While Sarah and Fenris fought for their lives in the glowing, coral cathedral, Edward was navigating a very different, and very wet, circle of hell. The twisted, gravity-defying alley he had landed in eventually opened up into a wider, submerged district. It was a sunken boulevard, a vast, open space that might have once been a grand promenade, but was now a stagnant, murky canal.

He stood on a crumbling stone embankment, looking out over a cityscape that was half-drowned. Ornate, cyclopean buildings, their impossible angles softened by centuries of water erosion, rose from the dark, still water. A thick, greenish-brown fog, heavy with the stench of salt and decay, clung to the surface, obscuring the view beyond a few hundred feet. The only light came from the same, sickly phosphorescence that seemed to emanate from the very stones of Y'ha-nthlei, casting a pale, underwater glow on the scene.

There was no clear path forward. The walkway he was on crumbled into the canal a short distance ahead. To proceed, he would have to enter the water.

He scanned the surface, his senses on high alert. The water was dark and opaque, a perfect hiding place for whatever horrors called this district home. He could see nothing, hear nothing but the gentle, lapping sound of the water against the stone. But he could feel it. A low, predatory hum in the back of his mind, a sense of being watched by a thousand hungry eyes from beneath the murky surface.

He took a moment to prepare. His speed, his greatest physical advantage, would be useless in the water. He would be slow, clumsy, an intruder in an element that was not his own. This would be a fight of pure strength, endurance, and raw, close-quarters skill. He secured his Sovereign dagger, Resolve, in its thigh sheath and drew his longsword, Regret. The Whispering Blade's familiar, ancient presence was a comforting weight in his hand, its voice a low, steady hum in his mind.

Be as water, little spark, the Blade whispered, its advice both profound and deeply unhelpful. Fluid. Adaptable. And crush that which stands against you.

Edward let out a slow breath and slid into the canal. The water was shockingly cold, a thermal shock that stole his breath and sent a jolt through his system. It was thick and brackish, clinging to him like oil. It came up to his waist, the heavy drag of it instantly cutting his agility in half. Every step was a struggle against the unseen current and the sucking mud on the canal floor.

He began to wade forward, his longsword held in a low, defensive guard, its tip just above the water's surface. He moved slowly, deliberately, his eyes scanning the dark water around him, his ears straining for any sound. The silence was absolute, broken only by the soft, sloshing sound of his own passage. It was a nerve-wracking, agonizingly slow advance.

He was halfway across the first submerged plaza when the attack came.

It was not a roaring charge. There was no warning. One moment, the water in front of him was still. The next, it erupted. A figure, sleek and grey, launched itself from the depths, its movements a silent, liquid blur.

It was a humanoid, but one perfectly adapted to the abyss. Its skin was smooth and rubbery like a shark's, its head was elongated and hydrodynamic, and its mouth was a permanent, crescent-shaped gash filled with rows of backward-facing, serrated teeth. Its limbs were long and powerful, ending in webbed hands and feet tipped with sharp, bony claws. It was a creature born to hunt in this environment, a living torpedo of muscle and teeth.

Edward reacted on pure instinct. He brought his sword up in a desperate, rising block. The creature crashed into him, the force of its charge staggering him, driving him back a step. Its claws raked against the flat of his blade with a high-pitched, metallic shriek. He grunted, the impact jarring his arm to the shoulder.

Before he could counter, the creature twisted with an unnatural, fluid motion and slipped back beneath the surface, disappearing into the murk. The entire exchange had taken less than a second.

Edward stood his ground, his heart pounding, his sword held ready. He knew it was not over. That was just a test, a probe to gauge his strength and reaction time.

He didn't have to wait long.

From all around him, the water began to churn. The surface broke in a dozen places as a whole school of the shark-like humanoids emerged. They didn't attack all at once. They circled him, their sleek, grey bodies weaving in and out of the fog, their dark, pitiless eyes fixed on him. They were herding him, testing his defenses, waiting for an opening.

The combat that followed was a desperate, churning melee. It was a battle fought on multiple fronts, against an enemy that held every advantage. They attacked in coordinated pairs and trios. One would lunge high, forcing him to raise his sword, while another would attack low, its claws aiming for his submerged legs.

He was a whirlwind of defensive steel in the dark water. His longsword, Regret, was no longer a precision instrument. It was a barrier, a wall of motion. He used it in wide, sweeping arcs and powerful, cleaving blows, not to kill, but simply to keep them at bay, to create a zone of death around himself that they would hesitate to enter. His dagger, Resolve, became his close-quarters weapon. He held it in a reverse grip, using it to stab and slash at anything that managed to slip past his sword's defense.

The fight was a brutal, exhausting war of attrition. The drag of the water tired his muscles, the cold leached his strength, and the constant, multi-directional attacks wore down his focus. He took wounds. A set of claws raked across his back, tearing through his tunic and leaving deep, burning gouges in his flesh. Another creature managed to latch onto his leg with its jaw, its serrated teeth sinking deep into his calf. He roared in pain and drove the pommel of his sword down onto its head again and again until it released its grip.

He was bleeding, his blood turning the dark water around him a shade darker. The scent of it seemed to drive the creatures into an even greater frenzy. Their circling patterns became tighter, their attacks more aggressive.

He realized he couldn't win a defensive battle. He was a land predator drowning in his enemy's world. He had to change the rules. He had to stop being the prey and become the hunter again.

He let out a defiant roar of his own, a challenge to the circling sharks. He stopped his defensive sweeping and charged, abandoning all caution. He lunged at the nearest creature, his sword a black streak. The creature, surprised by his sudden aggression, tried to dive, but it was too slow. His blade caught it across the chest, and it shrieked, its dark blood clouding the water.

This was his new strategy. He would not wait for them. He would bring the fight to them. The battle became a chaotic, churning brawl. He was a storm of violence in the center of the plaza, his movements no longer defensive, but filled with a savage, desperate aggression. He used their numbers against them, grabbing one creature and using its body as a shield against another's attack. He abandoned all pretense of swordsmanship and resorted to pure, brutal brawling, his fists and feet lashing out in the thigh-deep water.

He was taking more damage, but he was also inflicting it. The number of circling grey fins began to dwindle. The creatures, accustomed to being the apex predators in this domain, were not prepared for prey that fought back with such suicidal ferocity. Their pack mentality, once their greatest strength, now began to falter in the face of such a chaotic, unpredictable opponent.

Finally, only one remained. The alpha. It was larger than the others, its skin a darker shade of grey and crisscrossed with the scars of a thousand battles. It did not circle. It faced him directly, its serrated teeth bared in a silent snarl.

The final duel was short and brutal. The alpha was faster and stronger than the others, its movements more calculated. It met Edward's charge with one of its own. They crashed together in a spray of dark water and a clash of steel on claw. Edward ignored the claws that tore at his arms and shoulders, focusing on a single goal. He drove his sword forward, not as a slash, but as a pure, powerful thrust.

The blade sank deep into the alpha's chest. The creature's dark eyes widened in surprise, and then it went limp, a dead weight impaled on his sword.

Edward stood panting in the sudden silence, surrounded by the floating bodies of his enemies and the dark clouds of their blood. He was wounded, exhausted, and freezing cold, but he was alive. He had won.

He waded towards a series of stone steps that led up out of the water and onto another, higher embankment. As he climbed out of the canal, his water-logged clothes weighing him down, the Whispering Blade hummed with an urgent, insistent vibration.

Wait, the Blade's voice echoed in his mind, a sharp, clear warning. Look again.

Edward froze, his hand on the stone railing. He looked back at the direction he had come from. From this higher vantage point, he could see the entire submerged plaza, the dark water, the strange, twisted buildings. He looked at the crumbling stone walkway on the far side that he had been trying to reach. It wasn't a walkway.

That is not stone, the Blade's voice confirmed his dawning, horrifying realization. It is skin.

He saw it now. The "walkway" was the upper lip of a mouth so colossal it defied comprehension. The "buildings" lining the plaza were not buildings; they were teeth, each one the size of a tower. The entire district, the entire sunken plaza he had just fought his way across, was the inside of the mouth of a creature so vast, so impossibly large, that it had become a part of the city's landscape. And he was standing on its tongue.

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