Fishing the Abyss
Shwaaa...
Kyle had never seen the sea in this life, but in his past life, he'd laid eyes on it plenty of times.
Not for any romantic reasons—battlefields had cropped up near coastlines often enough. The Sword Ghost of his previous life had spent most of his days on those fields, not out of some tragic necessity, but because he simply loved them. In a way, that was pretty romantic.
Anyway, the point was, the crashing waves echoing now felt profoundly wrong. He'd heard ocean waves before; it wasn't like he'd never experienced the sea. But this sound grated—grated—on his nerves like nothing else.
Shwaaa...
There was no refreshment in it. Just a dull rumble, like mountains of mud collapsing. A sticky squelch, like the muck tangling and grinding against itself.
Kyle peered into the distance. The vast mudflat stretched to its edge, meeting a horizon blurred by sticky purple mist.
"..."
He swallowed hard without realizing it. Far off... something shimmered hazily. Beyond the horizon line, a colossal hand gripped the world itself, looming pale in the boundary haze.
The hand was the color of a bloated corpse swollen in water. He called it a "hand," but Kyle couldn't be sure that's what it truly was.
It defied comprehension, belonged to a realm beyond existence. So his brain substituted it with something familiar: it resembled a hand, but it was something far greater.
"..."
An urge surged to gouge out his eyes. Then crack open his skull and scrape out his brain. Without the lifeline tethering him, he might have done it. Hell, he might've just ended it all.
His past life had revolved around loving the sword, living for it. He'd roamed battlefields, slain countless foes, tasted defeat a few times amid far more victories, and carved his name into history.
But those were human feats. The Sword Ghost had been mighty, extraordinary—but he'd never transcended humanity.
That was something no human could grasp, something they shouldn't grasp. Forcing his unwilling eyes upward, Kyle traced the "hand" into the purple mist above.
It connected to something overhead, peering down from beyond the sky. Was that the only one? Maybe there were more.
"Ha..."
Yor in his chest no longer trembled, screamed, or whimpered. It lay rigid like a corpse—not truly dead, just pretending, begging to be treated as such.
"Haha..."
Kyle let out a cracked laugh. Thoughts from five hundred years ago resurfaced, after his death and reincarnation.
Thank god I reincarnated.
Best damn thing that could've happened.
He meant it sincerely. In five centuries, the world had changed drastically. Spirit roots, mana circuits—these bizarre concepts had emerged, and swordsmanship had evolved. This era teemed with powerhouses unlike those of old.
More than when he'd first sensed those shifts, this moment hammered it home: he was fortunate. Back then, he'd fallen to Ruin Alastor amid human rivals. Now? Non-human horrors lurked, incomprehensible entities. That hand was no illusion.
Perhaps they'd existed five hundred years ago too, but the old Sword Ghost had died oblivious. No regrets then, since he hadn't known—but now, he'd seen it with his own eyes.
Someday...
Choking on laughter, Kyle gripped his wooden sword. Sorry, Lucia—this thing was ordinary. And so was he, holding it. Any human before that would be.
Someday... could I cut it down?
Creak, creak.
He pressed on with his thoughts. Not now—he'd shatter before reaching it.
The Sword Ghost craved challenges. He loved battle, slicing foes. Killing? Well, calling it "love" sounded twisted, but he didn't hate it.
Dying himself? No thanks. With no attachments, he might charge gloriously into death—but current Kyle had plenty. Especially after glimpsing that.
He ignored the writhing impulse in his gut. Charging now was suicide. The lifeline held, but it wouldn't shield him against that.
"The world's a fucking vast place."
Muttering through chuckles, Kyle noted the waves growing louder, closer—time slipping by amid his fixation.
Kuuu! The hand plunged from the horizon, fingers clutching, scooping. Like dousing a sandcastle—playful mischief or malicious ruin, depending on perspective.
Black waves surged onto the mudflat. Simultaneously, the ground quaked; white bone pillars erupted everywhere. Less pillars, more like pristine coral spires.
Thought I'd tough it out once, but no dice.
He hated dying, loathed a dog's death even more. No hesitation—Kyle bolted for the nearest bone coral.
Since the hand appeared, every mudflat monster had hunkered down in the muck, breathless.
Unhindered, Kyle reached it, leaping up the coral pillar.
Perched on the jagged summit, he gazed below. Waves from afar had swallowed the flat; black water bubbled up.
Ssssh...
White smoke hissed from the coral's base where it met the dark water. As the fragment warned, it was venomous filth, corrupting all it touched.
Not just body—mind too.
No reckless dives. Reincarnated, this life was precious, to be spent valuably. Dying stupidly here? Arian waiting outside would bawl.
Would Aslan cry?
Eleven years estranged, "father" still felt off. Kyle mulled as the tide claimed the gray wasteland, birthing a sea.
It didn't take long. The surface gleamed mirror-smooth, yet peering in evoked soul-sucking depths.
Swoosh...
A massive shadow glided beneath. As vast as his coral perch, its scales armored like fortress walls, dorsal fins razor-sharp. If dragons existed—and they did—might they look thus?
Not alone. Yellowish glows flickered; jellyfish-like things drifted. Deeper, octopus tentacles writhed slowly.
Lock eyes and your mind shatters, huh? Not that bad...
The fragment's exaggeration? Then instinct screamed—Kyle flattened.
—Fwoosh!
Deeper than the surface lurkers, a colossal eye snapped open.
It drifted lazily, then closed. Only then could Kyle exhale. Now he got it—no exaggeration. Meeting that gaze? The lifeline would snap instinctively, yanking him back to shatter his psyche.
"Whoa..."
Exhaling low, he slumped on the bumpy surface. The fog-shrouded sky hid unknown gazes, but they ignored below now.
Their focus: the horizon, where the hand still splashed playfully. Safer to stare skyward during ebb.
"Yor."
[...]
"Quit playing dead. Not hungry?"
[Ugh...]
Prodded, Yor whimpered, lifting its "head."
[M-Master... h-how long... until we leave?]
"Till the fragment finishes the technique."
[Ughhh... l-let me out at least...]
"Ditch your master and flee alone? No way—we're one body. I live, you live; I die, you die."
[Ughhhh...]
"No dying plans, so relax. Hungry? Work."
Sorry, Yor—but no solo escape. Hunting and feasting here reshaped his body bit by bit; Yor shared the effects.
A year infusing spirit root, feeding mana, twisting its nature. Born lightning spirit, Yor evolved beyond pure lightning.
That dogshit food and black smoke changing me—affects Yor too.
Eyes shut, Kyle focused on the technique.
"Not just for me—for you too. Quit whining, work."
[Y-Yes...]
Yor sniffled into motion. Mana fainter than entry, yet cycles took far longer now.
Just mana control skyrockets control.
Bruno still trained with that bracelet.
Now I get why Barkas gave it. Prep early, less panic here. Bit of mana movement too.
Uncle thinking of his son.
*
Ebb: slaughter and devour monsters by type. Flood: perch on coral, cultivate. Kyle lived a week in the mudflat.
No reason to leave. Lifeline intact; monster fluids as water, flesh as food.
"..."
Body reeked, but he'd grown numb. Initially queasy, craving a wash—now, indifferent.
Monsters respawned endlessly. Killing was easy from start; a week adapted his body further.
Time to check the room.
Gulping vile flesh, Kyle turned. A week from the door; lifeline stretched far.
Decided, he traced it back. Floods and beasts delayed—two days to arrive.
[Finally... finally!]
Yor cheered. Adapted somewhat, but unlike Kyle, it hadn't enjoyed mudflat life.
"That happy?"
[N-Not like Master! I can't enjoy rotten flesh!]
"Me neither. Miss real food."
[F-Food! Let's eat, yeah?]
Yor begged. Fragment said rewards scaled with feats. Hundreds slain in nine days—feast worthy.
"Food later. Test something else first."
Door open.
Room altered slightly. Center: massive desk piled with books. Fragment scribbled furiously with a quill, muttering.
"Whatcha doing?"
"Making your technique."
"Huh. Question: you never asked about my method. Starting from scratch?"
"What do you take me for?"
Fragment scoffed, looking up.
"Brat, yours fuses Self-Lightning Sky-Piercer base with twenty-six Great Library third-grade manuals. Right?"
"Yeah..."
"I know every one you referenced. First contact, guiding your mana—saw the cycles. Blessing you? Double-checked. I grasp your unfinished mess perfectly."
Quill down.
"And how idiotic, flawed it is. Dumb brat—like you veers wrong, never notices, wanders lost. Like this mess."
"Solo? Never finished in life?"
"Would've, eventually. Body wrecked high odds. Me? Expert—you'll see."
"Dunno till done. Unprecedented work, needless manual."
Arms crossed, eyeing Kyle.
"Rags. Week without lifeline snap? Praise?"
"Praise nice, answers first."
"What? Mudflat truth? Scooping hand? Misty gazes? Abyssal eyes? Minions? Can't answer—you couldn't handle, I'd rather not invoke. But scraps? Polluted dregs."
Sly grin.
"What you ate, drank—filthy dregs. Wanna puke?"
"Puked eating it. Others intrigue, but fine. Real question different."
"Shoot."
"Rewards besides food?"
Expression shifted.
"Hm. Brain not total muscle."
Muttered.
"Or not starving? Makes sense—no nine-day survivor unbitten."
"Grandpa's first?"
"Julius Alastor, seventeen, first Layers entry—three days."
"O..."
"No snaps, but hunger yanked him."
Mudflat demanded more than sword skill. No upper dantian, Extreme Realm? Eat or die.
"So. Other rewards?"
"Possible."
Nod, chin propped, intrigued stare.
"Your dreg haul hefty. Most anything."
"How? Sword Tower summons?"
"No. Manifests in Layers."
Grin.
"Miraculous. Literally."
"Manifest... Outside, vanishes?"
"No. Brat, what you want?"
Eyes sparkled, curious.
"Hm..."
Kyle pinched his slime-crusted, reeking tunic.
"Bath reward?"
"Obviously. That your grand ask?"
Excitement soured to frown. Freakish, but eleven-year-old? Disappointing—then Kyle grinned.
"Clothes after."
"Clothes...? Sure."
"Shoes?"
"What you after?"
Urgent prod. Kyle plopped down, grinning.
"Flood immobility sucks."
"...!"
"Waves risky, yeah. Horizon hand? Untouchable. Abyssal eye similar."
"You know, still want flood roam?"
Fragment incredulous; Kyle's smile held.
"Avoid eyes, right?"
"..."
"Not easy, know. Body freezes on gaze... Neck strains elsewhere, head creaks toward it."
Tested thoroughly.
"Flood plans?"
"Hunt, duh."
"Hunt...?"
"Big eye unbeatable now. Swimmers? Worth a shot."
"Absurd."
Fragment stern, shaking head.
"Byproducts eclipse dregs. Dregs: failed abortions. Swimmers: successful spawn."
"Byproduct? Sounds fight-worthy."
"Idiot...!"
"Fail? Fine. Felt it—die to byproducts, lifeline pulls back. Right?"
Instinct alone? Fragment gawked; kid's intuition outstripped imagination.
"Yes, lifeline saves from byproducts. But avoid sea not for them, black depths. Abyss eye locks? Soul drags inexorably down."
"Then?"
"Death, probably. Dunno—never tested, none returned."
"Dodge eyes."
"Stubborn fool, won't you just—"
"Wait."
Grin, hands up.
"No need your okay. Rewards from Tower, not you."
"Wai—"
"Gear for black sea prowls."
Instant: hands wreathed in black-transparent glow.
Thud.
Something dropped. Fragment, lunging, froze.
"...?"
Kyle tilted at floor: long black cord. Picked up—rippled, faintly glowing.
"What?"
"Ha... hahaha!"
Fragment clutched belly, roaring.
"Hundreds dregs for shoelace! Fitting—dregs are dregs!"
"Shoelace, huh?"
Frowning, stretched: sleek, elastic, contracting on release.
"Tough luck, brat. No dream hunt."
"Nine days for lace... Hm."
"Drop whimsy, hunt dregs. Crave real? Sword... manual?"
"Sword picked; manuals flood Library."
"Alastors don't hoard all sword arts."
"Hm."
Hands up: food. Thud—hard loaf like day one.
[F-Food...]
Yor wailed feast hopes dashed; Fragment laughed anew. Kyle tore bites: tasteless, but foodier than dregs.
Chewing, bolted up, out door.
Hour later, back—local dregs cleared. Plopped, hands up.
"Food, bath, fresh clothes."
Granted simultaneous. Tiny tub appeared. No pipes—faucet gushed warm.
Beside: neatly folded clothes, entry-day match.
[Food!]
Nearby plate: steaming steak.
Requests fulfilled.
"Not quitting?"
Fragment, reseated, glared wearily.
"Byproducts outrank dregs? Bigger rewards, duh."
Kyle munched steak; Yor squealed bliss.
"More power gain. Stronger, fun fights."
"Kid rushing why?"
"Can't slack at eleven. Time precious."
"Really eleven?"
"World's got kids like me."
Steak vanished. Undressing for bath, paused, eyed Fragment.
"Uh, gender?"
"Nude humans? No reaction."
"I'm embarrassed."
"No shame—like stripping before sun?"
Fair. Clothes off, into tub. Scrubbed hot, plugged, filled.
Sighing at relaxed Kyle:
"...Shoes pair, cloak."
"Huh?"
"Shoes walk water. Cloak shields somewhat from abyssal/byproduct gazes. Not direct eyes."
"No sea gear? Dive suit?"
"You... lunatic, that'd take decades dregs."
Deep sigh.
"Don't recommend. Gear consumable—wears out. Get it, use, gone—repeat. Capisce?"
"So? Good? Reclaim. Byproducts efficient—snowballs."
Overly sunny. Fragment gripped throbbing head, sighed.
"Some learn from failure. Can't break your damn stubbornness—learn the hard way. Die to byproducts? Back here safe."
Grumbled, back to technique. Quill scratched; Kyle soaked, pondered.
"Hm."
Grinned.
*
Steak devoured, bathed, changed, sofa-napped soundly, cultivated freely.
Room mana-rich; half-day filled him. Primed, strode to door.
"Flood in two hours. Rest till tomorrow?"
"Idle here? Body stiffens. Hate leaving."
Pure excuse. Day more? Nah. Bored in comfortless luxury.
"Hm... if you insist."
Fragment shrugged. Pitied prodigy dog's death, intervened—uncharacteristic meddling.
Kyle inhaled mudflat rot deeply post-day out. Welcoming now.
Won't love it, but...
Dregs swarmed greetings; wooden sword replied, flesh devoured clean.
Two hours cleansing—quake.
Far: hand scooped sea. Nine-day vet, Kyle waited corals.
Rumble...
Corals surged. Up he went, awaited flood.
Skygaze horizon-bound, black sea hushed. Abyss eye blinks; deeper byproducts swim.
Atop, stretched lace endlessly—thin, unbreakable. Lengthy, flattened prone, edge-crawled.
[M-Master?]
Yor anxious; ignored. Decided—its will irrelevant.
Edge: bread chunk laced, flung down. No splash felt, but palm sensed texture shift.
Lowered more, wrist flicking—fishing.
Literal fishing. Bite? Heart pounding, Kyle jiggled eagerly.
How long?
Pluck.
Instant reel. Unknown biter—no swallow allowed.
Shrrk! Lace snapped short. Bread now black blob; cord fine. Then—
Kwooo!
Black surface erupted; something rocketed up.
[Kieeeek!]
Leapt pinnacle: man-swallowing leech-serpent. Circular maw whirred saw-teeth, twisting midair at Kyle.
"Gotcha!"
Whoop, pushed off—leap! Crackle! Aura-clad sword slashed.
Clang!
Soft-looking, yet unyielding—sword bounced.
[Kikikik!]
Teeth spun vicious; green spew. Obvious poison. Kyle focused aura, stabbed post-spray.
Splurt! Half-buried, downward thrust. Rip! Maw-to-gut split, green blood gushed.
No biggie?
Byproduct hype underwhelming. Weak specimen? Approaching split corpse—
"...?"
Froze. Leech tail: thin thread to depths.
Launch too loud for solo. Realizing, slashed thread.
Kwooo! Surface burst—not emergence, smack.
It vaulted pinnacle. Prior leech man-sized; this—coral-swallowing gator maw agape.
"Whoa..."
Arcing down, jaws wide. Coral-crusher. No escape. Full slash? Mana sluggish—no. Admitted folly, lunged for leech corpse.
One bite secured. Dead, teeth sank. Max chomp—chewed flesh.
Byproduct tasty—beats dregs.
Then.
Gator engulfed Kyle, coral whole.
*
"Y-You... idiot!"
Kyle blinked awake.
Room. Sword in hand, lace other; mouth held leech chunk.
Yor.
[Urp... blerrgh...]
Vomiting sounds? Where'd spirit puke go—mid dantian? Kyle chewed remnant.
"What're you chewing?! What the hell did you do?!"
Shoulders shaken—Fragment gripping, rattling.
"Fished a bit."
"F-Fished? Fishing? You madman!"
"Clever idea—didn't pan out."
Who'd guess swallow-whole. Space too cramped. Sea freedom? Dodge, counter.
"Shoes first."
Gulped tough flesh, nodded mutter.
"Madlad, madlad!"
Fragment kept shaking, bellowing.