SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 565: The Mouth Below

The creature lunged at him, its lowered head driving forward like a battering ram as tentacles spread wide, negating any escape routes. Trafalgar sidestepped the attack, Maledicta trailing a dark wake behind him as he darted along the creature's side instead of meeting the charge directly.

His blade struck, but the edge barely sank into the plated armor, only scraping against it. However, the softer flesh at the base of the tentacles yielded easily, and thick black blood began to dye the water.

The monstrosity spun around to face him.

It had ceased fighting purely on instinct. While rage still fueled its every motion, a flicker of calculation had entered its movements, making it far more dangerous. The tentacles no longer blindly attacked his sword. They weaved and probed, dictating his space, measuring distances, and only striking when they anticipated his blade would be elsewhere.

One tentacle descended from above, two lunged from the sides, and a fourth slithered low, aiming to ensnare his legs once more. Trafalgar surged through the closing gap, unleashing [Morgain's Requiem] and transforming the water around him into a maelstrom of blades. The sea churned violently with each pulse of the technique. Six swift, arcing shadows erupted outwards, slicing through the nearest appendages and sending shredded dark flesh spiraling into the current. Crimson bloomed in all directions as the creature recoiled with enough force to drag the surrounding water with it.

Above, the water's surface erupted.

A massive dome of water surged upwards before collapsing, drenching the four of them yet again. Xavier wiped a hand across his face, his jaw tightening noticeably.

"Can any of you see what's happening down there?"

"No," Cynthia replied, her strokes growing more labored. "I can only sense the mana bursts."

Bartholomew swallowed hard, forcing his arms to continue their movement. "That was one of his powerful ones, wasn't it?"

Zafira paused before answering, her gaze fixed on the darkened patch of sea ahead, where crimson continued to surface in fractured patterns.

"Yes," she confirmed at last. "And it's still alive."

Her words offered no comfort to any of them.

Below, Trafalgar propelled himself out of the inky cloud before it obscured his vision again. The pendant he wore around his neck was the sole reason he could maneuver. Without it, every retreat would have been an exhausting struggle. With it, he could fight instead of merely enduring.

The creature's form gradually reappeared through the murky stain, now more compact. Several tentacles were missing, and others hung mangled and distorted. Its head bore injuries, though not the kind he had intended.

Its maw remained unharmed.

This was where the fight would conclude.

It charged again, but its trajectory had shifted. It approached on a slow curve, forcing him to choose between its armored front and the tentacles attempting to seal his escape route from behind. It was adapting, becoming smarter. And that made it worse.

Trafalgar allowed it to believe he was targeting its head.

He raised Maledicta, making his angle clear, and the creature instantly committed to the feint. Its grotesque maw gaped open beneath its head as it lunged, seemingly poised to devour him whole if the impact didn't crush him first.

He dove beneath it.

The maneuver was executed with such precise timing that even the creature's adjusted rhythm couldn't counter it. Trafalgar kicked downwards, slipping under the head just as its jaws snapped shut where he had been moments before. A single tentacle grazed his side as he passed, the impact jarring him and twisting his body, but not enough to halt his progress.

Pain flared across his ribs. He pushed it aside.

Mana surged into Maledicta once more, this time with greater intensity, causing the pressure in his chest to become agonizing. His core was already pushed to its limits. The Flow Core technique had been straining against its boundaries for half the battle, and every subsequent skill felt like another heavy blow against that weakening structure.

Good.

He desired that wall to shatter.

He activated [Morgain's Final Crescent].

The inverted crescent cleaved upwards from below, driving directly into the creature's gaping maw.

The impact was immediate. Flesh tore open. A violent shudder wracked the entire beast. Its body convulsed upwards, and one of its remaining tentacles spasmed erratically, as though the strike had penetrated far deeper than the visible wound.

The underside wasn't merely softer. It was the creature's vital anchor.

Trafalgar gave it no chance to recover.

A second [Morgain's Final Crescent] followed, driven through the same opening before the creature could evade. The surrounding current fractured under the force of the strike, and the beast writhed so violently that a torrent of black blood and torn tissue erupted from its mouth, resembling tattered sailcloth whipped by a furious gale.

It attempted to ascend and flee.

He remained beneath it.

The creature's tentacles thrashed wildly, a chaotic display of panic that shifted the battle far more than any of Trafalgar's previous slashes had. One appendage lashed out, striking his shoulder and sending him spinning sideways through the water. Another swept past his face, its slick, cold flesh churning his stomach. A third came perilously close to striking Maledicta itself.

He recovered swiftly before the limb could retract and surged upwards once more.

The third strike, known as [Morgain's Final Crescent], sliced through the creature's lower head, creating a gaping wound that refused to seal. The fourth crescent gashed the base of its mouth, severing two tentacle roots where they joined the body. The fifth strike required him to expend more mana than he should have, pushing his Flow Core to its limits and risking rupture, but it devastated the entire underside of the beast.

The monstrosity began to disintegrate from its underside.

The dissolution was not neat. Dark strips and ragged segments peeled away as the crescents tore through flesh, internal organs, and the softer tissues hidden beneath the armored head, until the entire structure collapsed. Severed tentacles detached and drifted away like writhing remnants. The maw, which moments before had seemed capable of swallowing him whole, became a mangled cavity spewing black ichor into the sea.

The surrounding water turned black as Trafalgar was enveloped by the stain.

He gasped for breath, even with the pendant's aid. His arm throbbed from the immense exertion of channeling so much mana through Maledicta repeatedly. His core felt like a furnace within his chest, bloated with pressure, making each heartbeat feel unnatural.

The creature no longer bore any resemblance to a formidable opponent.

It floated, in pieces.

Some fragments still twitched erratically. A severed tentacle curled feebly as it drifted past him, and a torn section of the head rolled sluggishly in the current, akin to debris from a ship long forgotten. The rest of its ruined form hung suspended in the dark water, butchered and slowly sinking.

Trafalgar remained motionless for a moment, sword still grasped in his hand, his chest heaving. He had emerged victorious.

Victory, however, did not make what followed any easier. His body began to tally the cost of his efforts.

The power unleashed by the five crescents had drained him far more than he cared to admit. While the pendant could mitigate the ocean's pressure, it could not replenish the mana he had so recklessly expended. Nor could it stabilize his Flow Core, which teetered on the brink of collapse. Strength ebbed from his limbs in slow, agonizing waves, each departure more profound than the last.

"Annoying!"

He attempted to propel himself upward, but his limbs felt heavier than they should. The surface seemed impossibly distant.

The pervasive black blood only worsened the situation. It had transformed the water around him into a murky, hostile medium, so thick that the light from above filtered down in fractured beams. His companions had vanished from his sight, leaving only faint movements visible beyond the crimson-black haze.

His grip on Maledicta faltered slightly.

This could not happen here.

He pushed the thought of his sword aside and concentrated on moving, pulling himself forward stroke by painstaking stroke. Yet, the sea seemed to resist with greater force with each movement, or perhaps his body was simply succumbing to exhaustion. His ribs ached from the tentacle's impact, and his chest felt impossibly tight and heavy, a sensation that refused to dissipate. The strain on his core had not lessened after the kill; if anything, it had intensified.

Something was approaching.

It wasn't the creature, nor any part of its remains. A form was descending through the dark water, more presence than shape, unmistakably human. Trafalgar attempted to turn towards it, but his body seemed indifferent to his will.

A hand grasped his arm.

And pulled him upwards.