You took down your first boss. The ground remembers the impact. So will the others.
Defeat your first boss. It's bigger, meaner, and not remotely impressed by your body count.
Five titans fallen. Your legend spreads like the plague that birthed them.
Defeat 5 bosses. They're evolving. Pity you're still better.
25 bosses slain. You didn’t just survive the end times — you conquered them.
Defeat 25 bosses. At this point, they don’t fear extinction — they fear you.
100 bosses down. You didn’t just win — you made it look easy.
Defeat 100 bosses. You’ve turned boss fights into routine exterminations.
You've shredded 150 undead. The apocalypse fears your name.
Prove your worth—slaughter 150 zombies to earn your stripes.
2000 corpses later, you’ve erased a species. Almost impressive.
Eliminate 2000 zombies. At this point, you're basically doing pest control.
500 zombies down. You’ve got a PhD in undead population control.
Slay 500 zombies. If you’re still counting, you're not doing it fast enough.
5,000 undead down. The reaper called… said you’re overqualified.
Kill 5000 zombies. At this stage, you're not surviving — you're rewriting biology.
50,000 zombies vaporized. Nature’s mistake corrected — violently.
Kill 50,000 zombies. At this point, you're a myth whispered among the dead.
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