Yxthul cut through the woods like a phantom of the deep, gliding between tree trunks as though swimming through water. Grass didn't bend. Branches didn't snap. His body flickered between material and immaterial, his form half-mist, half-muscle. To any bystander, he was a ripple of shadow sliding through the world, neither touching it nor truly part of it.
He did not breathe. He did not sweat. But his mind was a tempest.
Georan must be dead by now, he thought. Eaten, like the fool he was. He bit down a twisted smile. He had warned him, hadn't he? Said it clearly—"Trust me, it won't hurt you." But of course, it would. That was the whole point. The second version of the spawn, that hideous bloated creature, was not a tool. It was a tide. Something that couldn't be commanded, only unleashed.
He was getting stronger.
Yxthul paused, his translucent feet sliding across a patch of moss. His fingers twitched. He could feel it—like a silent roar within his bones. A surge. The monster was killing. That much was obvious. And with every kill, something inside Yxthul uncoiled further. The connection between them wasn't just magical—it was ancestral. Eldritch. Spiritual. A tether forged not in spell circles, but in shared lineage. The spawn was his kin, even if corrupted. Its victories were his nourishment.
He licked his teeth, sharp and silver-lined, and closed his glowing blue eyes.
Stage eight. No... Nine.
It was happening faster than he predicted. That creature's rampage was accelerating his ascension. He could feel the mana channels in his body writhing open like cracks in a dam. Soon, he would burst into the tenth stage again. The moment he arrived at the heart of Silver Blade City, the very ground would tremble.
He opened his eyes again, slowing his stride only briefly as a memory washed over him. His father. A dark, ancient creature with the head of a fish and the gaze of a god. He sat upon a throne carved from shipwreck bones and whispered doctrine into Yxthul's young mind like venom.
"Water is dominion," the old one rasped. "Land is rebellion. The surface must drown. Begin from the lowest, and flood upward. Make the weaklings of the shallow world choke on their lungs. Only then shall the Deep awaken."
Yxthul had believed it then. He still did.
"This lower realm," he muttered now, "is the first basin. I'll fill it... with screams."
He resumed moving, his form now fully visible—gray-skinned, towering, hairless, covered in scales that shimmered subtly in the light. Buildings came into view. The first outer walls of Silver Blade City. Guards patrolled lazily on the parapets, laughing, talking, unaware of the impending extinction. One of them pointed to a plume of smoke in the distance.
Yxthul passed through the stone like mist.
He didn't break the wall. He didn't climb it. He simply slipped through the very molecules as though they had forgotten how to be solid. Knights stood just a few meters away, sharing bread and discussing border patrol shifts.
They never even saw him.
A slow grin spread across his face. He walked past them like a shadow wearing a smile. Their ignorance was beautiful.
Soon, he would end it.
As he neared the inner section of the city, his vision locked onto a large villa—quiet, fortified, and emanating mana he was all too familiar with. Nolan. The one who stood between him and full domination. That hybrid of magic and technology. That abomination of a teacher.
Yxthul stopped just outside the iron-wrought gates. They hadn't detected him yet. He tapped the air with his clawed finger and muttered something in his old tongue. A circle of water bloomed in the air before him, rippling outward, revealing the image of a villa balcony.
Nolan was standing there. Gun in hand. Waiting.
Yxthul's grin faded.
"You knew," he growled under his breath.
The projection fizzled out as Yxthul's body solidified completely. This time, he stepped forward deliberately. No more stealth. No more swimming through the seams of the world. His feet touched the stone pathway as thunder rolled in the clouds above.
And then, Nolan's voice rang out from the balcony—clear, sarcastic, dry.
"Well, look what swam up the drain."
Yxthul's teeth bared.
Nolan stood calmly, the long barrel of his bizarre gun resting against his shoulder. Beside him, Lirazel the succubus tilted her head curiously, eyes glittering with confusion. But she immediately recognized the creature.
"Is that?" she whispered. And didn't finish.
"Yeah," Nolan nodded. "That's a walking seafood platter with delusions of grandeur."
Yxthul stepped forward, lifting his chin proudly.
"Mock me if you wish, but I am already materialized. I no longer require strength in the way you understand it. I am here now, Nolan. You lose."
Nolan's smirk didn't falter.
"That's great. Truly. And you came all this way just to get shot?"
Yxthul's voice rose like a preacher giving a sermon. "I do not need to be stronger than you. I only need to be here. This plane bends to those who arrive materialized from the deep. My very presence corrodes your structures. My purpose is divine. My path is certain."
He extended his arms, scaling flesh rippling with mana.
"I will crush your dungeon. I will slay your familiars. I will drown your city."
Lirazel narrowed her eyes, murmuring, "Dungeon? He doesn't know Ponka is there?"
Yxthul sneered at her.
"You—filthy demon whore—are next."
Lirazel blinked. "I wasn't talking to you, guppy."
Before Yxthul could respond, Nolan tilted his head, raised the gun, and whispered, "You said you're materialized now, right?"
Yxthul nodded proudly.
Nolan's smile sharpened.
"Good. That means this'll hurt."
With a crack and a flash, Nolan pulled the trigger.
"RATATATATATATATATA—"
The balcony lit up with muzzle flash.
"RATATATATATATATA!"
Each bullet cut through the air like jagged threads of silver light, infused not just with metal but with a specific magical binding—a blend of antimatter enchantments and suppressive arrays Nolan personally modified to pierce mana constructs. It wasn't just a gun. It was an execution device designed for one thing:
Killing the unnatural.
Yxthul's body shuddered as the first few rounds struck. One pierced his shoulder, another grazed his cheek, and a third slammed into his chest with a sickening crunch. Dark blue blood sprayed across the cobblestone like paint, sizzling as it hissed against the sunlit surface.
The fish-spawn reeled backward, stumbling, the arrogance draining from his features like water down a drain.
"What… what is this?" Yxthul gasped, eyes wide with disbelief. "These... these are no mortal weapons!"
Lirazel's eyes narrowed, her pupils thin slits of obsidian. She didn't say a word at first—but her heart was racing. Her claws twitched. Her wings stiffened. She recognized him now.
Yxthul.
Spawn of Vur'magrax the Drowned Leviathan.
A rival lineage. A cursed bloodline. An enemy of her own Patron—a feud as old as the Abyss itself. She clenched her teeth. But instead of revealing that aloud, she snapped toward Nolan and screamed—
"KILL HIM, YOU IDIOT! SHOOT HIS CORE!"
Nolan blinked. "Excuse me?"
"THE GLOWING PIECE OF FILTH IN HIS CHEST! SHOOT IT!"
Yxthul's hand shot up to shield his torso instinctively. But it was too late. Nolan, always quick on the draw, tilted the muzzle of the rifle slightly and squeezed the trigger again.
"RATATATATATATA—CRACK!"
A round struck dead center in Yxthul's chest, and the impact forced his body to arc backward violently. A thin shriek escaped his throat—not human, not even animal. It was the sound of mana fracturing from within, like an ancient bell ringing through water.
Yxthul fell to one knee, smoke rising from his chest. His hand hovered over the wound, and when he pulled it back, he saw the glow flickering beneath his skin.
His core was destabilizing.
He growled, snarling like a beast. "You think this is enough to kill me?! I am—!"
"Yeah, yeah," Nolan interrupted, cocking the rifle. "You're eternal. Blah blah blah. Still bleeds like a shrimp."
Lirazel hissed beside him, but not at Nolan.
Her eyes were locked on Yxthul with something bordering hatred. Her voice dropped, her words a whisper meant only for herself:
"So you crawled here too, you pathetic scale-born freak…"
But she didn't say it aloud. Not yet. Nolan didn't know. He didn't need to.
Not now.
Yxthul staggered to his feet, spine twitching unnaturally. His flesh began to mutate along the shot line, spreading into jagged coral-like growths, trying to repair the damage, but his breathing was ragged now. His form flickered again. The spiritual tether was fraying. The gun was working.
"I will… feed the rivers your bones…" he rasped.
Nolan raised the rifle again. "Cute. Let's see you regenerate with this next mag."
But Yxthul had no plans of staying still.
With a sudden roar, he dove sideways—not at Nolan, but into the stone below the balcony, his liquid form melting straight through the foundation like ink through paper. The structure trembled slightly.
"Shit!" Nolan shouted, backing away. "He's diving!"
"Don't let him escape!" Lirazel cried.
Nolan glanced sideways. "You're awfully invested in this one, aren't you?"
Lirazel didn't answer. Her eyes shimmered darkly, face pale with emotion she couldn't explain—not now, not here.
"Just kill him," she said, her voice sharper. "You have to."
Below, the cobblestones bulged as something moved beneath them—like a giant fish swimming under ice. Tiles cracked, mana pulsed, and then Yxthul exploded upward once more in a twisted cyclone of water, blood, and pure hatred.
"I WILL CONSUME YOU!" he howled, tentacles flaring from his back like blackened ribbons of seaweed.
But Nolan was already mid-roll, diving behind a support column, reloading with the swiftness of a seasoned warrior. The rifle clicked, then locked into place.
"I don't think so, fishstick."
He emerged from the other side of the column and fired point-blank into Yxthul's charging form.
"RATATATATATATA—BOOM!"
The shot slammed into Yxthul's upper torso again, this time blowing a chunk of his right shoulder into a mist of black ichor. He crashed backward against a statue of one of the old Academy founders, cracking it in half.
His breathing was now uneven, wet, bubbling.
Lirazel took a step forward but stopped herself. Her eyes flicked to Nolan, then back to the fallen Yxthul.
"Finish it," she whispered.
Yxthul's eyes met hers. And in that moment—he recognized her.
"Y-You... You're…"
But before he could finish, Nolan placed the muzzle against the side of his head.
"This is for sending that dumbass Geodan."
"Click. Boom."
Yxthul's body seized, twitched… and then slumped. No roar. No screech. Just silence.
Smoke lifted from the gun's barrel like incense from an altar.
Nolan exhaled slowly. "God, I hate fish."