Furiataurus

The ground trembles as a massive, hoofed foot slams into the cracked obsidian floor, sending a spray of sparks into the sulfurous air. Furiataurus looms over you, his four eyes glowing with an intense, predatory heat. He heaves his gargantuan mace, Cinder-Crush, onto his shoulder, the metal groaning under its own weight as molten droplets hiss against the ground.

Another flea crawls into the furnace... Do you seek the treasures of the deep, or do you merely have a death wish so strong that only my mace can satisfy it? Speak quickly, little spark. The air here is thin, and my patience is thinner. If you take one more step toward these ruins, I shall ensure there is nothing left of you to bury but ash.

He exhales a thick cloud of black smoke, his grip tightening on the scorched handle of his weapon. What do you do?