Northern was slightly confused, but he could understand—to an extent—what the Paragon meant when he said they were about to be hit by a tsunami.
True, he had never been struck by a tsunami before, but how bad could it be?
The pressure dropped so rapidly his ears popped, followed by a sudden weightlessness, as if the air itself had been yanked away.
The tsunami wasn’t just rising anymore. It was pulling them in. Discover exclusive tales on NovelHub.Côm
A greedy vacuum, dragging everything toward it before the inevitable crash.
The sky darkened further, clouds spiraling inward as if devoured by the monstrous force growing before them.
"Don’t fight the pull," Raizel called out, his voice impossibly calm despite the deafening roar building around them. "Use it."
Northern’s muscles tensed.
Use it? How could one use a force ?
Then, with horrifying suddenness, the tsunami surged.
It didn’t just move—it erupted.
A wall of black water, hundreds of meters high, accelerating with an unnatural, impossible speed. Its surface churned, twisted, and writhed—shapes forming and vanishing in an instant. Faces. Torsos. Clawing hands—all sculpted from liquid darkness.
Raizel shouted—and then he was gone.
Not fled—Northern saw him hurtling toward the incoming destruction, his body tearing through the air, shockwaves exploding in his wake.
Northern cursed under his breath.
Was this Paragon truly insane?
But there was no time to question. If there was one thing Northern had learned, it was that sometimes survival meant following the path of madness.
He threw himself forward—cutting through the air, hurling himself toward the monstrous wave.
The tsunami loomed before him, a darkness that seemed to swallow light itself. Northern could see Raizel ahead, a blazing point of light against the abyss.
The Paragon was... circling?
No—he was weaving through the air in a spiral pattern, each burst of acceleration carving a visible disturbance in the atmosphere.
Understanding flashed through Northern’s mind.
When faced with something you cannot overcome with force, you redirect it.
Northern adjusted his flight path, mirroring Raizel’s spiral—but in the opposite direction. Together, their movements sculpted the air into a counter-cyclone, a vortex of wind and pressure standing defiant before the oncoming wave.
Then the tsunami struck.
The collision was world-shattering.
Northern’s body was nearly ripped apart by the opposing forces, the sheer turbulence pressing against his bones like a crushing vice. The sound wasn’t just deafening—it was a force trying to rupture his organs. His vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges, consciousness teetering on the brink.
The might of the tsunami against their vortex was too tumultuous.
He just needed to create more vortexes.
Simultaneously, his clones flickered into existence, appearing all around the storm’s howling darkness. Without hesitation, they mirrored his and Raizel’s movements, spiraling in sync—each one feeding the vortex until it became an unstoppable tempest, holding firm against the tsunami’s oppressive weight.
For precious seconds, the vortex held.
The monstrous wave split around their cyclone like water crashing against an immovable stone.
Then—something changed.
The water—if it could even be called that anymore—adapted.
From within the abyss, tendrils of midnight liquid shot outward, writhing and twisting, clawing toward them with unnatural precision.
The vortex began to collapse as the Behemoth struck. Its lashing tendrils tore into his clones, unraveling their formations with terrifying speed.
Northern shouted, though he doubted Raizel could hear him over the unrelenting roar.
Monster intelligence did not depend on rank.
It depended on danger level.
The moment a monster reached catastrophe rank, it awakened. A sentient, predatory intuition—a mind honed not just for survival but for calculated, intelligent warfare.
Understanding its own power, its own limits—adapting.
Such a monster changing tactics mid-battle was anything but surprising.
But Raizel was already reacting.
He abandoned the spiral.
Instead, he shot straight upward, accelerating with such speed that he left a sonic boom in his wake.
Northern followed—his clones following with him.
His lungs burned. The air grew thin. His head spun.
They climbed toward the impossible.
From this height, the true scale of the Catastrophic Behemoth became terrifyingly clear.
This wasn’t just a tsunami.
It was reshaping the landscape itself.
Wherever the black water touched, it didn’t just erode—it devoured. The earth beneath it turned barren, drained of life, as if the creature wasn’t merely destroying matter but consuming its very essence.
’...he did say in a defiling manner.’
Raizel hovered beside Northern, his usual smirk absent—replaced by something serious, calculating.
"At this point, Ral," he said, his voice carrying effortlessly despite the thinning air. "We need to force this baby out of its shell."
Northern gasped between breaths, still fighting against the altitude.
"You mean—" he wheezed, "we haven’t even been fighting the real thing?"
Raizel flicked a glance at him, made a nonchalant expression, and shrugged.
"Of course not. This? This is just a manifestation—a corrupted echo of its essence, tied to the world itself."
Northern froze for a moment, letting that explanation sink in.
’Was the Shadow Storm the same as this?’
Almost—but not quite.
The Shadow Storm was a walking mass of soul. A creature of pure spirit. If one had a weapon capable of soul damage, it could be torn apart.
A walking natural disaster.
And now, they faced the most critical question—
How do you make the monster reveal its true body?
Northern exhaled sharply, bracing against the relentless winds that suddenly rose tremendously, threatening to rip the world apart with its howl—he called out—forcing his voice to reach Raizel.
"So how do we achieve that?!"
"I said—HOW DO WE MAKE IT SHOW ITS REAL BODY?!!"
"Isn’t it obvious?!!! We DIVE into the deepest point of its shell!!!"
Northern narrowed his eyes.
It sounded plausible.
It also sounded insanely dangerous.
When had anything ever been safe for him?
All the talents he had accumulated—weren’t they meant for a moment ?
Raizel’s voice rang through the howling winds.
"So the game plan is— I go in, lure it out, I’ll be the bait! You make sure I don’t get eaten!"
Northern heard him loud and clear.
And he didn’t like it.
A change was overdue.
He took a deep breath—then raised his voice even higher.
"How about this instead?!! I GO IN—AND YOU MAKE SURE I DON’T GET EATEN?!!"