Silence was not peace.
It was tension — a waiting breath between predator and prey.
Kuro drifted in the water column, his new body glimmering faintly in the endless dark. Every movement was exaggerated; a twitch of muscle became a jet of propulsion, a thought became motion. The faint bioluminescent veins beneath his translucent skin pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat — if it could still be called that.
> I can feel everything… even the current brushing against me.
The water here was heavy. Each ripple was a weight, each sound a shape. He could feel the tremor of distant life — the metallic hum of mana organisms, the faint crackle of hydrothermal vents miles below.
His sonar pinged again — involuntary, automatic. The world lit up in rippling outlines. A forest of black coral. A passing shadow the size of a small boat. And then — smaller movements. Quick. Sharp.
Prey.
> No. Not yet. I need to think.
His thoughts were still human, but thought was slow here. The Abyss didn't wait for reason. Hunger pressed against him like the deep's own heartbeat. The shrimplings he'd devoured in instinct had barely filled him. Now, he needed something larger — something to become.
He turned toward the vibration.
Something swam nearby — a small eel-like creature, its mana field flickering like candlelight. It shimmered faintly, exhaling threads of luminescence into the current.
> Beautiful.
And dangerous.
He could sense its power — weak, but quick.
If he struck wrongly, it would flee. If he hesitated, he would starve.
His tentacles flexed instinctively.
Eight limbs — soft, boneless, perfect tools of precision.
His mantle tightened. Pressure built. Water churned behind him.
> [Predatory Instinct — Engaged.]
[Target Locked.]
That voice again — neither mechanical nor divine. The Abyssal Whisper.
He hated that it sounded calm, clinical. Like a scientist reading his own autopsy.
> I'm not your experiment.
But the current didn't care what he was. It only carried the scent of hunger.
He surged forward. A jet of compressed water exploded from his mantle, propelling him through the darkness.
The eel sensed him. It turned, snapping its needle-like jaw, releasing a static charge that rippled through the current. Kuro's new nerves screamed — a flash of light across his mind. Instinct kicked before reason. His body folded, twisting into a spiral, the electric current dispersing along a gelatinous surface.
He darted again. A tentacle whipped out — too slow. The eel slipped past, scales brushing him like knives.
> [Damage sustained. Cellular abrasion detected.]
He ignored the whisper and focused.
He remembered human tactics — prediction, patience, timing.
Creatures fought by reaction. He would fight by calculation.
The eel circled back, sensing weakness. Its jaws opened, rows of glassy teeth glinting faintly in its glow.
> Now.
Kuro spread his tentacles wide, forming a deceptive silhouette — prey-like. Then, as the eel lunged, he jetted backward, flipping his mantle over his head. A cloud of black ink erupted — mana-reactive, heavy as blood.
The eel darted straight into it — blinded.
Kuro's tentacle coiled, wrapping around the creature's midsection. He pulled it close, ignoring the desperate thrash, and his beak-like mouth sank deep.
Warmth spilled into the water.
The creature convulsed.
Its mana — a trembling pulse of bioluminescent current — flowed into him like fire through veins.
> [Predatory Assimilation Complete.]
[Skill Acquired: Static Discharge.]
[Evolution Path Progress: 0.37%]
He released it. The carcass drifted, lifeless, dissolving into darkness.
For a moment, the hunger faded.
Only the silence remained.
> This… is survival.
He felt it — the merging of cells, the slow rearrangement of tissues. His mantle tingled, bioluminescent lines shifting into faint electrical nodes. If he concentrated, a spark leapt between his tentacles.
It should have terrified him.
Instead, it fascinated him.
> It's like… an adaptive nervous system. The Abyss isn't granting skills — it's rewriting the genome in real time.
This isn't fantasy. It's a form of biological resonance. Mana as a molecular catalyst…
He stopped.
His human mind was still analyzing, still seeking logic where none should exist. But the more he tried to think, the harder it became to remember words. The meanings blurred, replaced by feelings.
Pressure. Hunger. Motion.
The Abyss was teaching him a new language — one spoken through instinct.
> No. I have to remember who I am.
Atsuya Kurose. Researcher. Human.
The current answered with laughter. Or maybe it was just the song of the deep — the long, echoing hum of unseen creatures calling to one another across miles of darkness.
He could feel them now — presences far beyond his reach. Leviathans, drifting like mountains through the black. Their mana fields were vast enough to distort the flow of time itself. Just sensing them made his skin crawl with reverence and terror.
> They're… real.
The myths of the Sea Gods… the Old Race… they weren't myths at all.
He wanted to observe them. To learn.
But even his instincts whispered a warning:
> You are not ready.
Kuro descended a little deeper, past the gentle shimmer of drifting plankton into the denser shadows below. The water grew colder. The pressure increased until his body creaked like glass.
His bioluminescence dimmed automatically, instinctively — camouflaging against predators. In the far dark, faint lights moved: tendrils, jaws, impossible shapes.
> This is no place for a larva.
Yet he felt drawn downward, toward the faint hum beneath the world.
A sound like a heart the size of the ocean.
The Abyss pulsed once — slow, thunderous.
And he heard it again.
> [Deeper, Kuro.]
[Deeper, where memory drowns.]
He should have resisted.
But the current pulled him forward — and the thought that terrified him most was not the whisper itself…
…it was the part of him that agreed.