"Time to farm," he said, and stepped to the left.
The claw came down where his torso had been. The displaced air hit him like a wall. He felt it ruffle his hair.
Close. Kind of.
His eyes sharpened. The familiar pressure settled behind them — not quite focus, not quite calm. Something further down than both.
[Will of Torga — Activated]⏱ 10 seconds
The world didn't slow. It simply became legible.
He could read the bear's weight distribution in the tension of its haunches. Could track the telegraph of its next swing in the rotation of its shoulder. Could see, with annoying clarity, exactly how something this size moved when it believed it was unstoppable.
He moved first.
His fist connected with the bear's left forelimb — not at the joint, not at the bone, but at the precise angle required to compromise both simultaneously. There was a sound like a green branch snapping, magnified a hundred times.
One.
