Chapter 15: Monica

Tears welled from Monica’s swollen, unsightly eyes, drifting away into the sea. Unlike any other species in the ocean, the Cursed Ones shed tears when overwhelmed by emotion.

"Sister Ash, are you leaving, too?"

Ash smiled, brushing Monica’s eyes 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 the fate of us Cursed Ones," Ash said, holding Monica gently. "We failed to protect our homeland, so the gods punished us, leaving us to endure this tearing agony every moment of our lives. Do not be afraid, Monica. The prophecy once said that when we have finished atoning for our sins, we will find our Promised Land. There, we can shed this ugly form, be free from slavery, and..."

"The Promised Land?" Monica shook her head. "No one knows what the Promised Land looks like, and no one knows where it is. How can we search for something we know nothing about? Just based on a name?"

"And as for the gods—do they even exist? These prophecies are nothing more than stories passed down by word of mouth. All I see is a group of slaves gasping for their last breaths!" Monica cried out.

Ash froze, and only after a long silence did she murmur, "Yes, we are nothing but slaves now."

Indeed, the Cursed Ones were nothing more than slaves. Once, they were enslaved by Nagas, and later, when the Murlocs drove the Nagas away, they became the Murlocs' slaves.

They were hideous to look at, their flesh swollen and frail. The only noteworthy skill they possessed—spellcasting—had to be used to maintain their blood-flesh magic. It barely kept their bodies from bursting apart, yet forced them to endure constant, full-body agony. More tragically, even with this magic, they could only live until the age of fifteen. At fifteen, their magical abilities would undergo a metamorphosis and grow stronger, but during that transition, they could not cast spells. The blood-flesh magic would cease, and their bodies would explode like balloons.

Consequently, the Cursed Ones would typically choose to leave the ocean on the eve of their fifteenth birthday, to catch a glimpse of the sky and wait for death under the stars. For some reason, despite being a deep-sea race, they were forever drawn to the heavens. Quietly admiring the stars under the night sky was their greatest joy—a beauty they could only witness once in a lifetime.

Ash looked at the sobbing Monica with affection, her thoughts drifting away. She did not know if the oral histories were true; those events were far too distant, some even contradicting one another. Legend had it that they once possessed a vast kingdom, their renown echoing across the ten thousand leagues of the seven oceans. They were born as the world's favorites, with bodies of immense power and magic capable of tearing the seas asunder.

Ash looked down at her own arm, the swollen flesh resembling a corpse that had soaked for too long. She had been born into nothing but torment, endless slavery, and a future devoid of hope. Perhaps legends were merely legends.

"Sister Ash, the last symbiotic partner among our people has died. The Flash-Scale Clan refuses to assign any more Murlocs to sign the symbiosis pacts." Monica’s words pulled Ash’s thoughts back to the present.

The symbiosis pact was the Cursed Ones' final reliance; blood-flesh magic alone was not enough to keep them alive. The pact allowed two parties to share life force and provided unique abilities—it should have been mutually beneficial. But after the curse fell upon their race, it gained a fatal flaw: the Cursed Ones required a constant influx of life force, and the two parties could not stray far from each other.

When they were enslaved by the Nagas, it was manageable; the Nagas needed their sensory abilities and possessed such strong life force that they did not fear the slow drain of the pact. But the Murlocs were different. A group of Murlocs might be strong, but a single Murloc was weak and easily drained dry by the pact. Furthermore, Murlocs were naturally adept at sensing, making the pact redundant for the Flash-Scale Clan. Thus, contractors became increasingly rare, until today, when the last one had perished.

Feeling the pain in her body growing harder to suppress, Ash looked up, staring blankly at the surface of the sea. Did her people, the Cursed Ones, truly have a future? Things were worsening, and their numbers were dwindling. Everything was sinking, with no turning back.

But none of that concerned her anymore. She would die today—die on the surface of the sea, under the stars.

Ash smiled as she bid Monica farewell. Amidst the heart-wrenching cries, she slowly floated toward the surface. In the distance, the Murlocs watched coldly, knowing that without a symbiosis pact, these ugly monsters would only suffer a slow death.

Monica watched Ash’s receding figure, feeling as though a part of herself had been taken away. She was still years away from adulthood, yet she had already endured too many partings. Her kin gathered around, gently patting her body with their swollen arms—clumsy comfort beneath ugly faces. The Cursed Ones had suffered too much; they had learned to endure, but they could never learn to be numb. Monica squeezed her eyes shut. Tears were the most useless things in the ocean.

***

Monica opened her eyes. Before her were her own fair fingers, a slender tail, and long hair.

How beautiful...

She was no longer that hideous monster. And all of this—she looked at the "two-legged fish" not far away.

That was Hughes, Sister Ash’s contractor.

Everything felt like a dream. She had just bid Ash a final farewell, yet not long after, Ash had returned to the tribe. Not only had she survived, but she had brought back new information. She said it was not a curse at all; if they descended into the deep abyss, the Cursed Ones could be restored to their original forms.

The deep abyss... Monica thought of the Abyssal Trench, a forbidden zone of life from which no one had ever returned. Yet, unexpectedly, many of her kin had agreed without hesitation. Perhaps they simply did not want to be slaves any longer.

Without the symbiosis pact, the Cursed Ones had no future, but they also had no shackles. Symbiotic partners could not be far apart, which was why the Cursed Ones were easily enslaved. But now, the fire of vengeance roared in the eyes of every clansman. They, too, were living beings; they had wisdom, and they had emotions.

Now, let everything burn.

Along the way, the blood of the Cursed Ones stained the sea routes leading to the Abyssal Trench red. Familiar figures fell before her eyes one by one. Monica wanted to say something, but when she opened her mouth, she only tasted bitterness.

When she looked up, she realized with a start that it was all over.

Hughes, her sister’s symbiotic partner, was saying something to the kin. Monica listened in a daze. She did not understand what this human was talking about—knowledge, water pressure, freedom—they were far too complex for her.

She looked at Ash. The scales on Ash’s body were a beautiful pale gray, and her long, silver-white hair possessed a bluish, metallic sheen—the aura of surging magic. Ash held a harpoon high, speaking loudly. Her eyes were filled with determination and fearlessness, mingled with something else.

It took Monica a long time to realize that it was hope.

She turned her gaze to 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 had any need for gods.