Deep within the black slime, the capsule of space Dreleon had created served as a boundary for his transformation.
In his mind, clouded by primal instincts, a jagged judgment took hold.
He didn't need to push the world away. He needed to control what was inside it.
With a mental snap that felt like a breaking dam, Dreleon released the pressure, the black, viscous slime water rushed back toward him with a violent, crushing force.
To any observer, it would look like he had given up, but the Ghost Fish were not so lucky.
As the water rushed in, Dreleon used his mutated telekinesis to lock onto the very thing he had been sensing: their Bloodlust.
By anchoring his power to their killing intent, he trapped the fish in localized pockets of frozen space.
They were no longer invisible phantoms; they were ornaments of flesh suspended in the void.
They thrashed, their needle-teeth snapping at nothing, but they could not move an inch.
The prey had officially become the harvester.
Dreleon lunged.
In the dark, silent depths, there was only the sound of grinding teeth, or so in his mind that was the only sound present.
He reached for the nearest pocket of space, pulled the trapped fish toward his face, and consumed it in a single, savage bite. Then he moved to the second. Then the third, continuing until the last fish was gone.
The numbing water no longer mattered. His Basic Regulation technique was no longer necessary. He was moving through the slime with a new, terrifying grace, instinctively using his space telekinesis to part the water ahead of him and push the water behind him. He wasn't swimming; he was gliding through a void of his own space, controlling water forcefully trough space teleckenacis.
By the time he reached the last fish, his wounds—the flesh that had been chewed away by these very creatures—were no longer bleeding.
The energy from the special fish was being absorbed directly into his Royal Lion genes, knitting his skin back together with a coarse, shimmering new strength.
He stood at the bottom of the Black Pond, the dinner of the Elder now sitting in his own stomach. He didn't feel like a slave anymore.
He felt like a storm.
As his savage genes took full control of his body, he began his ascent.
It was slow, a deliberate crawl through the heavy depths, but his power didn't flicker.
He controlled the water with space and forcefully moved upwards.
When he finally broke the surface, he saw the old turtle head watching him with a wide, satisfied smile.
"Hahahaha! As expected, you are truly lucky," Genbu rumbled. "I thought the Royal genes were wasted on you, but to think not only can you survive the Ghost Pool, but even become more powerful? Hahahaha! Good, good..."
But before the Elder could continue, Dreleon jumped.
In his state of pure savageness, the being he hated most was this old turtle. To his clouded mind, he was a threat to be eliminated.
Dreleon charged with a ferocious, murderous gaze, his claws aimed for the ancient neck.
The Elder simply sighed. "Hahh... truly can't appreciate kindness, huh?"
Suddenly, the Elder's eyes transformed.
As Dreleon's gaze met those ancient pits of authority, he felt a wave of absolute command wash over him.
It was both a mental blow and physical.
As even every cell in his body—his lion muscles, his spatial nerves, his very heart—was ordered to sleep.
The momentum of his jump died mid-air.
His consciousness vanished.
Dreleon fell toward the stone floor, his body going limp before he even landed.