Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Chapter 15:

Tears slid from Monica's swollen and ugly eyes, drifting into the sea.

When the Cursed Ones became emotionally agitated, tears would flow from their eyes, which was different from any other race in the sea.

"Ash, are you leaving too?"

Ash smiled and brushed against her eye corners with her twisted arm.

"Don't cry, Monica, your tears taste too bitter."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry... Is there really no other way, Sister Ash?"

"This is our fate as Cursed Ones." Ash gently embraced Monica. "We failed to protect our homeland, so the gods punished us, making us endure this tearing pain at all times. Monica, do not be afraid. The prophecy once said that when we have atoned for our sins, we will find our Promised Land, where we can shed this ugly form, where we will not be enslaved, where we can—"

"Promised Land?" Monica shook her head.

"No one knows what the Promised Land looks like. No one knows where it is. How are we supposed to search for an existence we know nothing about? Just based on its name?"

"As for the gods, do they really exist? The so-called prophecy is nothing but a story passed down by word of mouth. All I see is a group of slaves struggling to survive!"

Monica shouted loudly.

Ash was stunned. After a long time, she murmured, "Yes, right now we are just slaves."

Yes, the Cursed Ones were nothing more than a group of slaves.

There was once a group of Nagas here, and they were the Nagas' slaves.

Later, the Fishmen drove the Nagas away, and they became the Fishmen’s slaves.

They looked disgusting, their bodies were swollen and weak.

Their only commendable ability—their magic—had to be used to sustain their Flesh Magic, which barely kept their bodies from bursting apart, yet also forced them to endure unbearable, tearing pain at all times.

Even more tragic, even with Flesh Magic, they could only live to the age of fifteen.

At fifteen, their magical abilities would undergo a transformation, becoming stronger.

But during that transformation, they would be unable to cast spells, their Flesh Magic would cease, and their bodies would explode like balloons.

Thus, most Cursed Ones would choose to leave the sea just before turning fifteen, to take one last look at the sky, and to quietly await death under the stars.

For some unknown reason, though they were a deep-sea race, they were always drawn to the sky. Watching the stars in the night sky was their greatest pleasure, but tragically, they could only see it once in their lifetime.

Ash gazed affectionately at the sobbing Monica, her thoughts drifting away.

She did not know whether the history passed down by word of mouth was true. Those events were too distant, some even contradicted each other.

Legend had it that they once had a vast kingdom, their renown echoing across the seven great oceans.

They were born as the darlings of the world, their bodies incomparably strong, their magic capable of tearing through the seas.

Ash lowered her head to look at her own arm.

The bloated flesh on it resembled a corpse that had been soaked for too long.

From birth, she had known only torment, endless enslavement, and a future devoid of hope.

Perhaps legends were just legends.

"Sister Ash, the last symbiont among our people has died, and the Flashscale Clan refuses to send another Fishmen to sign a Symbiotic Contract."

Monica's words pulled Ash back to reality.

The Symbiotic Contract was the last lifeline of those known as the Cursed Ones.

Flesh Magic alone was not enough to keep them alive, so they relied on the Symbiotic Contract.

The Symbiotic Contract allowed both parties to share life force and granted some unique abilities. It was originally a mutually beneficial arrangement.

But after their race was cursed, it gained a flaw—the Cursed Ones needed a constant supply of life force, and the two parties could not be too far apart.

When they were enslaved by the Nagas, it was manageable.

The Nagas needed their sensory abilities, and individual Nagas had strong life forces, making them unafraid of the contract slowly draining them.

But the Fishmen were different.

A group of Fishmen might be strong, but an individual Fishman was weak and could easily be drained dry by the Symbiotic Contract.

Moreover, Fishmen were naturally adept at sensing their surroundings, so they did not need the contract for that ability.

This made the Symbiotic Contract even more useless to the Flashscale Clan.

Thus, fewer and fewer Fishmen agreed to the contract, until today, when the last symbiont died.

Feeling the increasingly unbearable pain within her body, Ash raised her head and expressionlessly looked at the sea surface.

Her people, the Cursed Ones—did they really have a future?

Things were getting worse, and their numbers were dwindling.

Everything was sinking, with no way back.

However, none of this had anything to do with her anymore. She would die today, die on the sea, die beneath the starry sky.

Ash smiled as she bid farewell to Monica.

Amidst the heart-wrenching cries, she slowly floated toward the surface of the sea.

In the distance, the fishmen watched coldly.

They knew that without the Symbiotic Contract, these ugly monsters would only suffer a slow death.

Monica watched Ash's figure grow farther and farther away, feeling as if a part of herself was being taken along.

She was still many years away from adulthood, yet she had already experienced too many farewells.

The clansmen gathered around her, their swollen arms gently patting her body. Beneath their ugly faces was a clumsy attempt at comfort.

The Cursed Ones had endured too much suffering.

They had learned to tolerate but never to grow numb.

Monica tried to close her eyes.

Tears were the most useless thing in the ocean.

——————————

Monica opened her eyes.

In front of her were her pale, delicate fingers, her long tail, and her flowing hair.

So beautiful.

She was no longer that ugly monster.

No mistake, everything was exactly as it should be.

And all of this—

She looked at the "two-legged fish" not far away.

That was Hughes, Ash’s contractee.

Everything felt like a dream.

She had just experienced a life-and-death separation from Ash, yet before long, Ash had returned to the clan, not only surviving but also bringing new information.

She said that everything was not a curse. As long as they descended into the deep sea, the Cursed Ones could return to their original forms.

The deep sea—Monica thought of the Abyss, a forbidden zone of life where none who entered ever returned.

But surprisingly, many clansmen agreed without hesitation.

Perhaps they simply didn’t want to be slaves anymore.

Without the Symbiotic Contract, the Cursed Ones had no future, but they also had no shackles.

Symbiotes could not stray too far from one another, which was why the Cursed Ones had been enslaved. But now, the flames of vengeance roared in the eyes of every clansman.

They were living beings, they had intelligence, they had emotions.

Now, let everything burn.

Along the way, the blood of the Cursed Ones dyed the path to the Abyss red.

Familiar figures fell before her eyes one after another.

Monica wanted to say something. She opened her mouth but only tasted bitterness.

When she looked up, she suddenly realized everything had already passed.

Hughes, her sister’s symbiote, was speaking to the clansmen. Monica listened in a daze.

She didn’t understand what this human was saying—something about knowledge, water pressure, freedom. She didn’t understand; they all seemed like complicated words.

She looked at Ash.

The scales on Ash’s body were a beautiful pale gray, her long silver-white hair shimmered with a faint bluish metallic luster—the aura of magic surging.

Ash held a trident high, speaking loudly.

Her eyes were filled with determination and fearlessness, mixed with something else.

It was a long time before Monica realized—that might be hope.

She turned to look at Hughes. It was this human who had brought them hope.

At this moment, he was solemnly declaring that he was not a god.

It didn’t matter, Monica thought.

She no longer needed a god.