A Fish-Man carried a suitcase through the dim terrain, his movements swift yet cautious. Trailing behind him were several cocoon-shaped, tentacled monsters that pulsed with an unnatural rhythm.
The stillness was broken by a faint sound.
Thump.
The Fish-Man abruptly stopped, his webbed foot stamping the ground. His gaze snapped to the darkness ahead, where several pairs of blood-red eyes glowed ominously.
“Leave the goods behind,” a voice commanded from the shadows.
Vampires.
The Fish-Man frowned, stepping back instinctively. Without hesitation, the Ancient Ones beside him lashed out, their grotesque tentacles whipping toward the crimson-eyed figures.
The vampires moved swiftly, intercepting the tentacles with their bare hands, their inhuman strength halting the attack. But the Ancient Ones were relentless. More tentacles surged forward, tearing through the vampires’ bodies in a grotesque display of raw power.
Yet, as if defying reality, the shredded vampire bodies mended themselves in moments, their forms knitting back together with eerie ease.
The Fish-Man, sensing the escalating battle, tightened his grip on the suitcase. Without a second thought, he turned and bolted.
Behind him, the vampires prepared to pursue, but the Ancient Ones coiled together, forming a towering, pulsating wall of flesh to block their path.
One vampire unfurled its wings and took to the air, aiming to bypass the barrier. A tentacle shot upward, coiling around its leg and yanking it violently to the ground.
“What are these cocoons?!” one vampire snarled, struggling against the writhing tentacles.
“Who knows? Last time, it was eyeless monsters!” another hissed, claws slashing uselessly.
“These deep-sea creatures are a plague!”
...
The Fish-Man, chest in hand, sprinted through the chaotic landscape. It was only his third day as one of the Fish-Men, and in those brief days, his entire world had been upended.
“Kitsune, vampires… one bizarre thing after another,” he muttered, his voice edged with disbelief.
His name was Vespa. He was foreign but had lived in Asia for years. Until a fateful trip to sea, his life had been ordinary. The most unusual event he had ever witnessed was the Blood Moon, an occurrence neatly explained away by experts and swiftly erased from the internet by world governments.
Now, however, the ordinary felt like a distant memory.
As Vespa ran, he suddenly collided with someone.
Thump!
The impact sent him flying backward. Stunned, he blinked and looked up, feeling as though he’d hit a steel wall.
A man in a suit stood before him, calm and unbothered. His fingers glinted with the light of ten ornate rings. He bent down, picking up the suitcase Vespa had dropped.
“Sir, it seems you weren’t watching your step,” the man said, his voice smooth and disdainful. “I don’t blame you. In this life, you didn’t pay attention. In the next, perhaps you’ll learn.”
With those words, the man stomped his foot. The ground beneath Vespa trembled as a sharp stalactite burst forth, aiming for him.
Reacting instinctively, Vespa slammed his palms to the ground, propelling himself into the air. The stalactite missed him by mere inches.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
The man arched a brow. “Impressive reflexes, little Fish-Man.”
Vespa froze. The man knew what he was. Worse, he clearly possessed some sort of power.
But the suitcase…
His eyes darted to the object now in the man’s hands.
Before he could act, several tentacles lashed out from the shadows, wrapping around the man’s limbs in a sudden ambush.
Vespa saw his chance. Without hesitation, he lunged for the suitcase, grabbed it, and took off, not daring to look back.
The man’s calm demeanor cracked. His eyes turned cold as his hands transformed, the flesh crystallizing into diamond-like claws.
Splat!
With a single slash, he severed the tentacles binding him. Twisting in mid-air, he drove into the ground with incredible force, disappearing into the earth.
A moment later, the ground erupted as the man burst upward, his diamond claws tearing through the Ancient Ones with merciless precision. Strange, fleshy chunks fell to the ground, unrecognizable and alien.
The man wiped the viscous blood from his claws, muttering, “002’s little toys.”
Before he could pursue Vespa, a group of vampires appeared, chasing after the Fish-Man. They froze upon seeing the suited man, their expressions turning grim.
“He’s… the Rock King!” one whispered, panic creeping into their voice.
“No good, retreat—”
Splat!
A massive stalactite impaled one vampire, cutting their warning short.
The man in the suit twisted his neck with a faint crack. His voice carried an amused menace. “Everyone seems to be having fun lately. Mind if I join?”
...
On the rooftop of a towering building, figures leaned against the railing, their binoculars trained on the chaos below. The night was heavy, punctuated by the occasional flicker of neon lights from the bustling city.
“It seems everyone wants the Ancient Artifacts,” murmured a man in a black suit. His voice was low, laced with both curiosity and amusement.
“Even the vampires have joined the fray,” another added, shaking his head.
“Adam-sama,” someone said from behind, stepping forward, “I’ll pursue that Fish-Man.”
The man addressed as Adam glanced at his right hand, adorned with a tattoo of the Serpent’s Hand. His expression remained impassive.
“No,” he replied after a moment. “Let John handle it.”
At his command, a black-robed figure emerged from the shadows. Silently, he extended his own right hand, revealing the same tattoo of the Serpent’s Hand. However, his hand bore one striking difference—a golden ring encircled his finger, gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
“The Serpent’s Hand,” John intoned solemnly, “shall rebuild the world.”
...
Near the coastal docks, Vespa sprinted, clutching the suitcase tightly against his body. His breathing was ragged, his mind racing as he weaved through the maze of crates and moored ships.
Suddenly, a sharp whistling sound sliced through the air behind him.
Danger!
Instinctively, Vespa ducked and tilted his head just as a golden rod shot past his ear, missing him by a hair’s breadth.
The rod, no thicker than a finger, extended impossibly far—more than ten meters—before snapping back with the precision of a retracting measuring tape.
Heart pounding, Vespa whipped his head around to see a black-robed figure standing calmly in the distance. The golden ring on the man’s finger glinted as he raised his hand, the artifact already coiling for another strike.
In a flash, the ring extended once more, hurtling forward like a spear. Vespa wasn’t fast enough this time.
Splat!
The golden rod pierced his arm, drawing a spray of blood. Pain exploded through him as his arm warped, the transformation overtaking it, reshaping the limb into a grotesque Fish-Man appendage.
“Hand over the chest,” the robed figure demanded, his tone cold and unyielding.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Vespa’s eyes narrowed. 'What is this thing? Another Ancient Artifact? That golden ring…'
His thoughts churned. He recalled the Priest’s teachings: Ancient Artifacts typically had straightforward abilities.
So, the power of extension… it must belong to that ring.
Vespa wasn’t wrong. The artifact, known as the Golden Ring, had only one ability, but its speed and precision rivaled a small-caliber pistol. In John’s hands, it was devastating.
The golden rod retracted in a fluid motion. Vespa winced as he raised the suitcase defensively. “Wait!” he shouted, voice strained. “I’ll give it to you. Just… don’t kill me.”
John extended his hand, the golden ring shimmering faintly. “Hand it over.”
Without hesitation, Vespa hurled the suitcase toward him, then spun on his heel and bolted toward the sea.
John caught the suitcase with ease, his expression icy. He raised his hand again, pointing at the retreating Fish-Man.
“Golden Ring,” he commanded, “kill him.”
Swish!
The Golden Ring shot forward with lethal precision, piercing Vespa’s stomach.
Blood bubbled from his lips as he stumbled forward, but his resolve didn’t waver. Summoning the last of his strength, he threw himself into the ocean, vanishing beneath the waves with a muffled splash.
John didn’t give chase. Instead, he opened the suitcase, confident in his prize—only to find it empty.
His jaw tightened, fury blazing in his eyes. “Damn it, I’ve been tricked!” he snarled, slamming the suitcase shut.
...
Under the cover of the dark ocean, Vespa clutched the golden mask he had hidden beneath his clothes, swimming deeper into the deep sea.
Cursing under his breath, he pushed through the pain. A sharp pang of bitterness joined his resolve. He was a newly transformed Fish-Man, yet the Priest had sent him straight into the jaws of these monsters.
Had the Priest overestimated him? Or had Vespa simply underestimated the hell he’d been thrust into?