The First Hunt The hunger never goes away. Even when I eat, it lingers, waiting for the moment my body burns through its last meal. It's always there, just beneath the surface, gnawing at the edges of my mind. I can't ignore it. I have to feed. I glide just above the seafloor, my body moving with the currents instead of against them. I've learned that fighting the water is a waste of energy. Every flick of my tail must be precise, efficient. I can't afford to waste strength. The abyss is vast, but I'm starting to understand it. The slow shift of the water, the faint tremors of distant movement, the way sound carries through the deep. Even without sight, I can feel the ocean around me. A faint pulse reaches me—something small, moving erratically. Prey. I slow my movements, pressing close to the seafloor. My dark skin blends with the rocky terrain, making me invisible to anything not paying close attention. The pulse quickens, unaware that I am here. I inch forward. Then, I see it. A small fish, drifting near the sand. It's thin, its pale body flickering with faint light. It doesn't move much, its fins twitching every few seconds to keep it steady. Weak. An easy kill. I tense, muscles coiling. I've only ever eaten eggs and tiny shrimp, but I need more than that. I strike. My jaws clamp down around the fish's body, and it instantly explodes into motion. It thrashes violently, its tail whipping back and forth, trying to break free. I squeeze tighter, my teeth piercing its scales, but the fish refuses to die. It's stronger than I thought. It twists hard, pulling me sideways, and for a moment, I lose my grip. The fish rips free and bolts into the darkness. I lunge after it, but it's already gone. I stay still, heart pounding. My first real hunt… and I failed. I barely wounded it. I wasn't fast enough. I wasn't strong enough. The hunger inside me flares, worse than before. I need to do better. --- I keep moving. I don't know how long I drift before I sense something else—a small shape flickering through the water ahead of me. I approach carefully, adjusting my speed to match the currents. Another fish. Smaller this time, its thin body twitching as it feeds on something unseen. I won't fail again. I coil my body tighter. Wait. Watch. Strike. I surge forward, my jaws snapping shut around its head. This time, I do not let go. The fish panics, thrashing wildly, its tail smacking against my face. But I don't loosen my grip. I bite down harder, my teeth sinking in, feeling the soft flesh break. It writhes for a moment longer. Then, it stops. I swallow. Warmth spreads through me. The hunger fades slightly, but I know it will come back soon enough. I need to keep hunting. I need to grow stronger. --- The water shifts. Something is near. I don't feel it at first, but there's a disturbance in the current—a presence moving toward me. Slow. Heavy. A predator. I freeze, pressing against the seafloor, making my body still. I control my breathing, letting the water move around me naturally. The presence drifts closer. Not fast. Not attacking. Circling. Watching. It's looking for something. I remain motionless. I do not move. A long silence stretches between us. Then, the presence shifts. It moves away, disappearing into the dark. I exhale slowly. Not this time. But one day, it will find me. And I need to be ready. --- I drift near a jagged outcropping of rock, scanning for my next hunt. I've grown more cautious after failing my first attempt. I can't just attack blindly. Prey fights back. I need to be faster, stronger, smarter. I need to evolve. A movement catches my eye. A small, flickering glow, barely visible through the black water. A squid. I stop, watching carefully. Squid are different from fish. They don't just swim—they can burst away at incredible speed. If I don't kill it instantly, I won't get a second chance. I shift forward, inch by inch. The squid drifts, its body pulsing faintly. It hasn't noticed me yet. I tighten my body. I have to be fast. I lunge. The squid reacts immediately, its body twisting, a jet of ink blasting into the water. I push through the cloud, jaws snapping down on soft flesh. I feel it twitch, struggling. But I do not let go. I squeeze harder. The movements grow weaker. Then, the squid goes limp. I swallow. Warmth spreads through me again, stronger this time. That was a real hunt. I am learning. I am getting better. I keep moving. --- The ocean around me is different now. Or maybe I am different. I feel things I couldn't before. The vibrations in the water seem clearer. My body moves more easily, more naturally. I still fail sometimes. Some prey escapes. But I always try again. And each time, I get faster. Each time, I get stronger. I don't need the system to tell me that. I can feel it. I have survived longer than I expected. I will continue to survive. And one day, I will no longer have to run. One day, I will not be the hunted.