Chapter 256: Leviathan (4)

Upgrading a skill mid-battle was unusual—almost reckless. But Thalion had little choice. This fight was slipping through his fingers, and unless he pushed himself further, the outcome was certain. There was a window now, a fragile moment of clarity amid the chaos, and to waste it would be unforgivable. He had to try. The last time he’d attempted a skill upgrade had been alongside Sylas, working on the fireball technique. Back then, he discovered that sometimes a skill's rarity could increase without a new name or updated description. That oddity had joined a growing list of strange quirks he had noticed about the system, especially during the tutorial phase.

One of the most baffling details was how beast forms he absorbed often lacked their original skills. Another was the system’s tendency to reclaim spatial rings and even entire homes at the end of the tutorial, stripping everything away as if it were merely borrowed. There were other strange inconsistencies, too many to count, and Thalion often found himself mentally sorting them by how absurd they were. But right now, there was no time for reflection. He needed to push Aqua Lance beyond its current limits. To upgrade a skill, you had to evolve it—to refine and enhance it until it surpassed a hidden threshold that the system recognized. But Thalion couldn’t simply flood the spell with more power. He was already casting it at maximum output.

Any more, and the spell risked becoming unstable. It could explode mid-cast, tearing his body apart from within. He could barely hold the current pressure, his body straining under the intensity. Maybe he could push it slightly further, but not enough to truly transform the skill. The stream was already focused and dense, leaving little room for further refinement. That left only one path. Duration. Aqua Lance usually lasted less than a second before fading. He could adjust his aim slightly during casting to follow a dodging target, but it was limited. Still, extending the spell's duration might allow more sustained damage, especially if he could strike the leviathan repeatedly.

The question was how to achieve that. One option was to continue channeling mana into the spell after releasing it, stretching its life just a little longer. Another idea was to try recasting it quickly while the original was still in effect. Thalion chose the first approach. He began storing power until his body ached from the strain, then let the spell fly. It was imperfect. The increased energy didn’t focus better, and the blast didn’t grow stronger, but it did linger. Just under a second, maybe. A small improvement, but a step forward.

Below him, the battle took on a surreal rhythm. The fishfolk danced through the water like nimble spiders, swinging each other through the ocean currents with threads of light. The leviathan chased them with terrifying purpose, massive body slicing through the deep like a living dreadnought. Thalion kept striking the beast’s back. It was the most armored area, useless for meaningful damage, but perfect for testing. And the leviathan ignored him. Completely. The creature almost seemed amused, as though it recognized how fruitless his attacks were. Each Aqua Lance struck its thick hide and dissipated harmlessly, like arrows against a mountain.

Thalion could feel that amusement echoing through the mana, as though the creature was mocking him. The fishfolk, meanwhile, were visibly frustrated. Every time he struck the leviathan’s back again, he caught glimpses of their exasperated expressions. They didn’t need to speak—he could practically hear their thoughts. “Not the back again. Is this snake actually serious?” Still, he didn’t care. This was more than pride. He needed the upgrade, or he would die. Escape was not an option Thalion could stomach. His only chance lay in forcing this skill to evolve, even under pressure.

The biggest problem was the nature of the spell itself. Aqua Lance released most of its power in the first instant. Everything after that was a diminishing wave. Still lethal to lesser sea creatures, but meaningless against the leviathan's impenetrable scales. The act of casting it felt like a breath held too long. Eventually, you just couldn’t pull in more energy. So Thalion altered his approach. He concentrated all his power into a single burst, shortening the spell's duration in exchange for a sharper impact. It took several painful attempts to get the balance right.

His first success came from an undercharged version, one he could control more easily. That restraint turned out to be a blessing. The shot hit with a force that rivaled a fully charged Aqua Lance, though it vanished almost instantly. Encouraged, Thalion began to test the extremes. He had learned to amplify power by shortening duration. Now he worked in the opposite direction—stretching the spell as long as possible. Short bursts could shatter the scales. Longer, sustained lances might burn the soft tissue beneath them. That was his theory.

He didn’t have time to perfect it.

The leviathan surged forward, maw wide, and one of the female hunters vanished in a blur. It looked almost ridiculous—how fast she disappeared, drawn into the beast's endless throat like a leaf into a whirlpool. Despite the loss, Thalion stayed focused. He kept firing at the leviathan’s armored back. The beast, still dismissing him, showed no change in its behavior. One dorsal fin was gone, and an eye had been lost, the wound frozen solid. Without a heat source, it would remain that way for some time. But these were surface wounds. Nothing decisive.

The leviathan was still whole. Still hunting. And Thalion was still not strong enough.

It was fascinating to witness—Thalion had never considered that freezing a body part could halt the regeneration process entirely. The logic was sound, but seeing it in action was something else. Even if the leviathan had a healer supporting it, the affected area would remain inert until properly warmed. It was an incredibly effective strategy. Unfortunately, none of Thalion’s current forms offered an affinity for ice. Moments like these reminded him just how invaluable his divine skill and bloodline were. Those choices had been crucial. Thanks to them, he was almost completely immune to elemental effects. No one was freezing him of that he was certain.

After several attempts, Thalion finally managed to sustain the Aqua Lance for up to four seconds. He discovered that the moment the skill was released, his mana channels briefly opened again, allowing him to funnel in more energy. With his exceptional energy control—sharpened through countless hours of training and bolstered by his title—it wasn't difficult to keep feeding the spell. If he could combine this sustained release with the raw power burst he’d used before, the leviathan wouldn’t stand a chance. A fully powered Aqua Lance that could persist for four seconds was nothing short of absurd.

He began by stabilizing the lower-powered version, maintaining a consistent strength throughout the duration. Once that was under control, he focused on extending the spell's lifespan even further while simultaneously reinforcing it with additional power. After half an hour of relentless testing—and losing two more fishfolk to the leviathan’s monstrous maw—he finally reached a breakthrough. The Aqua Lance now lasted more than eight seconds. That alone was a major milestone. It was time for the true trial: combining duration and raw destructive force into one decisive strike.

The timing couldn’t have been better. The fishfolk were faltering. The leviathan had adapted to their tactics, accurately predicting the paths they were being flung along by their thread-like tethers. Thalion began to gather mana across the length of his body. Illusory flames ignited along his scales, flickering like ghostfire in the depths. He surged forward, adjusting his angle to get a clean shot at the leviathan’s side, just before the creature's tentacles began. He had considered aiming for the gills, but they were far too heavily armored, and striking the narrow slit directly was nearly impossible.

When the energy inside him crested beyond control, Thalion unleashed the Aqua Lance. Immediately, he poured every ounce of strength into sustaining it. Precision was impossible at such intensity, but it didn't matter. The spell struck the leviathan’s side with a deafening crack, scales shattering like glass under a hammer. It was, without question, the most powerful Aqua Lance Thalion had ever cast. And it wasn’t finished. He kept the stream going, forcing more mana into it, pushing the spell to spike even further beyond its initial output.

The leviathan screamed—a shriek of raw agony that tore through the water like thunder. The Aqua Lance tore deep into its side, and for five full seconds, Thalion held it there, cutting and searing with all the fury he could muster. By the time the spell faded, the water around them burned with illusory flame, and the wound he left gushed so much blue blood it could have filled an Olympic pool. Something vital had been struck. The leviathan convulsed and stopped chasing its prey, thrashing violently in place.

Then it turned.

Its eyes locked onto Thalion, burning with hatred, the pain momentarily forgotten. He remained calm. Much of the surrounding water still shimmered with his illusory flames, distorting visibility and masking his movements. He dove beneath the flames, making it harder for the beast to track him. He didn’t yet fully understand what the flames did, but he knew they disoriented the leviathan—and that was enough. Frustrated, the leviathan tried blasting him with shockwaves, but they were slow and easily evaded. Even if one struck him, his shield would absorb the force effortlessly, without fear of breaking.

The fishfolk wasted no time. With the leviathan distracted, they launched a relentless barrage, targeting the pectoral fins and writhing tentacles. The beast reeled under the pressure, forced to abandon its pursuit of Thalion and retaliate. That was exactly what Thalion had been waiting for. He unleashed another Aqua Lance, this time cleaving through nearly a quarter of the leviathan’s massive tail. The monster screeched again, its rage reaching new heights as blood fountained through the water. For the first time, Thalion had landed a wound that truly mattered—one that threatened the leviathan’s life.

The change was instant. No longer relying on brute strength alone, the leviathan retaliated with calculated precision. It moved to shield its injuries, allowing fewer openings for attack. Shockwaves pulsed from its body, and beams of concentrated water shot toward Thalion and the hunters. In between, it inhaled the surrounding water, accelerating its regeneration. Wounds began to close faster—but it wasn’t enough. None of its attacks hit their mark. The hunters dodged with practiced ease, their agile forms slipping through gaps like shadows.

Even the water beam, as devastating as it was, proved ineffective. The leviathan couldn’t move its head while channeling it, making it too easy to avoid. It was likely a weapon designed to obliterate foes of similar size—but against Thalion, who darted like a dartfish in the current, it was wasted. The leviathan seemed to realize this. Its entire body flared with energy, and the tentacles that had coiled protectively around it now unraveled. It was no longer holding back.

It was going all out.