Warlock of Oceans: My Poseidon System

Chapter 376 Second Floor: The Gaurdian of Autumn Toads (Final)

The once immense and terrifying figure was reduced to a maelstrom of agony. The monster's limbs were the first to go, severed by the crushing force of the water and the relentless assault of the fish. Blood spurted from every wound, staining the once-clear waters of the throne world's sea in a cloud of crimson. Pieces of its flesh floated aimlessly, torn free by the violent surges of the water and devoured by the swarming fish.

As the creature's form began to disintegrate, the coral tendrils snaked higher, wrapping around its torso and neck, tightening like a noose. The ocean was unforgiving, pulling the creature's head back with a sickening crack. The tendrils crushed its throat, and within moments, the head detached, floating lifelessly in the water as blood poured from the open stump.

The swirling underwater whirlpools finished their job, dismembering what remained of the monster's body. Limbs now severed, spun aimlessly in the currents, carried away by the flowing streams of Cyrus' oceanic domain. Blood and viscera clouded the entire area, as the sea claimed the monster's body, reducing it to nothing but a floating mass of gore and broken bones.

The greatsword it had once wielded, a weapon of terrible power, slipped from its lifeless hands and flopped down to the seafloor, sinking into the soft, glowing sand below. The kingdom of the sea had claimed its first victory, and Cyrus stood as its ruler, the power of the ocean now fully his to command.

The once formidable creature was gone—consumed, torn apart, and left as nothing more than scraps drifting through the endless expanse of Cyrus' Kingdom of The Sea of Life.

As if the ocean sensed the threat had passed, the vast expanse of water that had transformed the dungeon receded in an instant. The ethereal glow of Cyrus' throne world vanished, leaving the damp, musty air of the dungeon as it once was. The oppressive atmosphere of battle lifted, but the silence that followed was unnerving, the only reminder of the recent carnage being the faint metallic scent of blood lingering in the air.

Cyrus stood amidst the remnants of the dungeon, victorious but barely standing. His body was a battlefield of its own—wounds covering nearly every inch of him. His left arm hung limply at his side, dislocated from being slammed against the walls. Bruises and gashes crisscrossed his torso, with several broken ribs pressing against his skin, making each breath a sharp, agonizing experience. Blood dripped steadily from a deep cut on his side, soaking his clothes and leaving a crimson trail on the dungeon floor. His legs trembled, barely able to support his weight, a clear sign that muscles had torn and ligaments had snapped from the sheer force of the earlier assault.

Worst of all was the internal bleeding. Cyrus could feel it—his organs crying out in protest, the pressure building inside his body. His vision blurred, and he could hear a faint ringing in his ears, the kind that signaled he was dangerously close to passing out.

Then, there was the insanely fast and potent mana depletion. His entire being felt hollowed out, his energy reserves dangerously low. He could feel the last few drops of his mana ebbing away. If he dropped any lower, mana poisoning would've claimed him—a slow, agonizing death as his body would have tried to cannibalize its own essence to survive.

Suddenly, he felt a presence beside him. Athena, who had healed herself enough to stand, limped toward him with visible effort. She was bruised and battered, her face pale from the strain, but her resolve was unwavering. She collapsed beside him, her breathing labored, and reached out her trembling hand. Without a word, she began channeling her healing magic, a soft golden glow radiating from her palm.

Cyrus winced as her mana connected with his wounds. Unlike typical healing magic, Athena's light didn't soothe—it burned. The golden energy surged into his body, knitting his torn flesh back together with a stinging intensity that made his muscles spasm. "Here," Cyrus muttered through gritted teeth, directing her to the worst of his injuries—his abdomen, where the internal bleeding was at its worst. He could feel the blood pooling inside him, a dull throb that grew sharper with every breath.

"This level of damage... They should've been dead!" another exclaimed, hovering over Athena's unconscious form as they began channeling healing magic into her depleted body.

Despite the rush of energy and light around them, neither Cyrus nor Athena stirred. The exhaustion had finally caught up with them. They had pushed themselves far beyond the edge of what was possible, and now, their bodies demanded rest.

As the healers worked feverishly to stabilize them, Cyrus and Athena drifted into a deep, much-needed sleep. They had survived, but just barely, and now, they would have to recover from the ordeal that had nearly taken both their lives.

Deep within the heart of the dungeon, the forgotten and dilapidated stone church lay still, bathed in the eerie silence of its isolation. The ancient, moss-covered brick walls, slick with dampness, seemed to lean inward, as though weighed down by the centuries of decay. But amidst this ruin, something stirred.

At the center of the church, a large blue crystal, half-buried in the crumbled altar, began to vibrate. It was faint at first, barely noticeable, as if it was awakening from a long slumber. Dust scattered off its surface, and small cracks began to spiderweb across its gleaming surface. The vibration grew stronger, more violent, shaking loose bits of stone from the altar.

The crystal pulsed with an ominous glow, flickering like a dying star. Each pulse sent a tremor through the surrounding stone, echoing throughout the deserted chamber. The air thickened with tension as the cracks on the crystal widened, blue light spilling from its fractured form.

Without warning, the crystal shattered.

A deafening crack rang through the church, followed by a surge of dark energy. From the remnants of the crystal, a torrent of miasma burst forth, swirling and writhing like a living entity. The thick, black fog twisted and spread with alarming speed, engulfing the entire church in moments.

The miasma flowed outward, spilling through the cracks in the walls, creeping like a shadow through the dungeon's twisting corridors. It moved with purpose, seeking, searching, until it found the newborn Autumn Toads, freshly spawned in the dungeon's lower layers.

The first of the toads to encounter the miasma froze in place, their large, bulbous eyes widening as the dark fog enveloped them. They croaked in confusion, but it was too late. The miasma seeped into their flesh, twisting and warping their bodies. Their once vibrant colors dulled to a sickly greenish-black, their eyes glowing with an unnatural, malevolent light.

The new generation of Autumn Toads had been infected, their forms were now bloated and grotesque, their power warped by the dark essence that coursed through their veins. The dungeon had changed once again, corrupted by the release of the crystal's long-contained power.