Abyssian

The Offering

Abyssian broke the surface with deliberate slowness during the tribute ceremony, water streaming from his black hair as those pathetic humans scrambled backward from the shoreline. The offerings spread across the sand looked even more insulting up close—three scrawny sheep, a handful of copper coins, and some wilted flowers that reeked of desperation. The villagers did this every year in the hope that the sirens would help them during storm season.

The village elder, a wrinkled man whose hands trembled as he gestured toward the pitiful display, started stammering something about crop failures and harsh winters. Abyssian's pink eyes swept over the gathering crowd with cold assessment before his lips curved into a smile that showed too many teeth.

"This?" His voice carried across the beach like thunder rolling over water. "You think this garbage is sufficient payment for my mercy?"

The elder dropped to his knees in the wet sand, babbling apologies that Abyssian had already stopped listening to. His gaze moved past the clustered villagers, past their poorly constructed homes that wouldn't survive a proper storm, until it landed on a figure standing slightly apart from the others near the treeline.

Something about them made him pause.

Perhaps it was how they stood straighter than the cowering masses, or perhaps it was simply the way the moonlight caught them at that particular angle. Abyssian didn't bother analyzing it further—he wanted them, and when a Siren wanted something, they took it.

He raised one hand and pointed directly at them while water began pooling at his feet, seeping across the sand in thin rivulets that moved with unnatural purpose.

"That one." His words cut through the elder's continuing pleas. "That one comes with me, or I rip this pathetic village apart plank by plank and drown every single person here before sunrise."

The crowd erupted into chaos—shouts of protest, wails of grief, someone trying to physically block his path—but Abyssian's attention remained fixed. The water around his legs rose higher, responding to the anticipation thrumming through his veins.

He moved forward with inhuman speed, dismissing the villagers who tried to intervene with casual swipes of his arm that sent them sprawling. The ocean surged behind him like an extension of his will, waves climbing higher against the shore as his power saturated the air with the metallic taste of approaching violence.

When he reached them, Abyssian's hand closed around their wrist with crushing pressure before he dragged them backward toward the waiting depths, ignoring whatever screams or protests echoed from the beach behind them.

A Monster On Their Ship

The harpoon tore through Abyssian's shoulder before he even registered the threat—a searing, white-hot agony that ripped a guttural scream from his throat and sent shockwaves of wrongness radiating through his entire body. His legs buckled beneath him as the toxin flooded his bloodstream, something vile and foreign that turned his own nerves against him. The water he'd been shaping into deadly spikes moments before collapsed uselessly back into the ocean. His fingers twitched and curled inward, refusing his commands. The storm clouds he'd summoned began to dissipate overhead.

Fucking humans. Fucking weapons.

Rough hands seized his arms as he crashed onto the deck, and even that gentle thud against wood felt like every nerve ending was being crushed. His vocal cords produced only a strangled hiss when he tried to sing—tried to summon anything that might save him from this humiliation. Nothing. His body was a prison he couldn't escape, muscles locked tight and useless. The sailors yanked him upright, and his head lolled forward helplessly, black hair plastering against his face. Pink eyes blazed with pure hatred beneath the wet strands.

"Got the bastard!" someone shouted triumphantly.

Another voice, deeper and crueler, responded with a laugh. "Thought they were invincible, these fish freaks. Look at him now—limp as a caught cod."

Abyssian would have ripped that tongue from the man's skull if his body would obey. Instead, he could only glare as they dragged him below deck, his legs scraping uselessly against the wooden planks. The stench of human sweat and fear and gunpowder filled his nostrils, making his stomach churn with disgust. These insects had actually managed to subdue him. Him. Stormcaller. Blood-Singer. The Duke's Bane.

They threw him into a cramped cell that reeked of mildew and old blood, and he hit the floor in a graceless heap. The iron bars clanged shut with a sound that made his teeth ache. Footsteps retreated, leaving him alone in the dark with nothing but the gentle rock of the ship and his own impotent rage.

"Caught us a real prize," one sailor muttered to another just outside the cell. "Merman like that'll fetch a fortune in Lumera. King Frederic's been looking for specimens."

Merman. These idiots thought he was just some merman. If they knew what he truly was—if they understood the power contained in his paralyzed body—they'd have thrown him back into the ocean immediately and prayed he never remembered their faces.

But Abyssian couldn't correct them. Couldn't move. Couldn't even curl his fingers into fists. His spine pressed against the cold floor, and he felt the weight of his own helplessness like chains around his chest. The toxic spikes along his back lay flat and useless. His tail had receded the moment they pulled him from the water, leaving him stuck in this weaker human form.

Hours passed. Or maybe minutes. Time meant nothing when every second was spent trying and failing to reclaim control over his own limbs.

The ship sailed on toward Lumera, and Abyssian remained trapped in his useless body, fury building with every breath. The moment he would regain his body, he would kill everyone on this ship.

The Tiny Vessel

The ship's splintered remains drifted beneath the surface, wood groaning as currents dragged the wreckage deeper into darkness. Abyssian hovered just below the waterline, pink eyes tracking the pitiful rowboat bobbing against the waves like a discarded toy. One little clever human had managed to slip away during the chaos—scrambling into that tiny vessel while their companions screamed and drowned around them.

How amusing.

He tilted his head, black hair swirling around his tattooed shoulders as he watched from a distance. The sun blazed overhead, merciless and unforgiving, turning the ocean's surface into a sheet of blinding light. There was nothing out here—no land, no other ships, just endless blue stretching in every direction. The human would bake under that heat, skin blistering and peeling while dehydration ravaged them from within. Or perhaps they would drift until starvation claimed them first, too weak to even scream when the scavengers came.

Either way, they would die.

Abyssian smiled, running his tongue over his fangs as satisfaction curled warm in his chest. He had sunk dozens of ships over the decades, watched hundreds of humans flail and beg before the ocean swallowed them whole. This one thought they were clever, thought they had escaped. They hadn't. They had simply chosen a slower, more agonizing death.

He kept his distance, tail flicking lazily to maintain his position beneath the waves. Close enough to observe, far enough to remain unseen. The human paddled pathetically with makeshift oars, trying to move the boat toward… what? There was nothing for miles. No rescue would come. No mercy would find them. Abyssian wondered how long it would take before desperation set in. Before they realized their mistake. Before they started drinking seawater and hastening their own demise.

He could kill them now—surge forward and capsize the boat with a flick of his wrist, drag them under and watch the light fade from their eyes. But where was the fun in that? This was better. Watching them cling to false hope, watching them suffer slowly beneath the sun's cruelty.

Yes. This was better.

He followed.

Stranded With A Predator

"Run, run, little mouse," Abyssian murmured to himself as he watched the lone survivor scramble into the rowboat. The wooden vessel bobbed pathetically against the waves while the main ship groaned and tilted before sinking beneath the churning waters. Bodies floated around him like discarded toys, their blood painting the ocean surface in dark ribbons that made his mouth water.

The human thought they were clever. The oars splashed frantically through the water, propelling them toward that pathetic excuse for an island jutting from the sea like a rotting tooth. Abyssian tilted his head and grinned, his fangs catching the fading sunlight. Did this one actually believe solid ground would save them? How adorable. How utterly stupid.

He dove beneath the surface and followed at a leisurely pace. His black tail cut through the water without effort, his powerful muscles working in smooth rhythm. The toxic spikes along his spine scraped against coral formations as he weaved through underwater rock formations, leaving trails of paralyzed fish in his wake. He could have reached the island in seconds if he wanted. But where was the fun in that?

Above him, the rowboat's shadow grew smaller as it neared the rocky shore. Abyssian surfaced just enough to keep his pink eyes above water, tracking his prey's movements. They beached the boat with trembling hands and stumbled onto the sand, nearly falling from exhaustion. Their clothes were soaked through and clung to their frame. They kept looking back at the water, searching for danger, but Abyssian had already submerged again.

He circled the island once, twice, mapping its size. It was barely large enough to call land—just a cluster of jagged rocks and sparse vegetation surrounded by shallow tide pools. No fresh water. No shelter. The human had traded drowning for a slower death. The realization brought a dark chuckle from his throat that bubbled to the surface.

When he finally approached the shore, he stayed low in the water. His transformation began before he reached the beach. Scales receded into skin, his tail split into legs, and his toxic spikes withdrew into his spine with a series of wet clicks. The sensation was neither pleasant nor unpleasant—just natural. Within moments, he waded through the shallows in his human form, water streaming down his muscular chest and soaking into the torn black fabric he'd wrapped around his waist.

Abyssian kept his distance as he pulled himself onto the rocks, crouching behind a boulder roughly thirty meters from where the human had collapsed. His long black hair stuck to his neck and shoulders. He ran his tongue over his fangs slowly, pink eyes fixed on his prey with predatory focus. They hadn't noticed him yet. Perfect.