A tentacle shot out in the sewer's murky twilight like a serpent with bad intentions, aiming to giftwrap the elven bastard. But just as it closed in, the knife-eared prick dissolved into a puff of shadow-smoke, and all I snagged was disappointment and the distinct cologne of unwashed superiority.

Worse? A hot knife pain lanced through my tentacle tip—now lying on the ground like a rejected noodle. No blood, just a surgical amputation. Professional-grade assholery.

Honestly, I knew this attempt was half-baked from the start. Sure, he was probably some necromancer dabbling in grave-whispers, but he was still a red core. That meant top-tier firepower. And unless I went all in, I wasn't even going to ruffle his immaculate hair, let alone hurt him.

Pride hated it, but logic barked louder—I had to let the smug bastard go and focus on the bigger headache. Or maybe the biggest. Hard to tell, considering it was seconds away from blowing an entire district sky-high.

But right before I turned tail to handle the living catastrophe above, adrenaline whispered bad ideas. One last grab, I thought. Just one last lunge for the smug elf.

Adrenaline's a shitty wingman.

Except that split-second decision cost me a tentacle. In hindsight, yeah—it was a dumbass move. Knowing full well how powerful this creep was and still going for it? That's not bravery. That's brain damage.

No time to mourn limb or dignity. Because that's when the spectral eel tore through the sewer roof like a pissed-off god, writhing into open view for everyone topside to see.

"DO NOT ATTACK THIS THING! IT'S A FUCKING BOMB!"

I yelled. Loud. Clear. Or so I thought.

Maybe it was the wording. Maybe people heard "giant ghost eel" and their caveman reflexes kicked in, but within seconds the sky lit up with every spell in the amateur playbook. Fireballs, ice lances, earth spears, wind blades, magic missiles. And while the eel's hide barely flinched, I could feel the mana thickening, like soup made of panic. It was getting dense enough to chew.

Then one of Vorak's lapdogs stepped forward, sword glowing with light mana like he was about to knight a holy disaster. Before I could throat-punch reason into him, he tilted the blade sideways and swung in a wide arc—sending a crescent of light mana flying straight at the eel.

Oh, you choirboy dipshit—

My brain snapped into overdrive. The sword's motion told me everything: trajectory, angle, impact point. Down the eel's left fin, dead center. I moved on instinct. No time to weigh pros and cons—I threw myself into the path just as the glowing crescent shot free.

PAIN.

Molten-hot, searing through me like divine punishment. My scales tried to harden in response, bless them—but the light still burned in, leaving angry scorch marks across my side. Didn't cut deep, but damn did it sting.

I glared at the idiot who'd swung the light blade, and before I knew it, I felt the air coil in my throat—deep, primal, heavy—and a skill I'd barely ever used came to life. Not because I lacked it, but because life never gave me the damn chance.

Roar.

It erupted from me like thunder dragged through gravel, shaking the square with sheer resonance. People froze, stunned. Ears rang. Dust trembled in place.

"CEASE THE FUCKING FIRE UNLESS YOU WANT TO DIE AS A SELF-AWARE CRATER!"

My voice rippled across the silence that followed, and slowly—like sound catching up to sense—the crowd turned, dazed, trying to process what the hell I just said.

Then, right on cue: "What is happening here?"

Familiar voice. Too damn familiar. I turned and, yep—there he was. Vorak. The old man, face lined with suspicion. Flanked by Zharitsa, and a third guy who looked like a paladin, spear glowing with light mana. They were a bit off the square, near the alchemy tower. I guess the chaos dragged them over.

But I didn't even get a word out before the eel screamed—an ear-splitting, soul-rattling shriek—and lunged at the trio like it had been waiting for new guests.

Right. Just because we weren't attacking didn't mean the thing would return the favor. No, this situation sucked from both ends. We couldn't attack without setting off the bomb, but the damn eel still hit like a red core brute—a stage five evolution monster. That's one grade above me, and I already thought I was having a bad day.

Then—whoosh—before I could blink, Zharitsa moved. A blink in space and schlink—a blade of wind sliced across the eel's hide.

I felt the mana in the air spike again.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

"STOP!" I shouted again. This was insane. If we didn't fight it, people would die. If we did fight it, everyone might die. The thing was made to detonate, and every hit seemed to egg it closer.

I'd never faced anything like it. And despite my brain tearing itself apart for a solution, nothing came. That didn't mean I got to stop. I moved. Reflex, rage, and sheer survival instinct.

I landed in front of Zharitsa, body-checking her next strike, claws sparking against her steel, shouting again—warning after warning—and finally, finally, something in my tone clicked with her. Maybe it was the growing waves of mana rolling off the eel, maybe my face screamed "I've swallowed a hornet's nest of regrets." Either way, I saw the moment she realized: this wasn't just some oversized summon.

Only I knew what it really was. Because of the mission. Because of what would happen if it failed.

"Are you certain?!" Zharitsa yelled.

"YES, AND ALSO FURIOUS ABOUT IT!"

Then Vorak turned to me with a glare sharp enough to skin bone. To him, it probably looked like I was protecting the monster. And, well... I kinda was.

"What is happening here?!" he barked.

"I SAID—JUST DODGE AND DEFEND! DO NOT ATTACK THIS THING UNTIL I GIVE THE ORDER!" Zharitsa barked at her underlings.

"BUT CAPTAIN—?!"

"NO BUTS! DO YOU WANT TO DOOM US ALL?!"

He said something under his breath—lost to the chaos, but I still heard it.

"How are we even supposed to defend and dodge against this thing..."

That was a good question—because this thing was anything but manageable.

It tore through buildings like wet paper, swam through rubble like it was water, and a single whip from its long, sinuous tail sent entire squads flying like scattered dice. Thalador forbid you got clipped by those bladed fins; you wouldn't be rolling—you'd be sliced.

Its breath didn't just scald—it left craters. Blackened scars in the stone where mana pooled like oil slicks, thick and toxic enough to choke on. The very air around it warped with leaking dark mana, heavy and disorienting. Its shriek? That wasn't just noise—it paralyzed. Froze you to the bone and scrambled your thoughts.

How the hell were we supposed to fight this thing... without actually fighting it?!

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"I'll handle it," Zharitsa called out, voice sharp as her blades. "Just get everyone else clear in case this goes to shit. Sir Vorak!" She barked at Vorak. "You've got to have some kind of binding spell—anything that could trap this thing. Everything I've got would just phase right through it!"

Vorak didn't answer right away. He stared at the eel, watching it twist and thrash while people flailed around it like rag dolls. Then, finally, he nodded.

"I have something. But you need to hold it still. It'll take time—and the spell won't land unless it's anchored."

Hold it still, huh?

I eyed the eel—a thirty-foot tube of spite currently using a statue as a backscratcher. Hold it still. Sure. Why not ask the tsunami to pause for tea?

I clenched my jaw so hard I felt something in my neck twitch.

"...Sure," I muttered, already regretting what I was about to do. "Let me just… persuade it."

I glanced down at my claws, flexed my tentacles, and prayed to whatever gods still gave a damn that my strength would be enough.

It should be. I was well beyond yellow core stats. On paper, I should be able to handle this.

"EVERYONE, FALL BACK! GRAB ANY CIVILIANS AND EVACUATE TO THE ALCHEMY TOWER!" Zharitsa's voice roared out, riding the wind (literally)—sharp, clear, and undeniable.

Iron Pact warriors and city guards didn't waste a moment. They scattered fast, dragging the wounded and the clueless behind them. Honestly, they wouldn't be of much help here anyway.

"You got a plan?" Zharitsa asked as she stepped up beside me.

"Nope," I replied, grinning like a lunatic as I lunged forward. "Just brute force—and these babies." I snapped my tentacles once for effect, and then I was gone.

No time to plan. No chance to breathe. Just the sound of blood pounding and instinct howling. For once… even I didn't know what the hell I was doing.

I wished Lotte was here. Lysska too. Even Alice's cold, calculated insights wouldn't go unappreciated right now.

And yet—Zharitsa didn't hesitate. She dove in right after me.

She didn't know me. Didn't owe me. But she leapt anyway.

That hit different.

I was fighting with someone. Someone I didn't have to watch over my shoulder for. Someone who could have stabbed me in the back—but didn't.

It was like I was fighting my own instincts.

I didn't want this. Didn't want to believe. Didn't want to trust.

I'd armored myself in secrets, welded the plates with paranoia. Alone was safe. Alone was control.

But something primal clawed up my throat—a feral, forgotten voice howling "WRONG."

Like muscle memory from a life before survival meant solitude. Before the world taught me love was a sucker's bet.

I leapt.

My claws cracked the stone beneath me as I launched into the air, wings flaring once, twice—just enough to give me lift over the writhing mass of spectral eel.

I came from a world where everyone had it out for me. Where you never turned your back. Never trusted.

And yet my tentacles lashed out mid-air. Calculation? Faith?!?

Claws snapped onto broken masonry, anchoring me. First tentacle whipped down like a serpent, striking true, coiling hard around the eel's slick, twisting midsection.

Maybe it was time.

Time to stop running from my own shadow.

Time to tear down the walls I built brick by miserable brick.

People have causes. And when your cause aligns with theirs, maybe—just maybe—they'll stand with you.

Maybe trust wasn't a weakness. Maybe walls weren't armor—just a cage I'd mistaken for a crown.

Contact.

The tentacle caught. Locked. Held.

And I grinned.

Chaos always had been the clearest place for insight. That sharp, humming edge between collapse and brilliance.

Because really—

How the fuck else are you supposed to feel alive?

Its skin wasn't skin—it was like grappling fog wrapped around obsidian. Slippery, half-real, but it had weight. Just enough to grab.

And I did.

I twisted, yanked with everything I had, and slammed the damn thing into the ground like a meteor.

The eel shrieked, body spasming, spectral mass trying to slip through my grip. I didn't give it the chance. I grabbed again—tentacle locking around its writhing form—and smashed it a second time.

But that wouldn't last. I could feel the vibration now, a quiver of stress racing up the tentacle. I grunted, digging claws into the shattered bones of what used to be a building, leveraging every ounce of strength I had.

Zharitsa was moving already. One blink—then two. Like the wind gaining flesh between heartbeats.

Every time she reappeared, another cyclone slash exploded from her blades—not to kill, but to herd. Each impact pushed the eel where she wanted. Gust after gust, she drove it forward, hemmed in by my hold, by her fury, by precision wind magic that shoved the monster like a storm shepherding lightning.

And there it was—glowing just beneath it. The trap. A circle etched in pure light mana, humming with quiet dread.

We had to get it there.

"I'VE GOT ITS HEAD!" Zharitsa roared. Her magic wrapped tight around its snout, binding the thrashing face, forcing the beast to pivot—exactly what we needed.

"Tentacle two… wrap complete," I hissed through clenched teeth. I hooked it around the upper spine, right behind those twitching fin-spikes. But the eel lashed out in fury, tail cleaving through stone like butter, flinging rubble in every direction. Too much movement. One more point of contact wouldn't be enough. I needed a third.

Damn fourth tentacle was limp—injured earlier, my own damn fault.

"HOW MUCH TIME DO Y'ALL NEED?!" I bellowed toward the ritual site.

"We're charging the array!" Vorak called back, voice taut.

I stole a glance.

Three mages stood shoulder to shoulder, arms raised. Vorak in the center, sweat slicking his beard, eyes lit like molten quartz. Two radiant halos pulsed behind him. On either side, two Light pathwalkers focused hard, glyphs spinning like gears in the air. White-gold tendrils of mana surged into the forming triangle beneath their feet.

A few Iron Pact stragglers still lingered. Vorak snapped toward them.

"EVACUATE THE DISTRICT! THIS ISN'T A BLEEDING DEMONSTRATION!"

Soldiers scrambled, hauling civilians from rubble—some sobbing, others eerily calm, already drafting their last words in trembling minds. The air reeked of ozone and existential vertigo.

But I didn't have time to appreciate it.

The eel bucked again, nearly tearing free—only a split-second constriction stopped it. My tentacle cinched down hard, just as it tried to phase.

Not today, you overgrown fish.

I twisted the bladed edge into its flesh and shoved in energy from the shadow dimension.

Phasing denied, sushi.

Just like I expected—it shuddered. Phasing failed.

My grip slipped for a heartbeat but snapped back, solid as stone.

Still, pinning this damn thing was like wrestling smoke wrapped in razors. It squirmed, screeched—Thalador, the screeching!—and I saw it, right as it twisted: that fin.

It flicked toward my second tentacle, and pain lit up my spine like lightning. A red-hot slice—not deep, but angled perfectly to tear more with every thrash.

"Anchor two's slipping!" I roared.

I couldn't afford to lose it. Not now.

Decision made.

I popped my tongue to the side, retrieved the potion I'd tucked into my cheek, and crunched the vial between my teeth.

Glass didn't bother me. This draconic body could digest damn near anything—glass, poison, hopes, dreams.

The potion flooded my system, cold and electric.

My wound sealed. I felt it in real-time: torn flesh knitting back together, strength pouring back in.

Tentacle four—it grew back before my eyes.

"I've got it!" Zharitsa screamed.

She spiraled in midair, wind swirling like a living ribbon, then dove—slamming down on the eel's flank. Not a killing blow—just enough to knock its balance off. The writhing slowed for one heartbeat.

That was all I needed.

Tentacle four snapped into motion, lashing around the tail just as it coiled to strike. I yanked it down and pinned it against a broken obelisk, bracing with both hind legs.

Four points of contact.

I had it.

Tentacles crossing over its mass like living steel, muscles straining, shaking, screaming. Every nerve alight. My whole body a trembling anchor. I was burning through stamina like wildfire, but gods, I had it.

[LUXORATUM] Vorak bellowed. FINALLY!

And the world lit up.

Light exploded beneath the eel like a local sunrise.

A huge matrix flared into existence—circles within triangles, lines of runes crackling through the air. The ground hummed with power.

The air shimmered. From the runes, chains of light surged upward—each one glowing, inscribed with dense sigils.

The eel screamed again, harder than ever before, but I roared back, forcing my tentacles tighter.

Even through the chaos, I felt it. My grip was getting better, probably constrict got a level up.

No time to check the details, but hey—progress mid-fight? I'd take it.

The light chains struck.

This wasn't damage. It was a binding.

One. Two. Five. Ten. A hundred of them lashed around the eel's flailing form, weaving a glowing cocoon of radiant chains.

I slowly, carefully, let go.

It didn't move.

I stared. It stayed down.

I smiled—slow and wide.

Zharitsa landed beside me, chest heaving like a blacksmith's bellows. Vorak limped forward, his beard singed and robes smoking, but his smirk was intact. Even the Light mages, now swaying like drunk scarecrows, managed half-hearted thumbs-up.

We'd done it.

The eel lay motionless, swaddled in glowing chains—a holiday turkey wrapped in razor wire.

"Now we just wait for the—" Vorak began.

He never finished.

An atrocious surge of mana slammed through the air like a thunderclap. Thick. Suffocating. Wrong.

Every head turned—toward the eel.

It was still bound, still wrapped in tapes of glowing light, but now… there was something new.

Smoke. Not from fire—no, this was mana. Thick tendrils of dark mana, rising in slow coils through the binds like breath from a corpse.

What the hell?

We hadn't damaged it. We were careful. This thing wasn't bleeding, wasn't broken. Then what—how—?

Another wave hit.

And I knew.

It wasn't resisting.

It wasn't dying.

It was unstable.

"It's not dying," Zaritsa rasped. "It's… fermenting."

Something deep and primal in me reeled back. This wasn't a creature anymore—it was a vessel.

A container. A trap. Or worse… a countdown.

What if it was never meant to survive?

What if it didn't matter whether we killed it or captured it?

What if it was always going to detonate?

And in that instant, everything dropped out from under me.

My claws curled into the ground. Breath caught. The battlefield around me faded into white noise.

Because the eel wasn't screeching anymore. Its maw split ear-to-earless-ear in a rictus.

It was grinning.

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