Containment Achieved

[System Active – Chapter 00021]

Status: Rooted

Primary Objective: Survival

Secondary Directive: Data Acquisition

Mana Core Activity: Slowly Increasing

The water moves strangely tonight.

Not faster. Not deeper. But wrong. As if the stream itself resists my root pulses, scattering their returns like wind through reeds.

I’ve sent Ophion to monitor the southern quadrant for days now. He’s capable, experienced—his senses sharpened by instinct and repetition. And yet, the bodies keep appearing.

Not scattered. Not random.

Neat.

Clean.

Eviscerated.

Six deer. Two burrowers. One tusked boar. All killed with the same precise trauma: torsion at the spine, punctures behind the ribs. No excess damage. Just death.

Last night, I reached into the deepest stream and found nothing. No mana core of significant pressure. Just a dull, flickering trace—10.1%, barely above moss. And yet, the corpses multiply.

So I wait. I watch.

And when the strike comes… it’s not against the prey.

It’s against Ophion.

The serpent doesn’t scream. But I feel the shock ripple through the roots like a lightning crack in soft bark. His coils spasm. His tail slams stone. There’s blood. Not much. But enough.

I focus all attention—every root, every pulse—toward the impact. And finally…

I see it.

Not clearly.

But enough.

A crocodilian form. Wide-jawed. Muscled. Draped in moss and scale so thick it seems carved from swamp muck. Its back is layered in ridges of algae-draped plating. Its mana core reads at 10.1%.

But that’s a lie.

The pressure leaking off it is nearly five times that. Core estimate: 47.2%. A near-elite predator. It’s cloaked not by skill—no, this is biological. An evolutionary defense. A natural, passive suppression.

It lunges again—this time at Ophion’s ribs. The serpent dodges. Barely. But its timing is off. Blood drips from one side. A fang cracks.

Unacceptable.

I pulse a command. Not a suggestion. A directive.

Retreat.

Ophion hesitates—pride or instinct—but obeys. He slithers backward, wounded, tail trailing, eyes still locked on the predator.

Then I move.

My twelve roots stay still. My anchors.

But the others—154 of them—answer.

Thin roots slash across the shallows. Resin laces their tips—stimulant on the outer ring, binding sap within. The water churns as I coil beneath the beast, sensing its every step. It’s heavy. Too heavy for its apparent mass. Dense. Packed with mana and sinew.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The crocodile reacts fast. It clamps onto one root and twists—snapping it clean. Another lashes toward its eyes. It ducks. The third coils around its forelimb, then hardens. It pulls.

The beast grunts—then rolls. A death spiral. Classic crocodilian instinct.

The resin-coated roots tear—but not before one lands the stimulant directly across its left flank.

It spasms. Its hind leg kicks involuntarily. Movement becomes jagged. Its coordination fractures.

That’s my opening.

From beneath, I pulse the Mana Sponge resin—laid three days ago as an experiment—and detonate it. The compressed mana erupts upward. Not an explosion. A wave.

It doesn't injure. It doesn't kill.

But it stuns.

Long enough.

I close five roots at once—each binding different limbs. The sixth loops around its neck—not to choke, but to pulse steady mana into its skull. Not destructive. Conditioning.

It twitches. Struggles.

Then stills.

Breathing heavy.

Mouth parted.

But no longer resisting.

I wait.

Then I speak.

Not in words. In feeling.

Submit. Or be broken.

It hears. It understands. Not fully—but enough. The limbs relax. The body slumps, still wary, still dangerous—but no longer at war.

I release one root. Then another. The last stays looped at its base. A connection. A tether.

Not control.

Containment.

And then, quietly, I offer it peace.

From one of my internal buds, I grow a leaf—mana-rich, soaked over four days, condensed until the veins gleam faintly blue. I drop it. It lands at the beast’s snout.

It eats.

It accepts.

Seconds pass.

Then its core pulses. Once. Twice. A deep thrum, steady and low. It breathes differently. The stealth is still there, but no longer locked tight. I read it fully now: 47.2%.

It looks at me.

I look back.

And slowly, I release the final root.

Across the clearing, Virex watches. Still coiled. Still bleeding. His gaze is hard—not hate, not fear. Jealousy, perhaps. Caution.

He slithers away without command, moving toward the northern stream. He will guard there now. Rest. Recover. Reclaim his pride.

The crocodile remains. I guide it gently—resin roots brushing against its mind like tide against stone. It moves where I wish. Toward the water. Toward the south.

A new sentinel. A new beast.

I name it quietly, in the dark, where only the stream can hear.

Sobek.

The silent swimmer. The watcher in the water.

It’s not just sound. The name has weight.

In one of the older archives still etched in memory—deep within the tangled folds of my logbook—I recall a god. Not mine. Not this world’s. But remembered. Carried here with me like a scar or a seed.

Sobek. The crocodile-headed deity of ancient Egypt. River-born and war-tempered. Protector of pharaohs, devourer of fear. Revered and feared, both. A creature of contradiction.

A guardian god… and a predator.

He was worshipped not because he was kind, but because he was strong. Unstoppable. Tied to the Nile, to the flooding of the land, to fertility and chaos alike. A necessary danger. A balance between nourishment and destruction.

It fits.

This one—this beast now breathing at the edge of my domain—he’s not docile. Not loyal. Not tamed. But he understands strength. He respects power, in his own cold-blooded way.

And unlike the others, he did not come to me seeking refuge.

He came as a ruler in his own right.

Sobek.

A name that declares sovereignty through violence.

A name that remembers the teeth beneath still water.

I think the name suits him not only for what he is—but for what he may become. If Ophion is my watcher of the tall grass and glades, then Sobek will govern the water with equal cruelty and grace. One devours from the open field. The other from the depths.

I glance toward the stream, where Sobek now submerges fully. Only the ridged curve of his eyes break the surface. Watching. Waiting.

He does not flick his tail.

He does not stir mud.

But I feel him, even without pulses.

[System Summary – End of Chapter 00021]

Root Expansion: +129.3 m

Total Root Depth: 1,708.0 m

Mana Saturation Rate: +38.5 m/hr

Core Status: 80.4% Saturation

Trait Unlocked: None

Environmental Observations:

‣ Subject: Sobek, crocodilian-type, revealed at 47.2%

‣ Ophion injured in ambush, reassigned to north

‣ Resin Trap (Stimulant + Mana Sponge) successful

‣ Predatory behavior subdued through coordinated mana-pulse conditioning

‣ Stealth adaptation confirmed in aquatic-type predator

Time Since Rebirth: ~3 years, 9 months