Eo returned to his hidden refuge, his mind brimming with new possibilities. He had learned the flaw in his previous approach—form alone was not enough. A body was more than just an outer shell. It was movement, tension, and purpose.

  And yet, as he focused, his frustration grew.

  The mist was too soft, too fluid. No matter how much he willed it, it refused to solidify. It could stretch, twist, even flow like a limb, but it lacked the raw strength and density of real flesh. When he tried to mimic muscle, the mist simply dissipated, failing to hold tension.

  Eo repeated the process over and over, adjusting his control, but every attempt ended the same way.

  It wasn’t working.

  His thoughts turned dark. He had spent countless hours unraveling the secrets of the mist, yet he had nothing to show for it. Was he missing something fundamental? Did the mist have an inherent limit?

  Doubt crept into his mind, and for the first time in a while, the idea of giving up settled in.

  Then—

  A shift in the currents.

  A disturbance.

  Eo’s senses flared as he felt a violent pulse nearby. It was not just movement—it was bloodlust. A wave of pressure crashed through the waters, thick and suffocating, like an unseen predator baring its fangs.

  A battle was unfolding.

  Intrigued, Eo slithered from his hideout, following the disturbance. As he drew closer, the water itself felt tainted, soaked in the raw hunger of two savage wills clashing. The deeper he ventured, the heavier the sensation became.

  Then, he saw them.

  Two berserk creatures, locked in a brutal struggle.

  Their bodies were riddled with wounds, yet neither showed any signs of stopping. Their bloodlust was so overwhelming that even Eo, who had tempered himself against its effects, felt his instincts scream at him to flee.

  They were beyond reason—beyond pain.

  Every strike they exchanged was lethal, aimed to tear, crush, and devour. One had massive, jagged claws, each swipe carving through flesh as if rending apart the water itself. The other had a serpentine body, its fangs dripping with a toxin potent enough to rot the very mist around it.

  It was not a fight of skill—it was a clash of pure will and survival.

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  Eo watched, mesmerized.

  Then, a realization struck him.

  The bloodlust—it was not just a feeling. It was thick, heavy, and tangible.

  Unlike mist, which was light and elusive, bloodlust carried weight. It was dense, oppressive, capable of forcing lesser creatures into submission just by existing.

  And more importantly—it lingered.

  Even after a strike, the pressure from their bloodlust remained, spreading into the surrounding water like an imprint.

  Eo’s mind clicked.

  What if… instead of forcing the mist to harden… he could infuse it with something dense?

  Bloodlust.

  That was the missing link.

  Without hesitation, he turned away from the battle and vanished into the depths.

  He had another experiment to conduct.

  Eo dove back into his hiding place, his mind buzzing with newfound clarity. Bloodlust—it was the answer he had been searching for.

  Without wasting a moment, he summoned the mist, letting it coil around his form like an extension of himself. It was light, fluid, too weak to hold under strain. Then, he called upon his bloodlust, allowing it to seep into the water like a slow, creeping tide.

  The atmosphere shifted.

  The water grew heavier, charged with an unseen force. His presence thickened, turning sharp, predatory. But this alone was not enough.

  The real challenge was merging them together.

  Eo exhaled, focusing on both forces at once. He willed the mist to form a clawed limb, just as he had done before. At the same time, he guided his bloodlust, forcing it to sink into the mist itself.

  For an instant, nothing happened.

  Then—

  A faint resistance.

  The mist, which had always been weightless, now carried substance. It did not simply exist—it had presence, a barely tangible force that clung to his form. It was working.

  Eo’s excitement surged.

  But as he pushed further, it unraveled.

  The mist lost its cohesion, slipping through his control like sand through fingers. The balance was off. The moment he let his focus waver, the mist became nothing more than mist again, and his bloodlust dispersed into the water as usual.

  Frustration crept in, but he did not stop.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Each time, he adjusted—changing the way he released his bloodlust, altering the flow of the mist, trying to synchronize their movements.

  But something was wrong.

  The problem wasn’t the mist. It wasn’t even the bloodlust.

  It was him.

  He was trying to control two entirely different forces at once, yet his mind was still treating them separately. Mist followed one rule, bloodlust followed another—and forcing them together was like trying to move two opposite currents at the same time.

  His thoughts were split.

  He needed to think differently.

  Eo stilled, shutting everything else out.

  He wasn’t just manipulating mist. He wasn’t just wielding bloodlust.

  He was wielding them as one.

  Slowly, he tried again, but this time, he didn’t try to force both at once. Instead, he allowed his bloodlust to guide the mist.

  The result was immediate.

  The mist thickened—not just as an extension of his will, but as an extension of his killing intent. It felt heavier, not just in presence, but in actual density. It no longer slipped through his grasp like water—it held together, forming a shape that had weight.

  His focus intensified, keeping the sensation alive, reinforcing it.

  It was rough, unpolished—but it was real.

  He was so immersed in his experiments that he did not notice the silence.

  The battle of the berserk creatures had ended.

  The waters, once filled with violent surges and crashing blows, were now still. The oppressive pressure of their clashing bloodlust had faded. The battlefield had gone eerily quiet.

  But Eo remained oblivious.

  He was on the brink of something new.