Now that Northern had uncovered the Catastrophic Behemoth's true form, there was only one thing left to do.
Drag it out of its safe haven.
But how exactly was he supposed to do that when this creature was the very embodiment of calamity, an amalgamation of all things vile and demonic?
Its form was a grotesque fusion of bone and stone-like sinew, its ribcage gaping open as though it had been flayed from within, exposing an eerie luminescence that pulsed like a dying heartbeat.
The blue glow inside was not light, but the illusion of it—an afterimage of something ancient and forsaken, flickering like an eldritch ember within the gaping ruin of its chest. Its so-called scales were jagged, cracked husks, blackened and encrusted with the remnants of the wretched things it had devoured.
But the most abhorrent feature was the halo—a grotesque ring of rotting flesh and sinew, bound together by an unseen, malevolent force.
It hovered above its horned brow, not as a beacon of divinity, but as a sickening emblem of unholy dominion, pulsing with the festering remnants of its past victims.
The flesh twisted and oozed, eternally decaying yet never truly withering, dripping dark ichor into the waters below, polluting the river with its corruption.
And within the hollow center of that putrid wreath, something stirred.
A mass of shifting, writhing darkness.
An eye that never blinked, never rested—only watched.
With the infinite patience of a forsaken god.
Such a primal existence… How was he supposed to make it move?
Then, the answer surfaced.
It wasn't complicated.
Not even difficult to think of, no matter how dull he might seem.
He came here to be bait.
All he had to do now—was play that role.
'My strongest ability. Let me pull my strongest ability.'
Even that term was versatile.
As far as strongest went, Northern could point to several abilities. His repertoire was vast—too vast.
The flame ability would have been the most comfortable choice, but he had to consider their terrain—a river. A domain of endless water and storm, controlled by this grotesque weave of an abomination.
He had been placed at a disadvantage, forced to fight within its sanctuary. So whatever he used to kill it had to be something that would drive the Behemoth mad.
So mad that it would think of nothing else but chasing Northern.
So mad that it would forsake its haven, mindlessly hunting him with the singular desire to sink its teeth into his seasoned flesh.
'…What?! My flesh is definitely not seasoned. What the hell?'
Northern sighed, shaking off the errant thought. He glanced downward, thinking hard.
"Maybe I should just try a new recipe."
He nodded slightly to himself.
The oppressive weight of where he stood was crushing. He didn't have all the time in the world. Breathing was getting harder, every second stretching like an eternity. But the suffocating depths did not burden him as much as they once would have—thanks to the necklace he had gotten from Hao in the Dark Continent.
Still, he needed to act fast.
He raised his hand and traced a small circle in the air.
In that moment, space itself wavered. A ripple spread outward, expanding into a sphere that enveloped his form.
A simple motion, yet one that had taken monumental effort to master—the void force of Limitless Void.
The moment his reality separated from the oppressive depths, the burden lifted.
Air rushed into his lungs, smooth and refreshing. He could breathe properly now, and focus fully.
Within the void force, Northern moved.
His hands came together, molding something unseen.
A blinding light ignited within his grasp. Ice.
It shimmered—pure, untamed. But then it shifted, glowing with a soft, radiant cantaloupe hue.
The light blazed, fighting ferociously, struggling to tear through his grasp.
But his hands were not the hands of an ordinary man.
They were the hands of a divine sculptor.
And everything—no matter how wild, how volatile—was subject to their will.
His time at the forge had taught him much.
He had come to understand fire.
Its vibrance. Its ego. Its raging defiance.
And that understanding allowed him to merge it with ice.
A radiant, dull yellow glow exploded into his fist.
The air around him bent. Crushed. Dropped like molten liquid.
Even his enhanced body—his unparalleled composition—began to smolder within the immolating collision of heat and cold.
His gaze was cold. Indifferent.
He watched his hands as—finally—an inky darkness burned, swallowing everything within his grasp.
All these elements—contradictory, volatile, irreconcilable—melded together, bound by the limitless potential of DiY.
Even Northern was curious.
Curious to see what would emerge from such a profane fusion.
Slowly, he unclasped his hands.
Light stretched outward, lengthening, refining itself into a long, thin spear. Grey. Smooth. Perfectly sculpted.
The weapon hovered above him, its presence unnervingly unassuming.
With a flick of his fingers, the spear turned.
And faced the monstrosity.
Not forged of metal, but molded—an anomaly given form. Its grey skin devoured everything around it—even the abyssal glow of the depths.
The spear's edge aimed at the unholy abomination, trembling slightly.
Northern's gaze was cold. Indifferent.
"This will hurt a bit."
It tore through the water, parting the depths like air.
Its trajectory was unwavering—a silver comet streaking through the abyss.
The Catastrophic Behemoth remained still.
As if it couldn't fathom that something would dare to strike it within its own domain.
Then, its lightless eye flickered.
A ripple of—surprise? Confusion?—twisted through its malevolent consciousness.
It pierced the luminescent cavity of its chest.
No explosion. No detonation of force.
Just the soft, almost delicate sound of metal sinking into flesh—like a knife sliding into ripe fruit.
A terrible, absolute silence.
Even the ambient hum of the abyss vanished.
Northern's eyes narrowed.
"Three... two... one..."
[Congratulations, you have slain a Catastrophic Behemoth, The Boneless Sea.]
[You have gained fourteen talent fragments.]