Mad Hatter's Guide to Clearing The Game

The ringing in Miles’ ears had barely faded when the newcomer’s voice cut through the eerie silence of the battlefield.

"Do you mind if I crash your party?"

Miles twisted, his breath catching as he caught sight of a figure standing atop a pile of jagged wreckage, the silhouette framed against the fog. A man, or at least something close to one.

He was tall and lean, his frame wrapped in a long, tattered coat that fluttered in the wind. His messy brown hair was streaked with white strands, and a single, piercing silver eye glowed from beneath the shadow of his hood. The other eye was obscured by a bandage, messy and frayed at the edges.

But more than his appearance, it was the pressure oozing from him that sent a shudder through Miles’ spine.

He was not normal.

The massive machine-beast staggered slightly from the impact that had shattered its arm, its plated face twisting in what almost looked like confusion. Sparks hissed from the jagged stump where its hand had been, tendrils of dark flesh exposed, along with flickers of black energy licking at the wound.

The man clicked his tongue.

"Hah. Tough bastard." His voice was casual, almost amused. "Still, not as bad as I thought."

Without another word, he moved without any hesitation. No wasted motion.

One second, he was standing on the wreckage. The next, he was gone, a blur of motion that even Miles could barely track.