Chapter 6: Chapter 6 - Physical Violence

Rein had now witnessed not one, but two legendary beasts, creatures most believed were nothing more than myths. And all this within days of leaving Rigel.

The serpent was said to be a divine beast, created by the Archsaint of Charity, while the Million Whale, in contrast, had been forged by an archdemon, an instrument of gluttony. Opposing origins, one divine, one demonic. And yet, both were equally incomprehensible in scale, power, and presence. Beings that should’ve existed only in ancient scriptures and fading tales.

Unlike the Million Whale, whose existence was at least proven by the writings of those who have witnessed it, the Golden Serpent was little more than a whispered legend. No solid evidence, no recorded sightings. Just stories. Hazy, half-remembered stories.

Yet now, that very myth was here—alive, massive, real—and clashing against the demonic beast that carried them.

Rein could hardly believe it.

“It really is… the Golden Serpent,” he whispered again, more to himself than anyone else.

“As it was once called,” the whale confirmed. “But its golden scales have long since dulled. Its body is a thin shadow of what it used to be. I suspect it has not fed in decades. It coils endlessly around the dome of the Overworld, as though mistaking it for an egg… guarding it, protecting it, as if it were its own.”

There was a pause, and a faint note of pity laced the whale’s voice.

“A tragic sight. A creature once as majestic as I, perhaps even more… now reduced to this. It should not be called the Golden Serpent anymore. Mad Serpent is more fitting.”

“Mad Serpent,” Rein repeated under his breath.

Another sorrowful story. But unlike the whale, which had found freedom, the serpent seemed to have lost grasp of it. As if the madness had consumed it whole.

Did it pass through the Veil too? Rein wondered. But how did it end up here, if it only fed on dead realms?

Maybe that was why the wars in the Outerworld had grown more intense in recent years. If the Golden Serpent had been stuck here for so long, then its trail—the source of potent resources—had long since dried up. His fellow Celestials must’ve begun to feel the scarcity, growing more desperate with each passing cycle. In that sense, the whale’s story added up.

“But even in its diminished state—shrunken from starvation, frayed by madness—its length still causes problems,” the whale continued. “Half its body is wrapped around the dome of the Overworld, and yet the rest still stretches far enough to rival my own size.”

There was a heavy pause before the whale added, “It refuses to let me pass this time. Not like before. And I suspect you two may be the reason it’s more aggressive now.”

Rein blinked. “Why? Doesn’t it only feed on dead realms?”

“I have told you, Celestial pneuma is the most potent and pure. That’s what it’s after,” the whale replied, its deep voice rumbling with strain. “It once fed only on dead realms... but that was when it was sane. Now it’s driven by hunger and madness. And the scent of your pneuma may be pushing it further over the edge.”

A low grunt followed, as though something massive had slammed into the whale’s side. Another violent tremor rocked the chamber.

The shaking was getting worse by the second. Rein and Morin struggled to stay on their feet as chunks of rock crashed around them. Worse still, the magma at the chamber’s center was no longer flowing calmly, it had begun to splash and surge, forcing them to dodge jets of molten liquid alongside the falling debris.

“Both of you,” the whale’s voice came again, louder now, laced with urgency. “I need your assistance.”

Rein scoffed through clenched teeth. “I’m assuming you don’t want us to fight that thing head-on? We’d be lucky to even scratch it.”

He inhaled sharply, steadying himself. “That said... you’re the one who’s matched its size and lived. So tell us, what do you need us to do?”

“I need the both of you to strike the ground beneath you hard, and without stopping,” the whale instructed, its voice rumbling with strain as it continued to wrestle the serpent. “That floor is part of the nearest inner wall to my digestive system. If you strike it repeatedly, my body will interpret the disturbance as prey struggling. In response, it will flood the chamber with magma in an attempt to ‘digest’ you.”

Rein’s eyes narrowed. “Flood the chamber? I think I see where this is going... You're planning to use the overflow to attack the serpent from the inside.”

“Correct,” the whale confirmed. “A surge of internal magma should disrupt its grip. At worst, it will burn part of it. At best, it will force the creature to loosen its hold.”

Rein ducked, narrowly avoiding another collapsing rock, then kicked it aside before it could hit Morin. She stood beside him, eyes steady, already focused.

“But what about us?” Rein asked, breathing hard. “If we’re inside when that flood happens, wouldn’t we get cooked with everything else?”

“You are not inside the core of my digestive tract, only close to it. The magma will not rise high enough to drown the chamber completely. But it will still surge. You will have to be ready... and smart.”

Stolen story; please report.

“Smart doesn’t help much if we melt to death,” Rein muttered. “So what’s the plan?”

“You jump,” the whale said. “The ceiling of that chamber is nearly unreachable, but when I give the signal, leap as high as you can and remain airborne until the magma surge passes.”

Rein blinked. “Stay airborne? For how long?”

“A few minutes,” the whale replied. “I will assist with my internal winds but only slightly. The majority of my energy must remain focused on guiding the magma.”

Rein exhaled sharply. A few minutes? For a creature like the whale, capable of floating endlessly through space, that was probably trivial. But for them?

“That’s asking a lot. We’re not like you. Gravity here is heavier than on Rigel. Staying up for even a minute is already difficult. And you want us to hang in the air while magma floods the chamber?”

Morin said nothing, but Rein could tell she was worried for him. She could probably pull it off easily with her strength.

But me... Rein clenched his fists.

“I'll carry you,” Morin said, already raising one leg, preparing to stomp on the whale’s insides.

It was a solid option, but a memory suddenly resurfaced in Rein’s mind. He didn't know why it came back now, but he felt it could be helpful to the current situation.

“Wait… How did you even reach me back in Rigel when I was already hovering outside?” he asked, still baffled by it.

Morin tilted her head slightly, as if recalling a simple errand. “I located you through a telescope. Then, I gathered as much ousia as I could inside Rigel. I combined it with my pneuma and fired an energy blast, —my strongest ever— into the ground. The recoil launched me toward your position. I used my pneuma again to shield myself from the explosion. I couldn’t really control the direction... but I got lucky,” she said plainly.

So that was how she managed to move outside the realm, even without having opened her third pneuma gate.

Everything she needed, Morin had done while still inside Rigel. She’d created the blast, shielded herself with pneuma, and ridden the force of the explosion all the way to Rein’s location. It was exactly what Rein expected from someone like her, brilliant, resourceful… and completely reckless. He doubted she even thought it through before launching herself into space. It must’ve been pure instinct. Then again, it was the kind of impulsive thing he would’ve done himself. He couldn’t scold her for it, not now, and not here.

"You think you can pull off something like that again just on a smaller scale?" Rein asked.

Morin glanced around, raising her palms slightly as if feeling for something invisible in the air.

"Too little ousia here," she replied after a pause.

"Thought so," Rein said. His ability to sense ousia was still underdeveloped, nowhere near as refined as hers.

"But I can improvise," Morin added. "I think I can manage it just once."

Morin scanned the chamber, her gaze flitting from one spot to another as if searching for something specific. While she did, Rein took it upon himself to shield them both, batting away falling debris with hurried strikes. Unlike Morin, it wasn’t easy for him. The sting in his knuckles and the bruises beginning to bloom across his hands were proof of that.

Then Morin abruptly stopped and knelt down, her eyes fixed on something. She reached out and picked up a small, jagged shard of rock.

“What are you planning to do with that?” Rein asked, glancing between the shard and her calm expression.

Before she could answer, the whale’s deep voice rumbled through the chamber, this time strained with effort.

“It is time. I am ashamed to admit the serpent is pushing harder than expected. We must proceed with the plan, now.”

“You mean the part where we stomp on the ground, on your body?” Rein clarified, already bracing himself.

“Yes.”

There was no more time to hesitate. Rein racked his brain for another way out, but nothing came. He wasn’t a seasoned fighter, far from it. He had little experience with real combat, and now they were in the middle of a clash between two ancient beasts, both of which he had very little knowledge of. If the whale, a creature older than most civilizations and had already encountered the serpent many times before, believed the only way to gain the upper hand was to flood part of its own insides with magma, then he had no reason to doubt it.

Rein met Morin’s eyes, and with a silent nod between them, they moved. Rein gathered pneuma in his legs, steadying his stance as he raised one foot in preparation. Morin was already poised beside him, mirroring his motion.

"You asked for this. Don’t blame us if we damage something," Rein muttered.

“Of course,” the whale rumbled, its voice taut with effort.

Morin struck first, wordlessly. Her foot slammed into the ground with a force that sent tremors radiating through the chamber. Rein followed a beat later, though he hesitated for just a moment, stomping on the flesh of a massive, sentient creature was still a strange and uncomfortable act.

But there was no time for second-guessing.

The tremors intensified with every blow, and more rocks dislodged from the ceiling, crashing down around them.

Morin didn’t flinch. The debris bounced harmlessly off her body, crumbling against her as if striking metal. She didn’t even seem to register them. With a grin spreading across her face, she continued hammering away with her arms and legs, laughing as if she were playing a game rather than attacking the insides of a demonic beast in the middle of a cosmic brawl.

Normally, rocks that large and heavy would’ve left anyone bruised and broken. But Morin wasn’t normal.

Rein recognized the technique she was using—vaguely remembered it from his studies. It involved extending pneuma outside the body, forming a thin, durable barrier of energy to shield against physical harm. A defensive technique only accessible in the upper levels of the first stage, well after opening one’s first pneuma gate.

A level Rein hadn’t reached yet.

Instead of withstanding the impact like Morin, he relied on movement, dodging the falling debris, launching himself into the air, then driving his feet down with force each time he landed. It was slower, less efficient, but the added weight from each fall made his stomps just forceful enough to count.

Their relentless pounding didn’t last long before the whale’s strained voice cut through the rumble.

“It’s coming. Prepare yourselves,” it said, tight and breathless, like something gargantuan was rising in its throat.

“The moment I give the signal, jump,” the whale warned.

“Alright,” Rein replied, wiping the sweat from his brow, chest rising and falling from exertion.

While they pummeled the whale’s insides, Rein had briefed Morin on their escape plan. It was simple, at least in theory. They would leap as high as they could using their pneuma, and at the peak of their jump, Morin would unleash a midair energy blast to propel them even higher. It would’ve been ideal if she could do it multiple times in a loop, keeping them airborne, but she could only manage it once. After that, they'd be at the mercy of gravity, and time.

Hopefully, it would be enough to survive the flood of magma.

“Get ready!” the whale called again.

Rein and Morin bent their knees in sync, pneuma surging through their legs. From deeper within the beast’s body came a deep, gurgling growl followed by a rising wave of heat and the sharp stench of burning stone.

The rumble grew louder. The air shimmered.

“Jump!” the whale roared.