It looked as if the water around the leviathan were on the verge of boiling when it finally released its full aura. The black tentacles uncoiled from its body, weaving and flowing around the beast like serpents. Each one was etched with glowing runes that now shimmered with the same pale blue light as the crystal embedded in its chest. The same ethereal lines began to illuminate across the leviathan’s massive form, tracing ancient symbols across its scales like living tattoos. To call its aura “strong” was to insult its sheer force—it was overwhelming and terrifying. Thalion had never encountered a presence that even came close.

The hunters recoiled in fear, their eyes wide with disbelief. They had likely assumed that the leviathan had already revealed the extent of its power. But it was now painfully clear that what they had seen before had been mere play. The leviathan had been toying with them—amused, careless. Now, it was serious. Its tentacles curled inward again, forming intricate runic spirals around its body. A moment later, they unfurled in a sudden burst, releasing a monstrous shockwave that surged in all directions.

Thalion didn’t trust his shield alone to withstand the blast. He countered with Tsunami Breaker, bracing himself to summon Water Shield in case the spell failed. The leviathan’s power shattered Tsunami Breaker like a wave collapsing against a cliff. Thalion reacted instantly, conjuring the shield and pouring every drop of strength he could spare into it. The shockwave struck with the force of a falling mountain, launching him over twenty meters backward. But the shield held—barely—cracking under the pressure but not giving in.

The fishfolk had clustered together, reinforcing a collective shield just strong enough to block the first wave. But the leviathan was undeterred. Already, it was preparing its next attack. The tentacles writhed and danced around its form, tracing runes in the water, crafting a new spell with silent precision. Thalion had to admit. He had vastly underestimated this creature. He had thought the tentacles were for grapping prey. But now they were weaving spells more complex and potent than anything he had seen in battle.

For its second spell, the tentacles moved before its maw, spreading outward like the petals of a flower. A vortex of power began to form in the center, drawing in the ambient mana with such force that Thalion felt his own energy ripple in response. This wasn’t just a spell—it was a maelstrom. The sheer volume of gathered energy was staggering. Thalion made a mental note: if he survived, he would certainly experiment with tentacle-based forms.

The leviathan sank its teeth into the growing orb of power, then opened its mouth wide and released a massive beam of concentrated energy directly at Thalion. Whether it was a magical blast or a compressed shockwave, he couldn’t be sure—only that his danger sense flared with mortal urgency. Without hesitation, he activated his bloodline skill and vanished, teleporting to safety. A heartbeat later, a thunderous explosion echoed through the chamber as the beam struck the wall where he had stood.

The leviathan had abandoned all pretense of restraint. Already, it was preparing another spell. Thalion reappeared at its flank, charging his Aqua Lance to full power. His bloodline skill had given him precious seconds, enough to strike before the leviathan finished its next cast. Meanwhile, the fishfolk had resumed their assault, launching harpoon-like spears at the writhing tentacles. In hindsight, they should have targeted those limbs from the start. But no one could have expected the creature to transform into an arcane juggernaut.

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Thalion fired his Aqua Lance, slicing through three of the tentacles in a single strike. Yet the leviathan retaliated at once. Unlike the outward shockwave from before, this spell reversed its force—drawing everything toward it with a gravitational pull that twisted the water itself. Even Thalion’s reinforced shield faltered. He was dragged toward the beast along with debris, bubbles, and mana itself. But he wasn’t idle. As he was pulled closer, he conjured another Aqua Lance and severed four more tentacles that swirled menacingly around the leviathan’s core.

It wasn’t enough. Another pulse of magical force erupted, this one point-blank. The water shield shattered, and Thalion was hurled across the chamber. The impact cracked several of his bones, and even his reinforced scales failed to fully absorb the blow. Pain exploded through his limbs—but he survived. The only reason he was still conscious was the lingering connection to the Outsider, which began to heal him immediately. In seconds, he’d be able to move again.

But what he saw next sent a chill through his core.

The tentacles he had just severed were already regenerating—half-grown, writhing back into shape as though nothing had happened. It was absurd. That level of recovery defied logic. He couldn’t waste time cutting them repeatedly. He had to change his strategy and aim for the leviathan’s head. There would be no wearing it down. This monster wasn’t running out of mana or health—not anytime soon.

Still, there was a flicker of hope. Only the tentacles regenerated at that unnatural pace. The rest of the leviathan’s body remained damaged. The deep gouge in its tail was still open, barely beginning to mend. But while Thalion reeled and recalibrated, the fishfolk were facing their own crisis.

The leviathan had wasted no time. While the others were still stunned from the shockwave—some groaning with broken bones—it had already devoured the remaining half of the fishfolk. The situation was deteriorating by the second. Thalion knew he needed to land a decisive blow, and fast.

Without waiting for his body to fully recover, Thalion activated his bloodline skill and reappeared high above the leviathan’s head, just as it swallowed another unfortunate soul. He took on the form of the Tidecaller Serpent—wreathed in burning, illusory flame instead of the firey human like shape. In this shape, he didn’t wield a blade. Instead, he opened his maw and released a torrent resembling an Aqua Lance, though this one pulsed with power far beyond anything he had cast before.

The blast struck the leviathan’s skull with such force that the colossal beast was hurled backward—an astonishing feat given its size. The spell drained nearly all of Thalion’s mana, leaving him with a mere five percent. He'd need to lie low, just for a few moments, to regain enough energy for another meaningful strike. But the cost had been worth it—the leviathan’s skull was cracked open, and sickly green blood surged from the wound.

Though still alive, the leviathan reeled, dazed by the impact. The remaining fishfolk seized the moment, hurling their weapons toward the fresh injury. But the beast thrashed violently, forcing most of their attacks to miss the critical spot. Thalion, still in serpent form, darted aside to avoid the crossfire, hoping the leviathan's attention had shifted entirely to the fishfolk or perhaps its vision was simply too blurred to focus. Either way, he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.