CALAMITY : Legends Of The Chosen

Morgz's eyes opened slowly.

There was no light — only grey.

A pale, wet mist clung to everything.

His body pulsed with pain, but it wasn't unbearable. He forced himself upright, senses sharp, breath steady. The cold stone beneath his palms was slick.

He remembered falling — something hit him from behind. A stumble, a break in the ground. Then… nothing.

Now, silence.

Too silent.

His fingers twitched, and water gathered in his palms. VYTHRA reserves: full. Good. His instincts didn't scream yet — but his gut was cold.VYTHRA was draining faster than usual the maze was eating it. Somehow suppressing his body's efficiency.

A statue.

Just ahead.

Five paces forward.

Crooked head. Blank face. Arms half-lowered in mock reverence.

"Did I miss that before…?"

He narrowed his eyes.

It didn't move.

He tilted his head—his Piercing Water kept spinning.

"This is one of those things… from the sign. Don't blink. Don't breathe. Don't look away."

That's when he saw it.

Anotger statue.

It hadn't been there seconds ago.

No mist had parted. It had simply… appeared.

It stood ten feet ahead, shaped like a rotted angel. Its arms in a mock-prayer. Its head bowed, crooked. Not made of ordinary stone — its texture was porous, like calcified flesh pulled from the bottom of an ancient ocean trench.

Morgz said nothing.

He stared.

It didn't move.

But then he remembered the sign at the maze's entrance.

"NEVER BLINK. NEVER LOOK AWAY. NEVER ASSUME."

His jaw clenched.

No jokes. No panic. No sound.

He extended his hand. A small stream of water swirled in a spiral from his wrist — calm, precise. Flowing Water, ready to slice. The edge of his vision twitched.

He tested it.

Shifted one foot back—

Nothing.

Lifted his hand—

Still.

Then—

BLINK.

The statue had moved.

Half an inch forward.

The statue's hand was raised.

It had moved.

"…Shit."

He adjusted his stance.

Then, without blinking, he sidestepped. Keeping his eyes locked on the thing.

He stayed calm. Raised one hand. A pressurized stream hissed from his wrist — not wide like a wave, but razor-thin.

Flowing Water.

His slicing jets.

It surged forward — slicing the statue clean across the torso.

Crack.

The thing toppled — then reformed instantly, stone melting back into place like regenerating flesh.

"Fast regen. Weak to slicing. Doesn't matter if it just comes back."

"It reacts to vision. Blind-spots. No movement when observed. Doesn't trigger unless you turn."

His thoughts came rapidly now, clean and clipped.

"I'll circle it. Stay low. Minimal motion. Fire if necessary."

He didn't blink.

Not once.

But the mist thickened.

He narrowed his eyes—vision obscured.

"Damn."

He fired.

A compressed spike of water launched into the statue's chest, cracking it. But even before the shards hit the ground — it regenerated. The wound hissed, wet stone sealing back together.

"Regenerative. Not good."

He backed up. The droplets around him spun faster — targeting multiple angles.

Then a chill ran down his back.

Another one.

Behind him.

A noise.

He turned sharply.

Another statue, right behind the first.

Then a third.

"…They flank."

His mind moved in overdrive now. He visualized the terrain, angles, cover spots.

"They're silent. Instantaneous when unobserved. But slow when watched. Same rule as the others. Okay."

Morgz's water spiraled outward, circling him like a spinning halo. Defensive mode.

He lowered his stance, switching to Flowing Water. The slicing streams glowed blue-white along his wrists.

Then he saw it.

A fourth statue.

It wasn't moving.

But its eyes were locked on his.

Directly.

And he blinked.

CRACK!

He leapt sideways just as a statue's hand splintered the stone wall behind him. He rolled, came up slashing with Flowing Water — slicing clean through the attacker's arm.

Another statue stepped out of the mist.

A third.

A fourth.

Now he was boxed in — each one slowly tightening the ring. He couldn't see the entire circle at once.

"One blind spot… and I'm done."

Hovering around him were twelve droplets — perfect spheres of condensed liquid, orbiting his body in rhythmic pulses.

Each one radiated a faint shimmer of pressure — like bullets loaded in a silent chamber.

Piercing Water: Active.

Morgz whispered, not daring to look away.

"Alright, you ugly bastards... let's play chicken."

The droplet closest to his right temple fired first — a shrill whistle cracked through the air, striking the statue's elbow clean off. Stone dust exploded from the impact, but the limb was already regenerating. Growing. Mending.

He blinked.

In that instant, three statues lunged from the shadows behind him.

BANG-BANG-BANG!

Three separate Piercing Water shots fired in synchronized precision — cleanly shredding their outstretched arms before they got close.

The snipers never missed.

Morgz didn't flinch.

"...Told you. You can't sneak up on me."

He exhaled slowly, just once, and the pressurized water at his wrists hissed into action — Flowing Water, slicing arcs of compressed jets slashing horizontally to carve a path forward. Clean. Efficient. Controlled.

The statues kept coming. From the shadows, from the corners, even from behind walls — impossible angles, each one met with a burst of automatic retaliation.

But Morgz wasn't celebrating.

His hand curled toward his hip.

Another droplet winked out of existence.

Only eight left now.

He wasn't bleeding yet.

He wasn't gasping.

But the sweat crawling down his spine wasn't from heat.

"This place... it's eating through me. Every shot's weaker. Every slice takes more."

"I'm not scared of dying. But if I die here… who tells the others what's coming?"

The thought of Leone briefly flickered in his mind — not out of fear, but instinct.

He didn't know.

Didn't know she was already gone.

Didn't know he was alone in this section of the maze.

Didn't know that the only thing between eternity and oblivion was his slowly-depleting arsenal of VYTHRA snipers.

A soft crack echoed behind him.

He didn't turn.

A droplet fired.

BANG.

He kept walking.

The statues followed.

Morgz wasn't hunted.

He was the light they couldn't extinguish.

Not yet.

Morgz Death Scene — Part II: The Drain

His eighth droplet collapsed mid-air with a pop.

Then the seventh.

Then the sixth.

They didn't explode. They fizzled—like bubbles losing tension.

His body shuddered from the effort to keep the rest stable, but the maze was devouring his energy, turning each breath into a toll, each second into a tax.

He knelt for just a moment.

The statues paused.

Then advanced—slow, knowing, patient.

"Bastards know I'm weakening…"

The last two Piercing Water droplets hovered like dying fireflies. One hung low by his ankle, the other pulsing faintly behind his back.

"C'mon... think. THINK."

He clenched his fist. Nothing.

Opened it. Still nothing.

His eyes narrowed.

Then—suddenly—he pressed his fingers together into a gun gesture.

Not for flair.

For focus.

Water condensed at his fingertip like mercury liquefied under pressure—vibrating violently, dense beyond physics.

No orbit. No autopilot.

Just raw intent.

"If I can't use auto-fire… I'll do it manually."

He aimed at a statue charging from the right.

CRACK!

The water exploded from his finger with a concussive blast that echoed like a gunshot.

The statue's left leg shattered instantly—its torso slamming into the maze wall before regenerating.

New move. New hope.

Pressurized Burst.

Short-range. High density. Low cost.

Born of desperation.

He fired again.

And again.

One hand to aim. One heart to survive.

But the statues were adapting.

They began flanking, some deliberately baiting him into blinking.

The one with its jaw unhinged wide—almost smiling—stood still, unmoving, forcing his gaze to lock onto it while the others crept in with silent footsteps on stone.

His heart pounded.

His vision blurred.

His breath misted.

"So this is how it ends, huh… Shooting water from my fingers like a discount cowboy."

He smiled, bitter.

Then lifted both hands—

Dual Pressurized Burst.

BANG-BANG.

Two statues fell.

Three advanced.

He crouched again.

Five left.

Then four.

Then—

Click.

His body twitched.

Nothing came out.

His fingers were trembling.

His VYTHRA had run out.

"...Damn. No water. No droplets. Not even spit left."

A statue stepped forward, casting a long shadow over him.

"So this is the part where I die."

He reached behind his back.

No droplets.

Only air.

But Morgz didn't look afraid.

He stood.

Cracked his knuckles.

Rolled his neck.

And muttered:

"Still got my fists."

Morgz Death Scene – Part III: Self-Sacrifice – Hydro Bubble

Still got my fists, he'd said.

But the statues didn't flinch.

His fists couldn't shatter stone.

And the moment he struck one, he felt it—

crack.

Snap.

His wrist folded backwards unnaturally.

"Tch…"

Another statue lunged forward.

He dodged—but barely.

His vision blurred again. The world tilted.

He was dehydrating.

His VYTHRA was empty.

His muscles dry.

Even his saliva had vanished.

And that's when a new thought occurred.

A terrible thought.

He dropped to one knee.

Pressed both palms against his own chest.

His skin began to steam.

My body's 70% water… right?

He clenched his jaw as a sickening crack sounded inside his arms.

His veins lit up—a vivid blue glow racing down from his heart, into his arms, like rivers being drained dry.

It hurt like hell.

His cells ruptured.

His blood began boiling internally.

"Come on, dammit—just enough… just give me one more…"

He slammed his palms together, forcing the water from his own muscle tissues to the surface.

A slow drip at first…

Then a surge.

Hydro Bubble.

A self-made sphere of compressed water launched from the water within his own body.

Its volume small.

But pressure, godlike.

He spun the water outward, shaping it around the nearest statue.

"Let's see you walk through THIS."

BOOM!

The water sphere slammed down, instantly surrounding the statue in a suffocating globe, locking it in place.

It began to thrash, trying to move—

But stone doesn't swim.

Bubbles leaked from the statue's mouth as it slowly drowned in silence.

One hand reached out…

Then froze.

Then cracked.

Then sank.

Morgz fell to the ground, chest heaving.

His skin was paler now.

His lips cracked.

He was drenched in sweat, barely able to sit upright.

"Borrowed... from myself," he whispered.

"Wanna see you bastards... try that again…"

Morgz Death Scene – Part III: Mass Execution – Hydro Bubble Overload

Morgz staggered to his feet, chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged bursts.

His legs were trembling. His arms, twitching.

He could barely see through the blood trickling down his face.

"This is it," he whispered. "No more hiding."

Dozens of statues clawed and pounded at the inside of the Hydro Bubble — all trapped, all frozen in vicious lunges, blank stone faces staring him down.

It was a sphere of death.

And he was the god holding it.

He clenched his hands into fists.

"Let's see how long you last... without air."

The sphere began to shrink.

Inch by inch, the water compressed under impossible force, tighter than gravity at the ocean's floor.

The pressure skyrocketed. A muffled storm built inside the bubble, vibrating the earth beneath his feet.

And Morgz—swaying, barely conscious—gritted his teeth and twisted his hands.

"From the trench... with love."

Statues began to crack.

Then shatter.

Their limbs splintered, torsos imploding into chunks of stone and black dust.

"Crush... every last one of you."

He roared—and the Hydro Bubble suddenly collapsed inward with a sick, sucking BOOOOOM!!!

The sound wasn't thunder. It wasn't an explosion.

It was the pressure of the deep ocean, unleashed in a vacuum-tight sphere.

Every molecule of water compressed, driving inwards from all sides.

The statue's stone exterior didn't shatter.

It imploded.

Everything inside ceased to exist.

Nothing remained but steam and fragments.

Even the sound was mute. The pressure had vacuumed away the echo.

Morgz fell to his knees.

His vision blurred.

His hands were grey. Translucent. Shriveling.

Morgz collapsed to his knees, coughing violently. A thread of blood trickled from his lips.

He had used the water in his own body to generate the surge.

His vision flickered.

Everything hurt.

His skin felt like it was cracking open.

He looked at his fingers.

His nails were turning gray.

He'd used too much of himself.

"I gave up my blood, my strength... just for this moment."

And yet—

More footsteps.

More statues.

Creeping through the fog.

Like roaches through rubble.

"...No," Morgz breathed. "You were all supposed to be... dead..."

Morgz—half-dead, half-water, fully insane—stood up again.

His knees shook.

He couldn't feel his legs.

But his arms rose anyway.

He aimed two fingers outward in a gun shape.

"You'll... have to kill me dry."

He raised his arms again—but this time, no water came.

Only shaking fingers.

Only air.

Morgz Death Scene — Part IV: Drowning in Crimson

Morgz stumbled back.

His legs buckled. His eyes glazed. His chest was rising in sharp jerks like a fish out of water.

His VYTHRA was gone. His Piercing Water had stopped responding.

Even Flowing Water... was dry.

Nothing left…

He dropped to one knee—hands trembling—vision smeared in red.

Then he heard it.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Looking down, his stomach had torn open. Not from any strike—but from within.

The pressure. The overload. His own internal water had ruptured something.

A hot stream of blood flowed down his chest and pooled beneath him.

And still… he fought to stand.

"I… I can still fight," he muttered, though his lips barely moved.

But the statues watched.

They crept closer—but not fast. Not frantic.

They were patient.

Morgz swung—only for his arms to collapse.

The blood was rising.

At first it pooled at his knees.

Then at his hips.

It wasn't just spilling anymore.

His blood was circling. Coiling. Climbing.

What the hell is—

His body was turning against him.

He was drowning. In himself.

A ring of crimson water spun around his neck, tightening like a noose.

His legs slipped, his breath caught.

He gasped—

—only for blood to flood into his throat.

"Guh—!"

He clutched at his chest, fell sideways, eyes wide and panicked.

No one was there.

Not Karl.

Not Enme.

Not Shojiro.

Not even Leone.

Only statues.

Watching.

Smiling?

As his own blood choked him.

His mouth bubbled with it. His lungs filled.

He reached up…

Tried to form a gun gesture with his fingers—

"P-pressurized…"

But nothing came.

The blood rose above his eyes.

And Morgz Ryuuga died in silence.