They finally reached the outskirts of R'lyeh again. Azael slipped down from the dragonfish's broad back, stretching his sore arms. "Whoa. I didn't realize that squid had dragged me so far out."
The mimic, still in its dragonfish form, was quiet. It seemed almost sad. "So, are you going to change back?" Azael asked.
"Oh. Yeah, I should. This body isn't exactly built for exploring tight spaces." The dragonfish closed its eyes.
What happened next made Azael's stomach turn. The great fins began to retract, folding inwards as if being sucked into the body. The massive form convulsed, its scales shimmering and blurring as the entire creature began to shrink violently. It was like watching a giant balloon being crumpled and reshaped from the inside. Bones seemed to melt and re-form with wet, muffled crunches. The mighty dragonfish head sank into the collapsing torso, disappearing completely.
Azael looked away, fighting a gag. It was less a graceful shift and more a grotesque, biological recycling.
When he looked back, the mimic was gone. In its place was a small, floating axolotl. Unlike the other horrors of the sea, this creature was… cute. It had a chubby, smiling face, wide doll-like eyes, and a pudgy, bubblegum-pink body with delicate, feathery gills.
"Awww," Azael couldn't help but coo. "That's adorable!" The little axolotl did a happy somersault in the water and swam over, landing with a gentle plop on his shoulder. "Hehe, this is my favorite form."
Azael reached up and gently patted its soft, smooth head. "So, does this form have a cool ability like the dragonfish?"
"Sadly, no," the mimic said, its voice now a unique, melodic blend of a young girl's and a boy's tones, unlike the deeper dragonfish voice. "This little guy is just an Imp-class creature. No fire breath, no super strength. I just use it because it's cute, efficient, and doesn't scare off potential conversation."
They began to swim into the sunken city once more, but Azael was on high alert. Every swish of a fish in the distant seaweed, every crackle of coral made him snap his head around, his heart jumping.
The mimic, perched on his shoulder, found it hilarious. "Relax! It was just a hermit crab!" it would giggle after one of Azael's panicked turns. They'd share a nervous laugh and keep moving.
"Listen, Azael," the mimic said, its tone turning serious, though the high-pitched, childlike voice made it hard for Azael not to smile. "I didn't tell you before, but we're here for something specific. The shiniest artifact in R'lyeh. It's called the Ammolite Pearl."
"The Ammolite Pearl? What's that?"
"Ammolite was created by Cthulhu's cultists. They used these creatures called ammonites to turn ordinary things into these beautiful, rainbow-shelled items. Most were lost after the war with the Leviathan, but the pearls were special. They were stored inside giant, enchanted clamshells. If the shell was strong, the pearl inside might still be intact."
Azael's brow furrowed. "Wait. What do you mean, 'Cthulhu and his cultists'?"
The mimic fell silent for a moment, its feathery gills waving softly. "The Leviathan created Cthulhu," it finally said, its voice quieter. "She built him to be ugly. On purpose. Just so she could have something to laugh at."
It let out a tiny, bubbly sigh. "He grew an inferiority complex. He started gathering sinners as followers, than he built himself an army to try and overthrow her."
Azael's eyes went wide. A monster with a cult? Creatures in Hell rebelling against a Sovereign?
"But," the mimic continued, "they underestimated one of the Seven Sins. Cthulhu and all his followers were wiped out. The Leviathan crushed them with ease."
A chill ran through Azael. He'd never imagined internal wars in Hell, monsters fighting monsters for power. It changed everything.
But a new suspicion began to curl in his mind. "Mimic," he started, his voice careful. "How do you know so much about—"
"LOOK OVER THERE!" the axolotl suddenly squealed, cutting him off. It pointed a tiny pink paw toward a dark archway leading to a side chamber.
You know what, I'll just ask later, Azael thought, brushing the question aside for now. Together, they swam toward the dark opening.
They entered the side chamber. It was a tomb of forgotten treasure. Ancient stone chests lay scattered in piles, their wood swollen and warped by centuries in the brine. The walls were a living carpet of undulating sea moss and twitching barnacles. Pale, sightless seaworms squirmed across the floor in a slow, disgusting tapestry.
"Eugh," Azael grunted, kicking away a worm that curled toward his foot. "This is actually gross."
The little axolotl on his shoulder didn't answer. Instead, it launched itself into the water. What happened next was not cute.
Its pudgy, pink head began to expand, the skin stretching and shimmering. Flesh bubbled and flowed. The small nubs of its arms and legs bulged, elongating into slender human limbs with alarming speed. The whole transformation was a wet, biological crackling of reforming bone and shifting muscle.
Azael looked away, stomach churning. "I am never, ever going to get used to that," he muttered to the wall.
When the sounds stopped, he turned back.
The axolotl was gone. In its place floated a young woman. She was stunningly beautiful, with a cascade of long, ink-black hair that drifted like smoke in the water. Her face was porcelain-smooth, with high cheekbones and large, expressive eyes the color of a deep ocean blue. She had a slim, graceful figure.
And she was completely, utterly naked.
Azael's brain short-circuited. His eyes went wide for a split second before he spun around so fast he created a small whirlpool. His face burned hot enough to feel it through the cold sea.
"Ah! I'm so sorry! I promise I didn't see anything!" he stammered, his voice cracking.
Behind him, he heard a light, melodic laugh. "Chill out, dude. My fault. I forgot to give you a heads-up." He heard the gentle swish of water as she moved, followed by the sound of fabric being pulled from stone. A moment later, she said, "Okay, you can turn around now."
Azael slowly lowered his hands from his face, peeking through his fingers. She was now dressed in a simple, weathered brown tunic she must have scavenged from a nearby pillar. It was old and too big for her, but it did the job. Seeing her fully dressed, he could finally look at her properly. She looked to be in her early twenties, with that doll-like, delicate beauty that seemed both perfect and fragile.
"Wow," he breathed before he could stop himself.
"Besides the axolotl, I like this form the most," the mimic said, her voice now a softer, warmer, distinctly feminine tone. "I saw this girl once, drifting in the deep currents a long time ago. I... really loved how she looked." She reached up and ran her fingers through her own borrowed black hair, her expression drifting into something distant and sorrowful. "I love the idea of being a woman."
Azael saw the sadness cloud her beautiful features and quickly scrambled for a distraction. "Hey! Let's, uh, let's search these chests. We need to find that pearl, right?" He gave her a thumbs-up that felt incredibly awkward.
The mimic now more a 'she' than ever blinked, pulled from her memories. She cleared her throat, the sorrow replaced by focused determination. "Right. You search that side," she said, pointing to a stack near him. "I'll start over here."
"Yes, sir! Or, uh, ma'am!" Azael said, giving a clumsy salute.
She let out a genuine chuckle, the sound like bubbles rising, and swam toward her assigned pile. Phew, Azael thought. I think I cheered her up.
He turned to the nearest chest, its lock rusted to a lump of orange. He pried it open.
And immediately jumped back with a high-pitched yelp.
Inside was a nest of small, yellowed bones, finger bones, maybe ribs swarming with fat, pale seaworms.
"NOPE—" He slammed the lid shut, gagging. He tried another chest. Nothing but slimy sea moss. A third one held only a crumbling pile of dust and a few skittering deep-sea bugs.
"There's almost nothing here..." he muttered, wiping his brow.
When he looked across the room, his relief faded. The mimic was searching her chests, but something was wrong. She was trying to look calm, but Azael could see it: a fine, violent tremor in her hands. Each time she opened a chest and found it empty, her jaw tightened. She'd grip the next chest's lid so hard the ancient wood around the lock would splinter.
What's wrong with her? he wondered, a knot of concern tightening in his chest.
His eyes scanned the room, avoiding the grim chests in front of him. Then he spotted it: a tiny, unassuming chest, half-buried under rubble and draping algae in the darkest corner of the chamber. Curiosity pulled him over. He brushed away the debris and pried it open.
His eyes widened.
Inside, nestled on a bed of rotted velvet, wasn't a pearl.
It was a dagger. The blade was long and wickedly pointed, engraved with swirling tentacle patterns. The grip was a murky dark green, like metal forged from hardened, ancient seaweed.
A slow smile spread across Azael's face. He reached in and picked it up, feeling its perfect, heavy balance.
"Yes," he whispered to himself, his voice full of grim satisfaction. "Just what I needed."