The samurai stood there, both hands on the hilt of the drawn katana.

There was absolutely no way to take the offensive.

The opponent is underwater, he is currently slow, and there was no way to see beneath the surface. He didn’t even know his foe save it be for the fact they breathed air. His grip tightened, he would not succumb to the fear of the unknown.

With a deep inhale of the stale air, he steadied himself. Bubbles were no longer surfacing, a stealth predator most likely.

An idea was slowly formulated.

The helmet in the crook of his elbow, which was making him feel uncomfortable due to the pressure he was applying, would be perfect for it.

Taking a single hand off his katana, he took the helmet in his palm and tossed it a slight distance forward. The metal had a chunky flight through the air, before landing with the sound you would expect from a solid rather than a liquid.

He grimaced from the violent nature of the attack.

An eel like creature ruptured the skin of the water with abrupt intensity and almost instant reaction, teeth grating against the hard plating. He winced as the wild movements were faster than he could clearly see. The thing had the jaw of a barracuda, piercing through the helm with moderate difficulty. Not being able to sense any life from the helmet, it turned almost lifeless, slowly sinking back into the shallows, not a ripple made.

He couldn’t even track it below the surface. The skin was dark, yet not black enough to stand out. There simply was no trace of its movement.

Putting his hand back on the handle, he waited for a moment. Then ten more. Then another ten, yet no response came.

His eyes narrowed.

It responded to movement, and likely sound.

Its body never wrapped around the helm as well, meaning it doesn’t constrict and is more of a monstrous leech than anything. However, that didn’t make it less dangerous.

The helm was just as hard as the armor, and even if he could kill it when it bit him, that was unacceptable. Not only would it punch a weakness in his armor, but it would also create an injury that was hardly easy to treat, especially since he didn’t know where the water ended.

With a single bite, the metal of his armor could get deep into the wound, making an injury that most likely couldn’t be stitched, his materials for bandages that could treat it were in poor condition, and most of all, diseases. He didn’t know what that thing was, and in an environment like this, he had no doubt that it had bacteria he didn’t want. Maybe even some he hadn’t grown a resistance to yet.

In short, the situation was grave.

But, there was no other way than forward.

His eyes almost seemed to singe a hole in the muck. Every journey begins with a single step.

His leg inched closer. No movement on the surface of the water.

One foot at a time, he waded through the gray.

…

He covered the distance between himself and the helm. With an armored grip, he picked it out of the filth, observing the damage.

It seemed that the bite area was large, and the jaw would most likely open enough to eclipse his hip to his belly. A bite coming from the side would be most unpleasant, he noted, still on guard. The plates were the parts that were attacked, thankfully, and though it had piercing power, there was no bend, sort of like a hole puncher, and the helmet was practically fine, no warping of the metal occurred.

With a stiff nod he sheathed his blade, placed the helmet in its familiar crook, and continued onward.

The algae that provided the glow grew in patches, he observed. There were pockets of darkness for every blotch of light. Not only that, but they seemed to line up with every sink and rise of the rough surface underneath. In the light it rose, and in the dark it sunk. He tried to avoid the darkness though, and not just because the area went above his waist.

Sometimes, there were furry plants underneath that mirrored the effect of those above with their lighting. With closer inspection, the small furry strands draping off it harbored some small insects, which were harvested by fingernail sized fish. It seemed even here, life could still live.

His greaves were now caked in the strange gray substance. It looked almost like wet concrete, though not nearly as heavy. It seemed to gather thicker in the darker spots, likely the effect of the sinkholes. Still, he duly noted with a sour expression, it still managed to find a way within the crevices of his protection.

Nature always seems to find a way. One way, or another.

And that’s when he stopped.

The algae halted abruptly, slipping away into nonexistence after a few short inches. About a hundred meters away, it started up again, showing signs of land, a thing which should be rejoiced at.

And yet, it gave the dark waters a sinister look. Like the kind of which is intoned in the phrase “When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back.” And truly, he felt as if he were watched.

He had no torches, he had no flame, and there was no glow from the ceiling to light a path. And, last time he checked, he did not have the ability to walk on ceilings.

He clicked his tongue, the dull sound flowing through the cave. There just seemed to be no other way. It was time to take the plunge.

He closed his eyes. He took a deep inhale of air. He held it for a few seconds, and gave a heavy exhale.

He took his first step into the truly unknown.

The water’s calm was troubled by the movement. The facade of peace faltered as an outsider invaded the territory. The scary part was not that there was thrashing about. It was the opposite.

There was only silence.

No drip. As if even the lifeless became dead.

The water rose.

It invaded any personal space he might have had. First the waist, then the stomach. It inched closer to his chest, and hovered far above his lungs. His arms were anvils, and could not be lifted.

By ten meters in, it stopped.

He was up to his neck.

His every step was slowed beyond compare. There were no longer seconds within the darkness, no years. It was desolate.

Fear.

Nothing happened, even as he continued wading through the waters. His armor choked him, pressed his lungs until the stale oxygen he so desired was gone. Things were there that were not there. A brush against the leg, a nudge of the foot.

His advance got slower.

He was in the center, even his chin was underwater.

It was claustrophobic.

He could only think he was going to die. He could only hope.

The dark breathed a warm breath onto his flesh. It wasn’t even cold anymore. It licked him, violated him, and there was simply nothing he could do.

And there was only silence.

The monsters that lurked below.

He didn’t think they were there, he knew it. They waited for that one stone he would trip on. They waited for that one slip up.

He knew it.

HeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewitHeknewit.

And yet, only the silence remained alive.

Any sudden motions had already ceased. He moved slower than a statue. No time existed, no water. It was simply him. All by himself, and the unknown had yet to claim him. He was already within the waiting maw.

He stopped.

The water was up to his knees.

His face leaked sweat by the moment. He had no explanation for what that was. It was to the point where he couldn’t even know when he was safe.

Slowly, he went onto his knees and put his hands into the water.

He didn’t know what to feel anymore, the light once again shining upon him. He didn’t feel sick or full of relief, just happy to be alive.

And, whatever water or food left in his stomach made its getaway.

Taking an inhale as he had before he entered the deadzone, he forced his body up once more. There were pops in protest as he flexed, yet he did so. He didn’t know what that was, but he never wanted to experience that hell again.

With his left hand on the hilt of his sword, and his right at his side, he got closer and closer to the now almost sacred glow emitted from the ceiling. He felt all sorts of emotions, but his mind was a wall, and they were but a small wave.

His steps became steadier and steadier, the sloshing of water exiting the plating musi-

Without a second thought, he raised the sheath of his wakizashi.

The jaws of the predator eel clamped onto it with horrible force, making the wet wood groan in protest. Using his dominant hand, a sword draw left the creature squealing with an awful vigor as it was sliced cleanly in half, the blade unblemished.

A torrent of ripples roared in the water, coming from the dead silence of the earlier pond. It was as if the evils had awakened, finally stirred from their slumber.

An acrid stench came from where the form of the sliced leech came from. The green blood had produced the effect of a toxic acid, melting away at the semi-solid sludge.

And that’s when he realized why the water was so thick. It wasn’t from stone degrading from age, it was the buildup of the leftovers of many dead creatures, left behind in a pale foam. Perhaps, maybe even that of humans were included. The creatures lurked in the dark, and therefore the patches there were the thickest.

Though his mind was sharp and his instincts honed, his body simply was not so. It would prove a challenging fight to get out alive, much less unscathed. He did not even know the enemy’s number.

A grin formed within the morbid area.

It almost seemed to awaken a bestial side of him, but not quite. Within the milli of a millisecond slight frames of memory came into view. He would face hordes of armed foes on his horse of war, his bow and quiver steady, his steel at his side. He would fight even when a human should physically not be able to. It was his glory.

Though the odds were against him by far, when were they not?

His mind became unclouded once more. He would show them his strength. Blood of acid and jaws of steel means nothing to him, for he is more.

Backing away constantly, he eyed for any attacks.

The creatures, though not intelligent, showed their cunning in everything they did. And to start, they attacked in droves. Five leapt above into view, all aiming around the torso as three trailed behind. Ripples showed more were in hot pursuit, but lingered a bit far from his feet, not eager to be crushed.

And as soon as they got close enough, time almost seemed to stop.

You see, he was always different from the others. They would describe their frenzies and their epic swordplay, but he was different. To him, time never sped, it slowed.

His mind processed the rates they bulleted towards him. Subconsciously, he targeted specific spots, calculated for time lag, and compensated his body’s delay. It wasn’t a flurry of blows, but accelerations and decelerations. Resistances and numbers. And at this point, it was in the blink of an eye.

His mind panged constantly with agony as it was pushed even further in the state. Further and further until it became unbearable. But by that time, he already knew.

One slice. The technique of Iaijutsu. That was all he needed.

The frozen time was over, but it was already too late for them. The sound of the sword slinking back into the sheath was the gong to signal the reaper. It came with the haunting call, and almost as if they could tell, they flinched.

No sound was made. Fitting. The same silence they came with, they fell with too.

All in a single dash. His blade snaked back into its sheath as the bodies almost seemed to halt midair. With a solid clink, the sword fully returned to its resting place.

The blade, with not even a whistle, sliced through the first five at an angle, managing to hit every single one in one efficient stroke. The acid clumped together midair, melting alive one while another only impacted the corpse of its comrade. With only a single eel left, the practical movement of moving his head to the side was sufficient.

All in a single dash.

The last eels fell into the waters with a padded splash, and were promptly crushed asunder, the water already diluting the melting solution. He continued to back away as the torrent turned into a tsunami, how desperate they were for a meal showing.

With all his confidence in himself as a warrior, he still did not WANT to take that on. With the strength of a man quite literally running for his life, he ran.

The leftover bodies only gave a few seconds as they committed cannibalism on one another, and then ate the ones who were wounded within the bloodshed, becoming a cycle that would never end. At least, if there weren’t so many of them, and eventually they began to leak through.

As fast as an armored man could run through water, he continued his life or death sprint. The water level never lowered as the unending assault got closer and closer.

And that’s when he saw it.

A ledge, about a foot above him in height.

The ground was on a completely different level from his.

And yet, he didn’t look back. No, he couldn’t. He simply didn’t have time.

Pushing all the last of his energy, his every spark of will and life, he bent his knees and reached for the sky. With one last groan of effort, he looked at the ledge just above him.

And he jumped.