
He became a legend during the hardest Soulslike boss in gaming history.
Soloed her 200,000 times for other players.
A living myth.
He stepped into the boss's range—
**AOE Slash.**
He ducked.
**Vertical strike.**
Perfect parry, redirected cleanly.
Another.
Parried.
And another.
Same result.
Again.
And again.
"15 hits… perfect parry. Then a riposte window," the girl murmured beside me, already scribbling.
"Pattern confirmed."
But he didn't riposte.
He simply tapped the boss's wrist.
Light. Mocking. Deliberate.
**Taunt.**
The boss snapped.
The lifeless eyes suddenly burned with fury.
And then—
The real flurry began.
Faster. Tighter. Deadlier.
Not wild swings — but precise stabs. Targeted. Clean.
Meaning: easier to track.
Harder to survive.
"25 hits…" someone whispered in awe.
Took the words out of my mouth.
"No… 50," said the girl again. "There's a Qi Afterimage strike, delayed by one second in the same position. You can't dodge in the same direction twice."
You go, **Librarian looking Girl**.
But it didn't matter.
To him?
**50 hits meant nothing.**
He moved like he'd already seen the sequence.
Parry. Sidestep. Shift.
And again.
And again.
Like a rhythm game.
**Flawless.**
**Inhuman.**
The crowd held their breath.
He parried the last strike.
Dodged the afterimage.
And once more—
A simple, gentle **slap** on the boss's wrist.
"Try harder."
"What a gigachad."
"I didn't know this game had a rhythm mode."
"I feel underdressed watching this."
"Bro's cooking on an empty gear slot."
"God, I hope he's streaming this."
The rhythm continued.
Fifty strikes.
Fifty afterimages.
Fifty perfect parries.
Not one wasted motion.
Not one moment of hesitation.
It wasn't just skill anymore.
It was **art**.
**Flow**.
The boss began to shift — movement flickering, erratic, as if even its code couldn't keep up.
Qi flared wildly, no longer just deep violet, but streaked with **white lightning**, crackling at its joints, carving trenches in the ground with each step.
"**THIRD PHASE!? WTF!?**"
"**OH GOD DAMNIT DEVS—YOU'RE GONNA BANKRUPT THE INDUSTRY!**"
Of course.
This was a boss.
A **third phase** was inevitable.
But **Solo** didn't flinch.
Didn't change his stance.
Didn't move faster.
Just **smarter**.
A lightning AOE sweep —
**He jumped.**
You're not supposed to be able to dodge midair?
**He parried.**
But that wasn't what got me.
That wasn't the moment I realized.
There was **another duel** happening beneath the flash and steel.
Not just blade vs blade.
But something deeper.
The boss's **momentum** — thunderous, wild, growing like a storm—
Against Solo's...
[something]
I didn't know what it was.
Not speed.
Not reaction time.
What was it?
**Qi?**
Was that the missing piece?
Then—
The counters grew silent.
Each strike that met Solo's blade didn't clash — they disappeared.
Even the lightning cracked without thunder.
Even the sabre's arc felt... fake.
As if—
**The boss's momentum had never been real at all.**
The boss stumbled.
Reeled.
Off script.
And then it happened.
No grand finish.
No showy final move.
Just a simple, **clean slash**.
Precise.
Final.
The world held its breath.
The battlefield stilled.
"...how?"
The voice came not from the crowd.
Not from any player.
It came from **the boss.**
Breathy.
Almost… human.
"You… hesitated," Solo replied.
"I see."
The boss stood motionless.
Then it slowly sank to its knees.
No rage.
No more strikes.
Just silence.
It sat down.
Laid its sabre flat across its lap...
And drove the tip through its own chest.
**Fade.**
"Yo… is this a DS reference?"
"That was a HITLESS kill animation."
"I KNEW the devs were gods."
"Legit got chills."
"This is more cinema than cinema.""