Deep within the flooded silver mine, that same hatchling devil had been grinding his fishbones for days. The pile had become considerably large and his mana manipulation technique had become much better.
With these bone skewers, he would tie pieces of seagrass that was growing from the sea-pond so that he could reel in the fish once he hit them; and by coating his mana around the skewer–though he had very little of it and could only use it sparingly–penetrating the shell of these plated fish became much easier with a good shot on the less armored buccal area.
This was not the only thing he had done though.
Throughout the days, this hatchling devil had ventured slightly deeper into the sea-pond–about 25 meters to be exact; far from the bottom which was astonishingly 100 meters down.
By going this deep, he gleaned the true form of the strongest creatures he was sensing.
At around the 70 meter mark, there was a large eel-like creature with bony spines. It was likely a midstage tier-2 water beast, which was called a lesser deephunter class by the humanoid races, only higher than the tier-1 fingerling class.
There were other notable creatures but the most obvious was the shell that seemed to rest at the bottom of the descent.
It was dark purple–dark enough that it was hardly purple at all. Spines in many forms, serrated, curved, straight and sharp lined the shell like the arsenal of a professional chef or sadistic killer.
The devil hatchling did not know what the main body of the creature actually looked like, but it was likely at the apex of the second tier; and he would not venture down further as to invoke the wrath of these stronger deephunters… for now.
He would need their help later. And after they've served their use, he would find a way to take care of them too.
After days of absorbing mana from the armored fish that populated the pond abounding, he had begun to step into the first tier, also known as the lesser-imp stage.
Normally this first step would require the average devil hatchling to survive for at least 2 months; their natural growth allows them to advance through the early stages based on their potential.
This hatchling, though, seemingly had great potential in addition to the small amounts of mana he was absorbing.
He was always an anomaly in fact, having much better body coordination and mana sensitivity than most hatchlings.
And this hatchling, despite knowing very little about the realms of power–or how to advance them–had the inborn nature of a devil to sense malevolent energies and absorb them for power.
Thus, as he traversed to the far-side of the sea-pond, where there was a higher concentration of malevolent energies, he tucked behind a thick wall of dark stalagmites and began to absorb.
It was almost like second nature to him. The faint sound of ghostly howls and the cries of deceased souls echoed through his ears as the faint blackish strands of death seeped into him through his inhales.
The malevolent energy spread through him and strengthened his body. He could feel it corrupting his mana, and trying to invade its mind in a futile effort–he was a devil after all, a race that held mastery over souls and dark magic.
As he acclimated to the new dark mana in his body, the remaining strands began to form a silver-grey cocoon around his body.
The texture of the cocoon was soft and comfortably cold. And cradled behind those stalagmites, his metamorphosis to a lesser imp began.
*********
At the entrance of the abandoned silver mine, Daryl and his six-man expedition party had returned.
This was truly due or die. Not in the sense they would actually die, but the financial loss for them if they did not succeed would be too great.
"Let's go, and be careful," Daryl reminded the team.
He was a greatly cautious man; it was one of the only reasons their expedition team had survived for so many years in such a cruel, warring world.
This cautiousness, though, brought along downsides, too. The aversion to risk never saw them achieving great heights or reaping big crops, just slowly accruing small grains as they went along.
This time would be different.
That's what Daryl thought. With one big adventure they could finally retire.
I can finally marry Syme and live a happy life in the countryside away from war and danger.
That's what he believed, truly. But unluckily not all stories end well, and this one risk taken may just cause the downfall of this motley crew.
Lighting up a glowstick, he strapped it to a bandolier wrapped diagonally across his chest. He needed all his limbs to move down the perilous cave, after all, he was a cautious man.
"Follow me; try to not use that rock over there." He pointed to a loose hold on the descent that shook when he climbed down.
Though their first descent down the cave went well, they knew better than to trust an abandoned, especially one that had collapsed already.
In their first expedition, they had to manually dig through stones that blocked off certain pathways and be careful around remaining supports as they could easily snap or break, causing a further cave-in.
And despite the relative success in descending to the sea-pond they stopped at last time, it was still 300 meters below the surface, a painful two hour descent if they were lucky to avoid all mishaps even though they already knew where they were going this time.
*******
It just so happened that two hours was just enough time for our hatchling to evolve.
Hot
Hot
Hot
His body felt unbearably hot even against the everlasting coldness of the silk. He needed to get out, now. His body called for it.
A silver claw erupted from the cocoon, tearing the strings against the grain. Soon, an arm came; the rest of its body followed in short suit.
A thin puff of steam flowed out from his mouth due to the heat of his metamorphosis.
His heart was beating fast, but it was calming down now.
He was about 100 centimeters in height now, significantly taller than the 30 centimeters he was at when just a hatchling. The horn on the left of his head was also no longer a nub. Boasting five to six centimeters in length, it stood sharp and silver like his claws, all slightly dimmer than his snow white skin.
The material of his claws also seemed more durable, and with a forceful swing, a dark mana coated his claws, severing the row of stalagmites with slight strain.
But before he could test out the full extent of his newfound power, he sensed the presence of six people climbing down the final threshold of the path to the sea-pond he had been camping at.
Perfect
He thought as he hid himself on the far side of the pond behind more densely packed stalagmites, his relatively small stature helping him in this endeavor despite the color of his skin.