Under the deep sea, Rlyeh.
A Priest approached cautiously, his voice trembling with curiosity. "Master, you seem… to be in a good mood."
Chino's golden eyes opened slowly, radiating a cold, otherworldly light. "Just remembering… some interesting things."
In Chino's mind, a vision unfolded: a golden wheat field, a white dog frolicking, and two children clutching books in their small hands.
Their voices echoed faintly in his memory.
"Walking is peaceful. Sitting is peaceful. Today is fine, yesterday was fine, happy days, sad days!"
"Not gods, yet superior to gods!"
Chino rose from his throne, his massive frame causing the ocean around him to ripple with power.
"Let's go. The tide, it must begin…"
...
A certain offshore island.
Boom!
The sea roared as a colossal figure emerged, towering over the waves. With one hand, Chino lifted the small island from its bed, seawater and mud cascading off its surface like a waterfall.
In the distance, the people on the Hawaiian Islands gasped in horror, frozen in disbelief.
"What, what is that?!"
"A monster?"
With an effortless motion, Chino hurled the island toward Hawaii.
Boom!
The impact was like a meteor striking the earth. The ground quaked, sending shockwaves across the islands. From the shores, countless hands clawed their way onto land—Fish-Men, rising in droves.
Tens of thousands of them swarmed the Hawaiian Islands in an instant.
Priests hovered above the water, their scepters raised high as they chanted an ancient, guttural incantation.
"Tide!"
Boom!
The Priests' command summoned towering waves that crashed over the islands, engulfing them in a wall of destruction. The armed forces stationed there were annihilated before they could react. Planes attempting to flee were seized by the relentless waters, dragged into the abyss.
Boom!
Chino's immense figure strode through the sea, each step causing the waters to quake. Beneath his feet, the ocean churned as though alive, trembling under his presence.
But Chino did not set foot on the ravaged island. His gaze remained fixed on the mainland.
Behind him, the legions of Fish-Men surged, filling the ocean with their innumerable ranks. Their sheer number blotted out the horizon, a tide of monstrous intent aimed at the mainland.
The Rooster Stone embedded in Chino's skin flared with an unholy light.
In that instant, his colossal form ascended, slowly soaring into the air. His flight was deliberate, almost ponderous, yet his vast shadow cast fear over the seas below.
The Fish-Men reached the mainland long before he did.
...
North America.
Kruz's coastal lighthouse.
A sailor stood at his post, yawning against the monotony of his watch. Suddenly, something caught his attention—a disturbance on the water.
"Hm?"
Lifting his binoculars, he scanned the horizon. What he saw made his blood run cold. Dense, writhing masses moved toward the shore. At first, they seemed like schools of fish, but then their shapes became clear.
"Fish-Men?"
His heart seized with panic. He turned, shouting with all his might.
"Sound the alarm!"
Boom!!!
Before the warning could echo across the base, a colossal figure descended from the heavens.
Chino's massive form crashed onto the coast, obliterating buildings with a single step. Without hesitation, he seized a warship in his immense hand and hurled it with unrelenting force toward the Navy headquarters.
Bang!!
The warship tore through the air like a missile, its impact scattering flames and debris.
Onshore, the Fish-Men charged in unison, their claws tearing through defenses and bodies alike.
Priests chanted from the depths, summoning ever-larger waves that surged inland, consuming everything in their path.
The chaos was total. There was no time to regroup, no moment to retaliate. This time, the monsters offered no warning, no quarter.
They invaded.
Within hours, Kruz's lighthouse was submerged, swallowed by the merciless tide.
Amidst the ruins, silence reigned. On a shattered rooftop, a lone soldier lay dying, his limbs broken and his breath shallow. Blood dripped from his mouth as he stared at the devastation around him.
His voice rasped, barely audible.
"What the hell…"
A shadow fell over him.
Hoo!
The waves surged, revealing Chino's towering form. He loomed above the soldier, his golden eyes burning with an unearthly glow.
The soldier's pupils dilated in terror. His final words escaped in a hoarse, trembling whisper.
"Ah… God…"
...
Meanwhile, in a certain city's underground in Europe.
Beneath the bustling streets, the Serpent's Hand headquarters sprawled like a secret labyrinth. Hidden in shadow and whispers, this underground domain was home to the clandestine resistance, most of its members Jewish exiles and wanderers who had taken refuge in its depths.
Through a maze of dimly lit corridors, a lone figure moved. Vespa, draped in a black robe with the Serpent's Hand insignia inked on his arm, infiltrated the headquarters with unsettling ease.
The underground street soon opened into a large, grimy manhole flanked by two black-robed sentinels. Their hands rose in unison, barring his path.
Without flinching, Vespa pulled back his robe to reveal his tattoo. His voice, steady but laden with purpose, echoed through the narrow space.
"The Serpent's Hand shall rebuild the world."
At his words, the sentinels nodded and swung open an iron door, granting him entry to a tunnel below.
Vespa stepped forward, keeping his gait calm, though his heart thudded like a war drum. The narrow passage was suffocating, the air damp and heavy.
As he pressed on, a strange fragrance tickled his senses. Sweet, sharp, and unnatural, it clung to the stale underground air.
A figure appeared ahead—a white-haired, black-robed individual gliding silently past him. Vespa instinctively lowered his hood and quickened his pace.
But the figure froze mid-stride.
"Stop."
The voice was ice—a woman's voice, sharp and commanding. Vespa halted, his pulse quickening.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his tone feigned casualness.
The white-haired woman turned, her silver eyes gleaming like moonlit steel. She inhaled sharply, her nose twitching.
"Why do you smell like fish?"
Damn it! Vespa's mind raced, but his body acted first. He lunged forward, hoping to outrun her suspicion.
The woman, undeterred, unsheathed a curved blade that shimmered with an otherworldly glow and gave chase. Her speed was extraordinary for a human, but for a Fish-Man like Vespa, she was merely an annoyance.
In a blur of motion, Vespa disappeared into the shadows.
The woman paused, her sharp gaze scanning the darkness. Her grip tightened on her blade, but in that instant, a claw erupted from the shadows, lunging for her throat.
Her reflexes were honed, the blade flashing in her hand as she slashed through the air. A dark green fog exploded forth, twisting into a spectral figure—a skeletal soul clutching a blade identical to hers.
The apparition loomed, its chilling presence filling the tunnel.
But Vespa was faster. He darted past the spirit and, with a single deadly swipe, severed the woman's head. Her lifeless body crumpled, the curved blade clattering to the ground.
Vespa picked it up, examining its eerie aura.
"A Spirit-type Ancient Artifact?" he muttered, his tone edged with fascination and unease. Spirit-type artifacts were rare and unpredictable, their powers tied to the ethereal and arcane. Vespa didn't fully understand them, but he knew their worth.
He pocketed the blade and pressed on, the Serpent's Hand headquarters drawing closer.
But his advance was cut short by a sudden flash of light.
Crack!
A lightning bolt tore through the tunnel, striking without warning. Vespa's chest erupted in pain as a thin needle pierced his flesh.
Swish!
The needle withdrew with a sharp, metallic hiss. A figure emerged from the shadows, his voice taunting.
"I hate Fish-Men. Last time, one of you played with me, didn't they? Hah… You look familiar. Could it be you? No matter! Golden Spear, kill him!"
The golden ring in his hand gleamed, and in an instant, the needle shot forward again.
Vespa dropped to the ground, narrowly avoiding the strike. He scrambled backward, his mind racing as the black-robed attacker swung the ring like a whip, retracting and extending it with deadly precision.
Dodging another strike, Vespa retaliated. He swung the curved blade, its edge slicing through the air.
The attacker hesitated, his eyes widening in recognition.
"That's—"
Hoo!
A ghostly figure emerged from the blade—a spirit wielding an enormous curved weapon. The spectral blade cleaved through the air, slicing the attacker cleanly in two.
"Damn…"
Blood splattered the tunnel walls as Vespa staggered back, clutching his wounded chest. His breaths were ragged, his vision swimming with pain.
"…Seriously, this is a fight to the death…" he muttered, his voice low and bitter. But even as his strength waned, Vespa pressed forward, knowing the real battle was still ahead.