The Naga's scythe cleaved the air with a necrotic howl, its blade a blur of poisoned shadow aimed to bisect Max from crown to groin. Paper Face—Max beneath the crinkling grocery bag—didn't flinch. With Agility at 621, he sidestepped in a flicker, the weapon embedding into the cavern floor with a thunderous crack, vines splintering like brittle bones. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the poisonous mist, but Max's Endurance shrugged it off like a whisper.
"You dare mock me with that ridiculous veil, mortal?" the Naga hissed, its coils undulating in fury, scales glistening with venomous slime. Forty meters of serpentine muscle reared up, fangs dripping acid that sizzled on the ground. Its eyes burned with ancient malice, the scythe yanking free in a spray of debris.
Max said nothing. Words were for the weak. He lunged, Frost Claw activating—ice shards erupting from his fingertips in razor extensions. He slashed at the Naga's underbelly, claws rending scales with a wet tear. Blood welled, dark and viscous, splattering his hoodie in hot arcs. The Naga roared, twisting away, but not before Max carved a gash ten feet long, exposing raw muscle that pulsed and quivered.
The beast retaliated with blinding speed. Its tail whipped like a siege engine, slamming into Max's side. Even with Vitality at 621, the blow cracked ribs, sending him hurtling into a vine-choked wall. Pain bloomed, sharp and real—mid-difficulty, as if the system itself mocked his overpowered stats. He coughed blood beneath the bag, the paper sodden but holding. *Not yet,* he thought, pushing off the wall. *Test the limits.*
The Naga pressed, scythe sweeping in wide arcs that carved furrows in the lair. Max dodged, weaving through the mist, his movements a dance of precision. He closed again, Frost Claw slashing at a coil—claws piercing deep, severing tendons with a snap like breaking cables. Gore erupted, the Naga's blood flooding the floor in steaming pools, mixing with the mist into a toxic haze that burned Max's lungs. He ignored it, Mana surging to heal the minor burns.
But the Naga was no yeti fodder. It coiled around him, constricting like a living vice. Scales ground against his body, pressure mounting—bones creaking, air squeezed from his chest. The bag mask compressed, eye holes narrowing. Max's Strength flared; he wedged his claws between scales, prying with raw power. Ice cracked under the strain, but he tore free, ripping a chunk of flesh in the process—meat and scale sloughing off in a bloody flap, exposing writhing innards.
The Naga shrieked, venom spraying from its fangs. Droplets hit Max's arm, sizzling through fabric and skin. Agony lanced, but he converted the pain to fuel. *Evolve it,* his mind raced. Frost Claw had ticked proficiency in the dungeon frenzy—now at 0.5/1 from spamming it here. Midnight's AP waited, unused. He focused inwardly: *Convert 1 AP to 100 Skill Points. Apply to Frost Claw.*
The system pinged softly amid the chaos.
**[Frost Claw Maxed: 1/1]**
**[Evolution Triggered: Gauntlets of Frost Acquired]**
Mana exploded outward. Ice crystallized around his forearms and palms, forming literal gauntlets—thick, armored bracers of shimmering frost, veins of blue energy pulsing within. They extended to his elbows, jagged edges reinforcing his fists, while ethereal claws hovered at his fingertips, ready to launch.
The Naga lunged, scythe descending. Max raised a gauntlet—ice hardened, blocking the blade with a resonant clang. Sparks of necrotic energy flew, but the frost held, cracking only slightly. He countered, swinging a reinforced punch into the Naga's jaw. The impact shattered fangs, blood and tooth fragments exploding in a gory mist. The gauntlets amplified: close-range strikes now carried freezing force, numbing the Naga's flesh on contact.
"Insolent worm!" the Naga bellowed, tail lashing. It caught Max's leg, hurling him skyward. He twisted mid-air, gauntlets glowing. From range, he thrust a palm forward—frost claws shot out like missiles, extending in icy chains. They impaled the Naga's coil, freezing the wounds solid, blood crystallizing into red shards. The beast thrashed, shattering the spears, but chunks of frozen flesh tore free, littering the ground in gruesome piles.
Max landed, charging anew. The gauntlets allowed hybrid assault: he closed to melee, pummeling the underbelly with frost-reinforced hooks—each blow caving scales, pulverizing organs beneath. Intestines bulged through rents, spilling in slick loops that froze on contact with the gauntlets' chill. The Naga's scythe grazed his shoulder, carving a deep furrow—blood froze instantly, staunching the flow. Pain fueled him; he grabbed the weapon's haft, Strength contesting the beast's might.
They grappled, the lair trembling. The Naga's coils wrapped again, squeezing with bone-crushing force. Max's ribs protested, one snapping audibly. He roared silently beneath the bag, gauntlets flaring. Long-range mode: he fired frost claws point-blank into the coils, ice spears erupting from his palms. They pierced deep, freezing internals—veins icing over, organs cracking like glass. The Naga convulsed, grip loosening as blood vessels burst in frozen sprays.
Max broke free, leaping onto the Naga's back. Gauntlets hammered down, shattering dorsal scales in explosive cracks. Gore welled, freezing into brittle armor that he punched through again and again. The beast bucked, slamming him against the ceiling—debris rained, but Max clung, gauntlets anchoring with embedded claws. He tore downward, filleting the spine in a cascade of vertebrae and spinal fluid, the liquid flash-freezing into a grotesque icicle trail.
Weakened, the Naga collapsed, coils slackening. But it surged one last time, scythe arcing wildly. The blade caught Max's side, gashing deep—intestines threatened to spill, but Mana knit the wound partially. Blood poured, mixing with the Naga's in a red slurry. Max staggered, then rallied. *End it.*
Gauntlets at full power: he unleashed a barrage of long-range frost claws, slicing the Naga's body into segments. The tail severed first, writhing independently in a fountain of blood. Then mid-coils, guts uncoiling in steaming heaps. The upper body thrashed, headless fury—wait, not yet. Max vaulted to the front, dodging fangs, and drove both gauntlets into the neck. Ice spread, freezing the throat solid. With a wrenching twist, he decapitated it—head tumbling, eyes wide in shock, blood jetting from the stump like a broken artery.
The lair faded as the monolith destabilized. Max emerged into Queens' streets, Naga parts in tow via spatial ring. Chaos reigned—spawn retreating, Awakened cheering Vanguard's arrival. But Max finished alone.
He hurled the segmented body skyward: ice spears from his gauntlets pinned coils to skyscrapers—one to a bank facade, bursting windows in bloody shards; another to a billboard, scales draping like macabre banners. Guts dangled, drawing screams from below.
The head last: Max impaled it on its own scythe, blade driven through the skull into the asphalt. The street cracked, blood pooling around the pinned trophy, fangs frozen in eternal hiss.
Paper Face vanished into shadows, bag intact, wounds healing. Power evolved, but solitude remained. Elena's guild approached; he'd watch from afar. Trust? Still poison.