My Scumbag System No Chapter 288: Angry Stepsister is Hot

Chapter 288: Angry Stepsister is Hot

The corridor sloped downward like the dungeon itself was trying to swallow us. Each step took us deeper into the earth, and the water rose with every ter we traveled. What had been ankle-deep was now mid-thigh, cold enough to make my muscles protest and murky enough to hide whatever horrors lurked beneath the surface.

Movent beca a slog. Each stride required actual effort, pushing against the resistance of stagnant water that seed determined to hold us back. The chill seeped through our tactical suits, numbing legs and slowing reflexes. Combat in these conditions would be a nightmare.

I was in the middle of ntally cataloging our tactical disadvantages when my brain decided to take an unauthorized detour.

Oh.

Oh, that’s nice.

Skylar had taken point, her compact fra cutting through the murky water with surprising grace. Her black leather combat suit, designed for stealth in dry environnts, had transford in these waterlogged depths. The material clung to every curve and contour of her body like liquid obsidian, glistening wetly beneath the eerie light of the bioluminescent fungi that dotted the dungeon walls. Each movent sent rivulets cascading down her shoulders and back, catching the blue-green glow and transforming mundane water droplets into sothing that resembled liquid constellations against her skin.

The tactical leg slit in her suit, originally engineered for mobility, now served as an unintended window, flashing glimpses of pale thigh with each deliberate stride through the resistant water. Her signature indigo and pink hair had darkened to near-black, wet strands clinging to her neck and shoulders like delicate tendrils.

I forced my eyes elsewhere, scanning the walls, the ceiling, the murky depths below us. Professional. I was being professional. Conducting routine assessnt of team condition under adverse environntal conditions. Standard procedure. Nothing more.

Focus, Satori. Mission paraters. Survival trics. Calculate escape routes. Risk assessnt. Anything except the way that water is tracing paths down her—

"You’re staring."

Natalia’s voice materialized beside , sharp as a blade and twice as cold.

"I’m assessing team stamina," I replied, keeping my tone ticulously neutral. "This water temperature is rapidly depleting everyone’s core body heat. We need to accelerate our pace before hypothermia becos a legitimate tactical concern."

"Is that what you’re calling it." Not a question. An accusation wrapped in ice.

"Tactical observation. Critical to mission success. Potentially life-saving."

Natalia’s lips curled into that particular expression that existed in the deadly intersection between smile and promise of violence. "When we get back to the dorms, you and I are going to have a very comprehensive discussion about your ’tactical observations.’"

"Looking forward to it."

I wasn’t lying. Angry Natalia was terrifying, but also kind of hot. The promise of violence in her eyes did things to

that probably required therapy.

Focus. Mission. Survival. Stop being a degenerate for five minutes.

Skylar held up a fist, and the team halted. The water had risen to waist-level now, making the simple gesture look dramatic as ripples spread outward from her arm.

"We’re moving too slow," she said, her voice carrying that flat, professional tone she used when she was actually taking sothing seriously. "At this pace, the Sentinels will reach the boss chamber first."

"What do you suggest?" Isabelle asked, wading forward until she stood beside Skylar. The two of them looked like warrior queens from different kingdoms, both deadly, both commanding.

Skylar’s lips curved into a smirk that promised chaos. "Follow my lead. And try to keep up."

She took a deep breath, her chest expanding, and then exhaled slowly. Phantasm Smoke poured from her lips like mist from a frozen lake, but instead of rising upward, she controlled its flow, keeping it low. The ethereal substance spread across the water’s surface, rolling outward in thick waves that obscured everything below chest level.

Within seconds, the corridor had transford. Our legs vanished beneath a blanket of silvery fog that drifted and swirled with hypnotic patterns. Only our upper bodies remained visible, floating above the mist like spirits haunting an ancient shipwreck.

"Ghost Ship Strategy," Skylar announced, looking far too pleased with herself. "The monsters in here hunt by sound and vibration. They’ll sense movent in the water, but they won’t be able to see what they’re dealing with. To them, we’ll look like a fleet of ghosts drifting through their territory."

"That’s..." Isabelle paused, clearly impressed despite herself. "Actually brilliant."

"I know."

Juan raised his hand like a student in class. "Question. What happens when sothing attacks us through the fog and we can’t see it coming?"

"Then you die and I tell everyone you went down fighting bravely," Skylar said without missing a beat. "Any other stupid questions?"

"Several, but I’ll save them for when I’m not standing in corpse water."

The advance resud, but faster now. Skylar’s smoke covered our movents, muffling the sounds of splashing and making it impossible to count our numbers. Monsters that lunged at us from the darkness found themselves attacking phantoms, their claws passing through illusions while the real threats materialized behind them with knives and spears and kinetic-charged fists.

It was beautiful in a horrifying way. We moved through the Necropolis like a bad dream, appearing and disappearing without warning, leaving only corpses in our wake.

Then we hit a wall.

Not literally. The wall was made of flesh and coral and ancient ship timber, and it was blocking the entire corridor.

The Coral Centurion was everything the bestiary had promised and worse. Eight feet of hulking biochanical nightmare, its body a fusion of living coral, rusted iron plates, and waterlogged wood. Where a head should have been, a cluster of bioluminescent anemones pulsed with an eerie blue heartbeat. The air around it slled of ozone and deep-sea brine, and it was constantly dripping wet, adding to the water that already reached our waists.

In its right hand, it held a ship’s anchor. Not a small one. A full-sized anchor that must have weighed four hundred pounds, attached to fifteen ters of heavy chain wrapped around its arm.

The Centurion saw us. Or sensed us. Whatever. The anemone cluster pulsed faster, and the anchor began to swing.

"SCATTER!" I shouted.

The team exploded outward just as the anchor completed its arc. The weapon carved through the air where we’d been standing a heartbeat before, passing through Skylar’s phantom smoke and dispersing half the illusions instantly. The displacent of air alone was enough to knock Emi backward, sending her splashing into the water with a yelp.

The Centurion planted its feet and began swinging the anchor in wide horizontal arcs, creating a kill zone with a fifteen-ter radius. Anyone who got close would be turned into paste. Anyone who stayed back would be trapped while the monster slowly advanced.

Classic siege tactics. Very annoying.

"Can’t get close!" Raphael shouted, his kinetic barriers flaring as he deflected a chunk of debris that the anchor had torn from the wall. "That thing has too much range!"