Ren immediately turned around when he heard the roar—and what he saw made him freeze.
Surging toward him was a monster easily five meters tall.
The creature was vaguely humanoid. Its head resembled that of a squid, with large black eyes and tendrils dangling beneath its chin. A wide mouth lay hidden under the fleshy strands. Its arms were long and clawed—crab-like pincers attached to lean muscle. The torso was humanoid, but starved, the bones jutting visibly beneath its pale, stretched skin. Its legs were elongated, ending in splayed, bony toes.
It wasn't walking. It was gliding—and fast.
"Holy shit… what the fuck is that?"
Ren stumbled back.
The moment he spoke, his Whisperscript rippled to life beside him. He didn't even look.
He didn't need fear to tell him what to do. He just knew: he had to run. And fast.
He spun to bolt—
But his foot never touched the ground.
Instead, a sickening weightlessness gripped him as he drifted upward.
"Huh?" The word slipped out in a rush of bubbles, confusion crashing over him. His feet had lifted off the plains—he was floating.
All around him… water.
By the time his senses caught up, it was too late.
The creature was already upon him.
A massive clawed pincer—cold and jagged like splintered coral—raked across his side.
CRACK.
Pain tore through him like lightning. He didn't hear the break—he felt it. His ribs gave way with a sickening pop, splintering inward like shattered driftwood. Pressure spiked in his chest as the water pressed against torn muscle and raw bone.
His body folded from the blow, a cloud of crimson blooming around him—soft, slow, dreamlike in the water. But the pain wasn't slow. It was sharp. Immediate. Real.
Ren screamed, bubbles bursting from his throat, as he twisted away and clutched his side. Instinct took over. He kicked off hard, swimming fast, ignoring the agony slicing through every breath.
Almost instantly, he felt the creature give chase.
Ren swam harder, ignoring the pain. His hyperadaptive body moved like a spear through the depths—unnaturally fast—but he could tell through Siren's perception: whatever it was, it was gaining on him fast.
'Shit… what the hell is this? Where am I? What is this place—what the fuck is going on?'
Then came the sound again—a guttural growl that rolled through the water like a tremor.
Ren stretched his right hand forward as the current surged around him. He had no idea where he was going.
No—he wasn't even sure where he was.
Everything felt wrong. Unfamiliar. Like he'd been hurled into an ocean that didn't exist in any world.
Then—just ahead—he saw it.
A towering forest of black kelp, swaying slow and deathly in the dark.
He didn't stop to think.
Vira flooded his legs as he kicked hard, a burst of speed tearing through his core. He lunged into the forest, threading between the massive strands, not daring to look back.
He didn't slow down until the dark had swallowed him whole.
After a few seconds, the only sound he could hear was his own heartbeat, pounding in his ears.
He finally slowed and glanced over his shoulder.
Nothing was chasing him anymore.
He bent over, braced his hands on his knees, gasping for breath—each exhale sending ripples through the water. Then he dropped to the bottom, landing on what felt like plains beneath him, clutching his side. His breath came in shallow gasps, every inhale sending a white-hot lance through his ribs. The warmth on his hand was blood.
The pain was so sharp, so consuming, he didn't even notice at first—his clothes had changed. He was no longer wearing his blue hoodie and oversized black pants.
Now he wore a long, hooded black cloak, flowing down to his feet like shadow-drenched silk. Beneath it, his inner garments were just as dark—a fitted black tunic and pants, both lined with tiny, overlapping scales, matte and subtle, like dragonhide etched into fabric. His feet were covered by sleek black boots, armored yet silent in the water.
He immediately tore a strip from the cloak and wrapped it tightly around his ribs. The water around him was already red with blood, blooming slowly in the dark. His vision swam.
The pain was unbearable, but he didn't collapse—his hyperadaptive body wouldn't let him. The wound was already beginning to heal, slowly knitting beneath the surface. He kept sending Vira into it until the pain dulled just enough for him to think.
"What… what the… what the hell was that?" His voice was raw and ragged.
Then he heard it—a ripple. Soft. Subtle.
It was his Whisperscript.
He slowly turned toward it, still breathing hard. Words had already begun forming on its surface.
He read them slowly:
[Hunter of the Plainlands.]
"Huh? What does that mean?"
The Whisperscript didn't reply.
Ren looked around.
Towering stalks of kelp loomed in every direction—dark, silent, and more than thirty meters tall.
"Where... am I?"
The Whisperscript pulsed again.
[The Hollow Reeds of Narael]
"The Hollow Reeds? I thought this was my realm," he muttered, eyes narrowing.
"I didn't see any of this the last time I was here... Where did they come from?"
The Whisperscript rippled.
[Realm: Siren's Abyssal Sanctuary.
Location: The Hollow Reeds of Narael.
It was here before you. When you first arr—]
The sentence cut off mid-word.
"When I first what? What the hell. Are you bugging?"
The Whisperscript shimmered again, but instead of continuing, new words formed.
[Resonance: Faint.]
"No kidding."
Ren sighed.
'This doesn't make any sense.'
He tried to study his surroundings, but it was dark all around him. The black kelp didn't help—tall and hollow, the stalks shifted gently with the waves.
He looked up. His eyes widened.
Nothing.
There was nothing above. Unlike the last time he came here, there was no dome—just water in every direction.
Then a thought struck him.
'Wait a second. That monster… it didn't chase me in here. Why?'
His Siren's perception was still active, extending thirty meters in every direction, but he couldn't feel anything moving. Just the kelp swaying.
Then another thought hit him.
'It's dark. Why is it dark? Siren's perception usually lets me see in the dark. So… why? It wasn't dark before I got in here…'
His heart began to beat—then stilled, dulled by his affliction.
"I don't know why," Ren whispered. "But I can feel it in my bones. I need to get out of here."
He closed his eyes, ready to leave the realm.
Then opened them.
He was still here.
He closed them again. Focused harder.
Opened.
Still here.
"Now this is messed up. Is this... normal?"
His whisperscript didn't answer.
Just the words glowing in blue:
[Resonance: Faint.]
"Do you know how I can get out of here?" He asked.
There was silence for a beat.
Then the script rippled and new words formed:
[Aserath's Palace.]
Ren sighed, rubbing his face with one blood-slick hand.
"Great. Another name I've never heard. What the hell is this now?"
The whisperscript wrote:
[Resonance: Faint.]
Ren frowned.
"How do I get to Aserath's Palace?"
The Whisperscript pulsed, then expanded outward, widening to make space. The smooth glass-like surface grew larger, humming faintly as it adjusted its shape.
For a moment, it remained blank.
Then, thin silver lines began etching themselves across the surface, one after another, forming a living map. The lines didn't move like ink—they bled through the glass, twisting in serpentine arcs, branching into symbols and terrain that pulsed with faint bluish light.
Rings formed to mark depth.
Curved glyphs shimmered across what looked like plains, ridges, and waterlogged ruins.
In the top right corner, a single name glowed dimly:
[Aserath's Palace]
Ren bit his lower lip.
It was far. So far that he could tell immediately—it wouldn't just take time to reach. It would take strength. Strength he didn't have.
On the map, he spotted the kelp forest he was in—just a tiny cluster of glowing glyphs.
He swallowed hard.
He was bleeding. Barely standing.
He was in no condition to move.
How the hell was he supposed to get there?
Ren closed his eyes, relying solely on his siren's perception to confirm a growing suspicion.
Dark.
He opened them again. That confirmed it—something was wrong.
His perception wasn't just dulled; it was gone.
Normally, even in pitch black, he could sense the world through color-bled vibrations, the hum of movement through water. But here… there was nothing. No sound. No current. No ripple. Just silence so complete it felt like the world itself had stopped breathing.
Something inside him stirred—an alarming sense of urgency.
He turned quickly to the map again, scanning for options. He had to move—anywhere but here. And anywhere but back, toward the thing that had injured him.
Most of the nearby locations had names that made his stomach sink.
"Cradle of Rot" loomed to the west.
"The Maw of Vael" gaped open to the east.
But to the north—
"Aziz's Garden."
It sounded… less awful. Almost peaceful. Ren didn't trust the name, but it was the only place that didn't scream death. It literally had the word "garden" in it. Maybe—just maybe—he'd be safe there, or at least able to rest until his injuries healed.
He didn't hesitate. He made up his mind.
'North it is then.'