Dirga's strategy was simple—defend first, strike later.
He layered his telekinesis like an armor around his mind, erecting a field of pressure-tight mental plating to absorb the worst of the tiger's psychic roars. It wasn't perfect.
The creature's attacks weren't just force—they were frequency. Vibrations tuned to rattle the soul, not just the skull.
And Dirga could only hold the barrier for so long before it started to crack.
But that was the trade-off.
Time.
He needed it to analyze, to adapt, to understand how to fight this thing.
Problem was—this wasn't like fighting a dumb beast.
The silver tiger floated like a phantom in the air, small and elegant. But each second that passed, it grew more violent. Smarter. Sharper. Faster.
Its telekinetic attacks weren't waves anymore.
They were paws.
Claws.
Fangs.
Invisible limbs formed from raw will and shaped air. They struck from every angle—overhead slams, sideways swipes, upward bursts that exploded beneath Dirga's feet.
