Eo drifted in the vast, open water, his body still, yet his mind in turmoil.

  The battle had ended, but the aftershocks remained.

  The rush of bloodlust still clung to him, wrapping around his thoughts like a suffocating haze. His body remembered the thrill, the sharpened instincts, the intoxicating strength that surged when he embraced the slaughter. Even now, his form twitched with lingering aggression, as if urging him to keep going, to kill more.

  But there was nothing left to fight.

  Nothing left to kill.

  Yet the hunger remained.

  A creeping, insidious thing that did not disappear even when the battlefield had grown silent.

  Eo forced himself to be still.

  Something was wrong.

  He had won, but it did not feel like a victory.

  It felt like he had lost something.

  His own mind? His own reasoning?

  Eo tried to think clearly, but the weight of bloodlust pressed against his thoughts. The longer he stayed in this state, the more he felt like he was losing control.

  A terrifying thought formed.

  What if he became like the berserk monster?

  A creature lost in the depths of its own rage, unable to stop, unable to think—only to kill and be killed.

  The idea unnerved him.

  There had to be a way to stop this.

  To suppress the overwhelming pull of bloodlust before it consumed him completely.

  His body trembled again, and in that moment of struggle, something clicked.

  A familiar presence.

  The mist.

  It was still here, gently swirling around him, untouched by the chaos. Unlike bloodlust, which burned and raged, the mist was calm.

  It was different.

  Eo latched onto that thought, desperate for something to hold onto.

  If bloodlust was like a storm, then the mist was like the ocean itself—vast, endless, steady.

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  He focused, trying to feel the mist more deeply.

  It was subtle, but as he concentrated, he realized that his body naturally absorbed it—just like before. It seeped into him slowly, almost soothingly, like water filling an empty space.

  And with it, he noticed something else.

  The madness clouding his mind… weakened.

  Not completely.

  But enough to feel a difference.

  Eo stilled.

  Was this the answer?

  Could the mist be a counterbalance to bloodlust?

  The thought intrigued him.

  If bloodlust ignited him, then the mist grounded him.

  If he could learn to control both, then perhaps he could use them together.

  Not one overpowering the other, but rather—an equilibrium.

  But how?

  How could he bring them into balance without letting one consume him?

  The idea lingered in his mind as he let himself float, absorbing the mist, allowing its calming influence to settle within him.

  This would not be easy.

  But if he wanted to survive, if he wanted to keep his own mind intact, then he had to find a way.

  A way to walk the fine line between power and madness.

  Between the storm and the sea.

  Eo steadied himself, his body still pulsing with the raw remnants of bloodlust. The battle had left him exhausted, yet his mind was sharper than ever. He had learned much—about survival, about instinct, and about the sheer force of the bloodlust within him. But now, something deeper stirred inside.

  The mist.

  Through the haze of battle, through the chaos and the hunger for slaughter, he had felt it, lingering in the depths of his consciousness. A quiet, steady force, unlike the raging violence of bloodlust. It was a stark contrast—where bloodlust was fire, the mist was water. One burned with reckless abandon, the other flowed with quiet persistence.

  Eo withdrew from the battlefield, his movements calculated. He needed to think, to reflect.

  As he drifted into the quieter depths, away from the scattered remains of battle, he focused inward. The bloodlust still pulsed beneath his surface, demanding more, urging him to continue the slaughter. It was intoxicating. Addictive.

  And dangerous.

  Eo understood now—bloodlust could consume. It gave strength, but at a cost. The more he indulged, the more it clouded his thoughts, pushing him further into a primal state. If he lost himself completely, he would become like those berserk creatures, lost in a cycle of endless violence.

  He needed balance.

  He called upon the mist, letting its presence wrap around his core. It responded, flowing through him in slow, deliberate waves. Unlike bloodlust, it did not demand—it simply was. A quiet, guiding force.

  As the two powers intertwined, Eo felt something shift. The bloodlust, once an uncontrollable force, began to settle, as though tempered by the mist. The mist, in turn, became more pronounced, as if given direction by the bloodlust’s raw intensity.

  It was a strange harmony.

  Eo experimented, letting the bloodlust surge just slightly before pulling it back, grounding himself in the mist’s presence. He repeated the process, again and again, until it became second nature.

  Then, an idea struck him.

  Bloodlust was pressure—a force that could command fear. He had seen creatures freeze under its weight, their instincts recognizing him as something greater.

  Could he control that effect?

  Cautiously, he let a thin thread of bloodlust seep into the surrounding waters, just enough to test its reach.

  Immediately, the weaker creatures scattered.

  Fascinating.

  He pulled it back, allowing the mist to take over. The pressure faded, and the water returned to its natural state. The creatures that had fled hesitated, sensing the shift.

  So, it wasn’t just about power—it was about control.

  If he could master this equilibrium, he could dictate how others perceived him. He could become a silent predator, hidden in the mist. Or he could be a looming presence, instilling fear in those below him.

  Eo absorbed this revelation with deep interest.

  The battle had sharpened him, but this understanding of balance would elevate him. He had begun to walk the fine line between instinct and intelligence, between violence and control.

  And this was only the beginning.