Chapter 47: The water can hide a lot

As the faint silhouette beneath the surface began to blur and fade into the darkness of the place that was almost like a deep well carved into the mountain, Cheon Areum made his decision. The lack of light was becoming a hindrance. As an S+ Class, he could still see in the dark to some extent, but if he was going to be dealing with the boss, he wanted a good view of it.

Raising his hand, he turned his attention to the mountain above, preparing to carve it open and tear away whatever stood between him and the light. Deciding that one side would be enough—and unwilling to waste more energy than necessary—Cheon Areum sliced through a section of the mountain that blocked most of the moonlight.

The rock gave way instantly. Stone and debris collapsed backward with a thunderous crash, plunging down into the depths below. Once the dust settled, pale moonlight poured in through the opening, flooding the pool with silvery illumination and revealing the space at last. The water seemed to be deeper here than the beginning lake.

Fish-head monsters kept breaching the surface endlessly—pale, eyeless faces with gaping gill-slits for mouths, scales glinting dull silver under the cavern glow. One rose less than an arm’s length away; its jaw unhinged with a wet click, revealing rows of needle teeth that looked more like translucent bone than enamel. It stared—blank, unblinking—then sank again without coming out, only for another to take its place seconds later.

Cheon Areum’s fingers flexed, black energy already coiling at his palm to form another scout-fish construct. He needed to know how deep this went or how many more of these things waited below the surface, but before the filament could fully take shape, the lake moved.

Not a wave—a sudden, violent upsurge. The water rose in a single, impossible wall, black and glossy, towering twice his height in the span of a second. No sound preceded it, no ripple of warning—just a deep, subsonic thrum that vibrated through his ribs and stole the air from his lungs. The wall curled and fell straight on him.

Cheon Areum had time for one sharp inhale before the liquid weight slammed into him like a collapsing building. The impact punched the breath from his chest; cold flooded his mouth, his nose, his eyes. The current seized him—not dragging, yanking—arms pinned to his sides, legs kicking uselessly as the lake swallowed him whole.

Darkness closed in fast.

No gradual descent—only sudden, crushing depth. Pressure squeezed his temples, his ears popping with painful cracks. The faint bioluminescent glow from above dimmed to nothing; he was falling through ink, his own energy releasing to protect him. Cheon Areum’s lungs burned like molten iron, every instinct screaming to exhale as he held his breath. He filled the water around him with his energy until he could control it and stop himself from getting dragged deeper.

It didn’t form constructs or shields this time; it simply flooded the water around him like spilled ink in reverse. The liquid thickened instantly, turning syrupy, then rigid—his energy seizing control of the molecules, halting the crushing descent with a bone-rattling jolt.

His body jerked to a stop mid-fall. The pressure eased fractionally—just enough for him to force his eyes open against the stinging black.

Four enormous white walls—curved, seamless, closing in from every cardinal direction like the petals of a carnivorous flower. They weren’t stone. They were flesh. Pale, translucent skin stretched taut over muscle and cartilage, veined with faint silver-blue capillaries that pulsed in slow, hypnotic rhythm. Thousands of lidless eyes studded the surfaces—small, round, perfectly white sclera with pinprick black pupils that all swiveled toward him at once. Scales the size of dinner plates overlapped in perfect rows, shimmering like mother-of-pearl under the faint violet threads of his own energy.

Four white wall-like fish.

And above him—an army. Hundreds of the fish-head monsters floated in a dense, writhing cloud, eyeless faces turned downward, gill-slits gaping in slow, synchronized breaths. Their long, serpentine bodies swayed in perfect unison, creating a living ceiling that blocked any hope of surfacing. Needle teeth glinted in the dim light of his energy; some mouths opened wider, wider, revealing throats that glowed faintly with bioluminescent blue.

The four walls tightened another inch.

Cheon Areum’s shield of controlled water groaned under the pressure—tiny fractures spiderwebbing across the invisible barrier as the creatures pushed inward. One wall-fish’s eyes rolled independently, tracking him like security cameras; another’s scales rippled as though breathing. The army above began to descend—slow, inexorable, mouths opening in perfect synchrony.

His energy flickered—draining fast. The water he’d seized was fighting back, trying to revert to its natural state, to crush him again.

Black threads lashed out from his palms—whips of pure shadow that snapped toward the nearest wall-fish. They struck scale with a sound like breaking glass; pale flesh split, revealing wet pink muscle beneath. The creature recoiled with a low, subsonic boom that vibrated through his bones. At least he could break through their skin, but the others only pressed closer.

He pulled more energy from his core—deeper reserves now, the kind that left his limbs numb and his vision spotting black. The water around him hardened further—turning to something between liquid and solid, a cocoon of controlled pressure. He kicked once—hard—propelling himself sideways toward the narrow gap between two closing walls. The army above lunged.

Mouths snapped shut inches from his legs; teeth clacked like gunshots in water. One fish-head caught the edge of his sleeve—ripped fabric and skin in a hot line across his forearm. Blood bloomed instantly, dark red threads curling into the black water like smoke.

Black energy detonated outward in a spherical shockwave. The water exploded in every direction—controlled chaos—blasting the nearest wall-fish backward, cracking scales, shattering eyes. The army scattered for a heartbeat—long enough. He kicked again—harder—shooting upward through the temporary gap. The four walls slammed shut behind him with a thunderous crunch that rattled his teeth.

He broke the surface in a violent gasp—air, sweet cold air—taking deep, shallow breaths. Water streamed from his hair, stinging his eyes; blood from the torn forearm swirled in thin red ribbons around his thrashing arms. He didn’t have long, as the monsters were already moving to catch him. Taking another deep breath, Cheon Areum dove into the water again.

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