The area was unstable rubble, dust spreading via the air wherever someone walked. Still, that was the least of everyone's concerns. The Atlanteans faced their once-honored king, but now he was hostage to a mere human — they desired their honor back.

Fishman grabbed his gold trident by its end and pointed it at the general. "Come on, let's not play this game."

"My Lord, whatever that intruder has told you is lies. We're here to save you. Save our one and true king, please believe us. We want nothing more than to have our great king back, nothing more, I promise."

Fishman patted his head with his free hand, it reminded him of his crown, forcing him to recall the days he was a king among heroes, but that was no longer true. He stared at the people he used to fight for as green light shone through his pupils. "Quit the bullshit. If you want my life, you'll need to come and fetch it, just like the damn dog you are."

"My king!" The general looked confused as he glanced around at his men and then at Fishman. "We would never dare defy your rule. You are the one true-"

Fishman threw his trident at the lying man. It pierced through him, launching him far away. The soldiers stared at each other, gripping their weapons; lances, swords, and guns. The once-king in front of them was no longer a man to be honored but a pest to exterminate. They marched forward.

Fishman held his hand up, and his trident flew back to him. But as it did, the general was latched onto it with his octopus tentacle — it came out of his right leg hole.

Without hesitation, Arthur used his left hand and chucked a wave of red Tuam at the soldiers.

"Keep that up," Fishman yelled, running forward as he jumped in the air towards his trident. The pain in his abdomen was excruciating but not as sumptuous as the ache of losing his sanctuary.

The general was coated with a mixture of blue octopus skin and fish scales. His tentacle grew in girth as it squished the trident. He tried to break it.

Fishman was airborne, directly in front of the general, but he forced the trident to stop as soon as it came near his body, and he clapped his hands, bashing the general's ears; he lost his sanity for a second. The force on his head was too great. He let go of the trident and fell to the floor with it.

"Someone taught me that one," Fishman said as he fell to the floor and grabbed his trident.

The soldiers behind the frontal units shot at Fishman, but the bullets didn't affect him. A soldier with a sword ran and jerked his weapon at Fishman, but Arthur hurled a wave of water at him, launching him away.

Fishman looked back at Arthur and nodded in approval. He stood above the general, pressing his spear into the man he used to trust. But before he could get deep, blue blood spewed out of his mouth and onto the floor. His wound reopened. He ignored his pain, stabbing his blade deeper into the general.

He shouted, the blade pressing into his chest. He continued screaming and used his tentacle to extend towards Fishman's rear. His tentacle almost penetrated the king, but he missed, hitting his right cheek.

Fishman flared into the air and spun like a fan as he held his trident. He was smacked against the rocks, continuing airborne and spinning.

Arthur saw this unfold. He had already taken care of fifteen soldiers, burning them alive or boiling them so severely that they could no longer move. He had three choices: run or go back to Fishman and continue what they started. He chose the most foolish. He persisted.

The general scrambled to Fishman as blood dripped from his chest. Around half the remaining soldiers followed him while the others dealt with Arthur.

Fishman was on the ground — loot for the taking.

The scales around Arthur grew tougher as he gripped his hands and looked at them — he tried to think of a solution. But nothing came to mind.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Ten soldiers ran like a stampede of chickens towards their meal. Arthur was the meal. Some shot at him while others brought their blades in front, ready to slash at any given moment.

The bullets dripped off Arthur like rain on a gloomy day. He kept his right hand to his side and placed his left towards the soldiers, slanting it as he pointed it towards the people — a diagonal wave of red Tuam emerged from him, striking the soldiers; it didn't boil them, but it knocked most unconscious. He took a breath in and dashed towards Fishman, and as he did, his leg muscles expanded. He became faster.

The general turned around, noticing Arthur. His eyes lit up with fear. He turned around, using his tentacle to rapidly hit the floor and dash onward. He moved at an extreme pace as his tentacle propelled him forward.

The remaining soldiers stopped getting on the defensive — five soldiers. Two were with guns and three with blades.

Arthur heaved his right hand at the soldiers. A massive wave of clear blue water churned toward them. The surge swallowed the fish soldiers, their skin burning as soon as the fluid touched them, and at this point, they were no different from "fish sticks."

However, the time wasted on foot soldiers allowed the general to be inches away from Fishman.

'I won't reach him,' Arthur thought, running. His arms spread up and down as he ran — dust from the debris erupted near his feet, but still, he wasn't fast enough. He wouldn't make it.

The general pounced on Fishman and grabbed a medium-sized piece of stone, bashing it onto his head.

'I'll do it with my feet,' Arthur thought, glancing at his hands. He hopped up and down. The soles of his feet leaked water, drenching his shoes, and soon enough, a steady stream ejected. His shoes' soles tore apart. He leaped into the air towards Fishman, streaming water through his right hand and Tuam with his left, which was more of a guide than a propeller.

It wasn't a bird.

It wasn't a plane.

It was a fish.

Arthur stopped his stream of water and let gravity take him down. He was zooming into the general, who continued smashing a stone into Fishman's head. He was almost there, but in a blink, he was pounded to the floor with a foot on his face, pushing his cheek into the rubble.

The general dropped the blood-covered stone and turned his head, almost like he saw a ghost; his eyes widened as his mouth opened in dread. "... Young Master. Why are you..." His voice wavered. "Hhh... hhee... hhheeerrre... ?"

Elli — "the young master" — sat on Arthur's back and pinned his head down with her hands. She wore a beautiful black and green dress. Her smile glittered with her sparkling dress as she continued using all her power to press his face into the rubble. Nodding her head, she held up one finger. "Explain."

Fishman's blood covered the general's hands. He couldn't make eye contact with Elli; his sight was compelled to the blood on his hands and the body under him. "Y... Y... Y..."

"Speak clearly." She gritted her teeth. Though she looked gorgeous on the outside, her looks were deceiving. She tilted her head, pounding her fist into Arthur's head and standing up. "You deceived me. You were family."

"Young Master, I can explain."

Elli kneeled next to her father's head, looking up at the general. "Do you mind getting off?"

The general quickly got off, standing in fear as his eyes locked onto the royalty in front of him.

The dust from the cement flared up as Elli flipped her father over, laying him on his back. She touched his blood-stained face. Her sorrow was immense, beyond imaginable. The warm blood leaked from Fishman's cavities onto her hand, but she continued touching and stuttered her lips as she spoke, "Father... can you... hear me?"

Fishman forced his blackened eyelids open and smiled with the few teeth he had left. "Elli."

Tears continued flowing down Elli's cheeks. "Why did they kill you, father?"

"It'll be fine." Fishman clenched his facial muscles and held back his screams. "Honey, I've been through far worse."

"Why did they kill you?"

"Pumpkin, are you alright?"

"Mordov, I'll never forgive," Elli said, turning around and looking at the general. She extended her arm out, grabbing Arthur by his hair and pulling him towards herself.

Arthur's eyes flickered. He was still somewhat dizzy from the punch.

"You're still alive," Elli said, her lips extending to the left as she snickered.

The general got ready to intervene. "Young master-"

"Mordov. You and this intruder have murdered my loving father." She grabbed Arthur's hand and pierced it through her father's neck.

Arthur felt a warm, gooey substance. He opened his eyes, his hand in Fishman's esophagus. He pulled it out, the blood dripping onto the floor.

Fishman gaped at Arthur as he coughed blood and spoke his last words. "I told you. You should have killed me."

This was the king's first and last act based on his own will and not that dictated to him.

"Next time you do something, make sure you inform me first. Mordov, do you understand?"

'What is happening?' Arthur thought. He felt like a little child, glancing at adults doing grown-up things. He couldn't comprehend...

The general tried replying. "Yes, young-"

"No more of that," Elli said, grabbing the trident from the floor. She examined the weapon and nodded, tears running down her cheeks. "From now on, call me by my rightful title. After all, I am the new king of Atlantis."