He had been delivering the fishmother treasure for quite a while now, and the chest was getting low. He would have to find a new source soon, he thought with some regret. He hoped the fishmother wouldn’t be too upset. He was piling dirt back on top when a voice, one he had heard before called out to him in a raspy drawl. ‘So you’re the little urchin that has been stealing my gold.’ A woman sat comfortably on a downed tree, propped up on one arm behind her, lazily leaning against the trunk. She smiled menacingly, one side of her lips higher than the other, the faintest hint of a gold fang glinting in the sun. She had changed a bit since he last saw her, her wild hair longer, a streak of gunshot orange at one temple amongst the red-brown. Her clothes had changed as well, the filthy wrappings previously on her chest exchanged for fresher ones of sky bleached blue and an engraved shoulder guard on her left arm.

‘Oh? Or should I say little crab?’ she asked, gold pierced eyebrow raising at his clawed hands. He held his claws up menacingly, clacking them in preparation for a battle. She paused a moment, then threw her head back, laughing at his audacity. ‘Oh little crab, you are precious.’ The word precious, his fishmother’s favorite endearment for him, eased his fighting spirit, and he lowered his claws, transforming them back into hands. ‘Now,’ she said, idly twirling a thick silver needle in her fingers, before suddenly flexing her hand, a needle appearing between each set of fingers in a claw-like arrangement. ‘Where did you put my possessions?’ The query was said without inflection, more a threat than a question.

Possessions? Viisvang cocked his head, considering. Everything in the ocean belonged to the fishmother, as far as he was concerned. And while the treasures hadn’t started out that way, they were in the ocean now, in her domain, and she would never give up what was rightfully hers. ‘They are no longer yours,’ he replied, bubbles emerging from his mouth as he spoke. The woman regarded him with hard eyes, gauging his resolve. With another light laugh she twirled her hands again, the needles disappearing somewhere with the showy movement. ‘Alright then,’ she slapped her knees and stood up, thick boots sinking into the loamy ground, ‘how about we try something else.’

She flicked out a short scythe on a chain with quicksilver speed, cutting through the air to slice through his shoulder before tugging it back to her hand all in the fraction of a moment, his electro blue blood dripping from its whisper thin blade. He looked to his shoulder, the pain of it not even registering the incision had been so quick. It hit a moment later, a pins and needles feeling as his nerves began registering the deep score. His blood oozed out, flowing thick and sticky, dripping down his arm. He looked down to his arm, holding up his other hand to the injury, pulling it away to see the viscous fluid dripping from his fingers, plopping heavily onto the ground below. The agony of the injury had fully set in now, a numbing overwhelming sort of pain, dull and deep. He held his hand up to the slash again, holding the edges closed as he coagulated his blood, stitching the cells back together from the inside. He had never done this before, never had to, but it was surprisingly easy, natural even. He felt powerful, like he had the true mantle of a god.

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‘Hm. That’s unexpected.’ The woman said, ‘Are you a godling, little crab?’ She seemed surprisingly untroubled by this revelation, just wiping her scythe off on her thick dark pants, tucking it back behind her before crossing her arms in front of her, her many bracelets clinking with the motion. ‘Well, it seems we’re at a bit of an impasse. I can’t leave without my treasure and you can’t leave without my say so.’ She tapped a gloved finger on her shoulder guard, contemplative. ‘What about a trade then.’ She finally spoke again, appearing to have made up her mind. ‘You’re a little sea god, right?’ He nodded, there was no reason to lie, and doing so would be ridiculous given his appearance. ‘What sort of abilities do you have, hm? Anything useful?’

Useful abilities? What sort of abilities would be useful to a mortal, and further, why was he troubling himself with this mortal at all? He didn’t need her say so to leave, whatever she thought. He turned, ‘Wait!’ She called out, ‘you can’t leave my high and dry!’ She had the faint tinges of desperation in her voice. He looked back at her flatly. ‘How about…how about you give me a storm then? You give me a storm and I’ll bring you even more treasure, huh?’ More treasure? That was compelling. How would he give her a storm? She probably meant for him to summon a storm, but he could do better than that.

He swallowed, constricting his throat, putting pressure and water and wind all into one place in his body, swirling it tighter and tighter, condensing his will until…he opened his mouth, a storm purple pearl on his tongue, crackling with the fishmother’s electricity. ‘Here is your storm, human,’ he croaked, his voice hoarse from the force of his creation. She looked at him wide eyed and confused. ‘My storm?’ He nodded, his interest in this conversation waning. ‘Break it and the storm will emerge.’ She walked over, taking it from him reverently. ‘I will bring you tithe, great one.’