Ruin surrounded the park. Shattered concrete benches lay half-buried in dead weeds, their metal frames twisted like broken fingers. At the center of the devastation lay the black pond, a perfect circle of ink-dark water that seemed to swallow the light. Steam rose from the edges, carrying the pungent scent of sulfur and old decay. Vibrations rattled up the carbon-fiber shaft of the cosmic rod, buzzing straight into the bones of Leo's forearms. Something heavy and ancient held the other end of the line deep beneath the dark surface. Churned like boiling tar, the water threw off a stench of rot and wet copper. Sweat stung his eyes, blurring the ruined concrete banks. He planted his boots deeper into the mud, his muscles screaming under the sudden, violent strain. With a sudden, sickening lurch, the rod bent into a perfect, terrifying U-shape. If he let go, the prize would be lost forever. Giving up wasn't an option, not when the world was falling apart and every scrap of power meant another life saved. Friction burned through his grip as the line screamed out of the reel, smoking against the guide rings. Pain flared in his palms. Skin split open, spilling hot crimson blood down the grip, staining the pristine white wrapping of his cosmic rod. He gritted his teeth so hard a tiny crack echoed in his jaw, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. "Come on," Leo growled, his voice raw. Leaning back, he threw his entire body weight backward, utilizing the leverage of his legs. Underneath the black water, a pale, human-like face seemed to ripple, its hollow eyes staring back through the murk. Fear spiked in his chest, cold and sharp. It wasn't a fish. This felt like pulling a mountain out of the earth, a dead weight that actively fought back with a malicious, pulsing intelligence. His fingers locked into rigid claws, the tendons in his wrists standing out like steel cables. Blood dripped from his knuckles, pattering onto the wet mud below. "I won't let go," he muttered, his vision darkening at the edges from the sheer physical exertion. Losing this line meant losing everything. Memories of his lost family, the screaming kids from the orphanage as the first dungeon broke, flashed in his mind. He had been too weak then. Only running had been an option back then. Now, he had the line. This cosmic rod was his tool to drag salvation out of the abyss. With a primal roar that tore through his throat, Leo gave one final, desperate heave, pulling with every ounce of his soul. Something broke. Sudden release of tension sent him crashing backward onto the hard rubble, his head slamming against a chunk of broken asphalt. Stars exploded in his vision, but he didn't care. He scrambled to his knees, his bleeding hands immediately searching for the line. Tangled in the glowing monofilament at the end of the hook sat a shattered silver crown. It didn't look like metal; it looked like frozen moonlight, cracked and leaking a faint, misty essence. As he reached out, his trembling fingers brushed the cold surface. A sharp, electric shock jolted

Chapter 5: The Weight of the Line