Warlock of Oceans: My Poseidon System

He turned back toward the group, his gaze meeting theirs. The expressions on the knights' faces ranged from shock to reverence, their eyes fixed on Cyrus and his shimmering blade. It was clear that they had never seen such power wielded in this way. To them, aether was an incredible force, but it always required a conduit—a sword, a staff, something tangible to channel its energy. The idea of someone summoning a weapon purely from aether itself was unfathomable to them.

Athena stood silently at his side, unsurprised, her eyes calm as she observed the reactions around them. To her, this was nothing new; she had seen Cyrus do far more than this before.

Sylus, however, was perhaps the only one who wasn't completely shocked. Though impressed, he wasn't caught off guard like the others. He knew Cyrus wasn't ordinary, and this display only further confirmed that. He gave a small, knowing smile but said nothing, allowing the moment to hang in the air.
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The knights remained speechless, some of them whispering amongst themselves in disbelief. None dared to speak aloud, but it was clear they were beginning to realize just how outmatched they truly were.

Cyrus, for his part, seemed unaware of their amazement, or at least unconcerned by it. To him, this was a routine display of his abilities. He had long mastered the art of aether, and the need for a physical conduit seemed almost laughable.

The knights and Sylus slowly approached Cyrus, their awe evident in the wide-eyed glances they exchanged. Even Sylus, who was accustomed to extraordinary displays of power, seemed intrigued by what he had just witnessed. The knights, normally stoic and disciplined, couldn't hold back their curiosity.

One of the knights, his voice filled with reverence, finally spoke up. "How... how did you do that? No weapon, no conduit—just pure aether?"

The question hung in the air as they all awaited Cyrus's response. But he seemed indifferent, as if the question didn't hold much weight. Instead of giving a detailed explanation, Cyrus merely glanced at his palm, where a faint trail of aether still shimmered, pulsing gently. The energy rose like a wisp of smoke, and without thinking, he began manipulating it effortlessly.

A soft glow spread from his hand, the aether swirling and gathering, rising higher into the air. It drifted gracefully, as though it were alive, dancing through the corrupted dungeon like a stream of shooting stars. The glowing particles illuminated the dim, grotesque environment, casting flickering light on the cracked walls and mutated creatures lying in their wake.

The knights and Sylus watched in silent amazement as the aether moved freely, untethered by any physical form. The miasma, which had suffocated the dungeon with its oppressive atmosphere, seemed to waver and retreat in the presence of Cyrus's power. The foul, tense energy that had weighed them down began to dissipate, replaced by a subtle, serene calmness. It was as though the dungeon itself was breathing a sigh of relief, the corrupt energy retreating under the influence of the pure, cleansing aether.

"It just... happens," Cyrus said simply, shrugging as though it was the most natural thing in the world. His voice was calm, unaffected by the awe surrounding him. "I've always been able to manipulate it freely. There's no secret. It's just... there."

The knights exchanged bewildered glances, clearly grappling with the simplicity of his answer. For them, controlling aether required rigorous training, discipline, and the use of specialized weapons. Yet here was Cyrus, effortlessly bending it to his will as if it were second nature.

Sylus, ever observant, stepped forward and nodded thoughtfully. "Aether is not something that many can control without aid. Your connection to it must run deep—far deeper than any of us."

Cyrus stood still, his gaze fixed on the shimmering trails of aether as they spiraled through the dungeon. Each pulse of energy radiated from his palm like ripples across a dark lake, creating waves of soft, radiant light that pushed back the dungeon's grotesque horrors. The once heavy, miasmic air seemed to part before the aether, like shadows fleeing from the dawn. The glowing particles twinkled as they floated gracefully, illuminating every corner they touched, revealing the full extent of the corruption that had overtaken the dungeon.

The jagged vines and pulsating mushrooms recoiled slightly, their sickly glow dimming in the face of the pure energy. The twisted, bloated creatures lurking in the shadows twitched, as if the very presence of Cyrus's aether caused them discomfort. Their grotesque forms, previously oozing malice, seemed to lose their cohesion, weakening as the pure energy seeped into the environment. Even the dark pools of stagnant water, bubbling with unseen horrors, calmed under the influence of the aetheric light, their murky depths becoming still and reflective, like tranquil mirrors.

It was as though the dungeon, in all its twisted horror, was bowing to Cyrus, unable to resist the purity of the aether he wielded so effortlessly. The oppressive weight that had once pressed down on everyone, the suffocating aura of decay and dread, lightened with every passing second. The air, which had felt thick and unbreathable, now held a hint of freshness, like the first breeze after a long, stifling storm.

Cyrus barely moved, his face unreadable as he watched the spectacle he had unconsciously created. To him, this display was routine, nothing more than a byproduct of his natural affinity for aether. But to those around him—Sylus, Athena, and the knights—this was a moment of revelation. They were witnessing a force they had only ever dreamed of, a mastery over the very essence of life and vitality, wielded without effort or thought.

The knights, though seasoned in their own right, could only stand in awe. Their swords, once infused with aether, seemed dull and insignificant compared to the raw power Cyrus unleashed with a mere flick of his hand. Sylus, ever composed, couldn't help but let his eyes widen slightly at the sheer magnitude of control Cyrus displayed. It wasn't just power—it was harmony. The aether moved with him, like an extension of his very being, responding to his will without the need for force or direction.

The dungeon itself, once an imposing and deadly labyrinth, now seemed less threatening. The walls, twisted and corrupted, appeared to straighten ever so slightly, as though the dungeon's very structure was influenced by the cleansing presence of the aether. The vines stopped their sickly crawl, and the poisonous fungi ceased their dripping, hissing only faintly as the light passed by them.

Athena, standing nearby, observed with a quiet pride. She had known Cyrus's strength, had fought alongside him, but even she found herself mesmerized by the ease with which he manipulated the energy around them. The scene unfolding before her was more than a show of power—it was a statement. Cyrus was different, beyond the realm of what even the strongest warriors and mages could achieve. He didn't just command aether; he existed within it, part of the very fabric of its essence.

As the shimmering trails continued to dance and flow, the oppressive feeling that had hung in the dungeon since they entered began to fade, replaced by a serene calm. The corrupted monsters, now weakened and disoriented, retreated further into the shadows, their grotesque bodies no longer capable of maintaining their aggression.

The knights, still in awe, could only watch as Cyrus's display seemed to cleanse the air itself. The foul scent of decay lessened, and for a brief moment, the dungeon didn't feel quite as horrifying.

The mutated monsters lurking in the distant shadows, once oozing confidence in their twisted forms, now trembled under the radiant influence of Cyrus's aether. Their grotesque bodies, bloated with extra limbs and eyes blinking in chaotic rhythms, stiffened in a moment of primal fear. These abominations, once the hunters of this corrupted dungeon, suddenly became prey.

With a low, guttural growl, the first of them began to back away, its many eyes wide in terror as the glowing aetheric particles touched the floor around it. Then, as if a silent signal passed between them, the rest of the monsters started to retreat.

The grotesque creatures scrambled in disjointed motions, their malformed limbs struggling to carry them swiftly away. Their heavy, bloated forms smashed against the jagged walls of the dungeon as they fled, sending cascades of dirt and stone falling in their wake. Some of the monsters, too swollen or slow to keep up, were trampled by their panicked kin, their shrill cries echoing throughout the darkened corridors.

Their exodus spread across the edges of the dungeon floor like a ripple of chaos, each one racing to the very limits of the corrupted dungeon to escape the light of the aether. The sickly green vines and corrupted flora quivered as the beasts rushed past, as if even the dungeon's twisted essence recoiled from the purity Cyrus had brought forth.

Pools of dark, murky water bubbled as creatures submerged within them erupted to the surface, their distorted forms breaking free in a desperate frenzy. Their grotesque heads bobbed above the water's surface for just a moment before they, too, slithered and scuttled toward the furthest corners of the dungeon.

From overhead, the mutated insects that clung to the ceiling began to scatter. Their legs clicked frantically as they crawled along the stone in erratic patterns, abandoning the poisonous spores they had once gleefully released. Some of the insects, too weak or slow, plummeted to the ground below, their fragile forms bursting into clouds of thick, choking dust that faded quickly in the calming air of the aether.

The once suffocating dungeon floor, filled with the constant buzzing and shuffling of these grotesque beings, had been emptied in a matter of moments. Now, all that remained was the fading echo of their retreat, their twisted bodies vanishing into the darkness at the very edges of the dungeon's vast expanse.