The mimic had already turned over half the room like a storm, chest after chest, corner after corner, clawing through rotten kelp and wet debris with shaking hands. Azael watched quietly as she moved faster… then faster… then almost violently.
"Hey, are you ok?" She didn't respond. She shoved another chest over, the cracking sound echoing through the stone chamber. Something slimy spilled out, but she didn't even flinch.
When she found nothing again, her breath hitched. Her movements grew sloppier.
She slammed the next chest open so hard a piece broke off. "Come on… come on… please…" she whispered, voice cracking.
Azael had never seen someone panic underwater but somehow the mimic managed it. Her shoulders trembled, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She kept muttering to herself, "It has to be here… it has to be…"
Then she checked the last big chest.
Her body froze.
"…no," she whispered.
She checked again.
And again.
Digging through seaweed and bones like she could force something to appear just by wanting it badly enough.
"…no… no, no, no—!"
The mimic fell to her knees on the tile floor, fingers buried in her hair. the girl borrowed face twisted, not with anger, but with pure despair.
Then she broke.
A choked sob escaped her, muffled by the water. Bubbles escaped her mouth, shaking violently upward.
Azael hesitated. He didn't know if he should touch her. He didn't know if she'd lash out.
But seeing her like this, someone who had been teasing him just moments ago, it punched him right in the gut.
He swims closer.
the mimic curled into herself, both hands gripping her head as if trying to hold her mind together.
"I—I just wanted—" Her voice broke again, shaking so violently the words almost dissolved. "I wanted to kill that fucking snake…"
Azael gently grabbed her wrists, stopping her from ripping out more of her hair.
"Hey—hey, stop. You're hurting yourself."
She finally looked up at him.
Her eyes were red and wet, swirling like someone drowning in fear.
"Th-that snake—the Leviathan—she made me by accident." Her words tumbled out, messy and uneven. "Cthulhu fought her. He damaged her. enough to Tore her skin. And with that i was born from it. im a mistake. Something never meant to exist."
She swallowed hard, but tears still leaked out. "She hated me. Hated the idea of a creature that can be anything. So she hunted me. Kept hunting me."
Her voice turned small.
Like a child's. "Do you know what it's like to be born and chased the same day…? I had to turn into a plankton just to survive. I drifted… for years. Alone."
Azael chest tightened.
The mimic wiped her face with shaking hands, failing to calm her sobs.
"If we can't find the pearl… then I can never kill her. And if I can't kill her…"
She looked down.
Her shoulders shook again.
"…then what's the point of it anymore?"
Azael felt something heavy in his chest, he sat beside her on the cobblestone floor. Slowly, awkwardly, he put a hand on her shoulder.
"…Hey. Let's rest. Just for a bit. We've been through too much already." The mimic didn't answer, but she didn't push him away either.
They sat there for a while in the dim underwater silence.
Eventually, Azael spoke.
"You know… I want to figure out my past."
His voice was soft. "I want to know if my parents even knew what happened to me. That I… died. And fell here. It's weird, but… a part of me just wants to tell them I'm okay, or something."
The mimic looked at him, surprised that he shared something personal.
Something vulnerable.
Azael gave her a small, sad smile.
"So… can I know what to call you? It's weird calling you 'mimic' all the time right?"
She blinked.
Then ducked her head, a bit flustered.
"Well… this body that I'm mimicking have a name, and Her name was Melissa. I thought it was pretty."
"Melissa?" Azael tilted his head. "That suits you." She laughed lightly.
"Ha…. tho I'm not a girl. Or a boy. Some creatures in Hell don't have gender and that include me"
"That makes sense," Azael nodded.
Satan yawned loudly in Azael's mind.
"Oh please. This is so boring. When are you gonna show her what you found in that tiny chest?"
Azael rolled his eyes.
Fine… I'll tell her.
He turned to Melissa.
"…Melissa, there's something I want to show you."
Azael took out the item from his tunic and showed Melissa the dagger he'd found.
Melissa stared at it.
Her playful worry vanished. Her face went utterly, terrifyingly blank.
"…Where did you get that?" Her voice was flat Dead.
Azael traced a finger along the blade, admiring the engravings. "I found it while we were searching for the ammolite pearl. Isn't it cool? I can totally slay monsters with this." He swung it around playfully, almost like a kid with a new toy.
Melissa didn't move. Her eyes were locked on the tentacle pattern, trying to recognizing it. A tremor went through her borrowed body.
This dagger could be useful later, Azael thought.
Then a black window appeared in front of the blade:
[ Nyth'uhl, the Sunken Edge ]
[ Description:
Nyth'uhl, the Sunken Edge is a dagger forged in the drowned city of R'lyeh, using metal harvested from the broken scales of a deep-sea titan said to guard Cthulhu's resting place. Its creator was a legendary blacksmith who served under Cthulhu's cultists. ]
[ Grade: B ]
Azael mostly skimmed over the rest of the description, but one word stick out and made him frowned.
"…Deep-sea titan??"
He glanced around the room. If that thing is still around here, we need to leave. Like now.
"Anyway, let's keep searching other place." He got up from the stone floor and began swimming toward the entrance.
He didn't see Melissa hands clench into a fist. He didn't see the look of pure hatred in her eye, The playful mimic that azael knew was now gone, she quietly grabbed a stone beside her.
Behind him, Melissa moved slowly.
He turned back slightly. "You know, Melissa, I—"
CRACK.
Azael felt the impact before he even processed what happened. Everything spun water tilting sideways. His mind fuzzed. since they're in underwater, Melissa had to use a lot of her strength to knock azael down.
He floated, barely conscious, his head bleeding enormously from the impact spilling through the murky water.
Melissa's figure hovered in front of him, her expression twisted and looked at him with disgust.
"Melissa… why…" Azael whispered.
Then everything faded.
---
Azael awoke to a dragging sound. Stone scraping stone… something heavy being pulled across the seabed.
His eyelids felt like lead. They fluttered open to a blur of greenish gloom before closing again. He felt hands cold, strong hands, lift him and place him roughly down on something hard and unyielding.
When his vision finally cleared, he understood. He was strapped to an ancient chair, its wooden frame reinforced with corroded metal joints and carved with spirals that swam before his eyes. Thick, rubbery restraints bit into his wrists and ankles.
He pulled with all his strength. Nothing moved.
The room was a sealed, circular chamber. The walls were covered in the same maddening spiral carvings, which seemed to writhe in the dim light. There was no door. The only feature was the giant, broken circular window from the cathedral entrance, now a gaping maw of darkness.
"Maybe I can use my invocation," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
"0.3%– Wrath of Fire."
A weak spark sputtered in his pinned palm, flickered, and died, scorching the floor harmlessly.
"Great," he muttered, letting his head fall back. "I'm really stuck here."
"Damn," Satan's voice chimed in, devoid of its usual mockery. "Guess you're in a sticky situation."
Azael sighed, the sound bubbling away into the water. "I knew she was suspicious… but I didn't expect this. Not after… not after everything we share." The heartbreak in his own voice surprised him. He gave up, staring listlessly at the seaweed drifting across the ceiling.
Time, meaningless in the deep, stretched on. Then—footsteps. Not from a hall, but from beneath the floor. A hatch he hadn't seen groaned open.
Melissa rose into the chamber. She wore a simple, dark robe that billowed around her. Her face, still porcelain-perfect, was a mask. Her eyes were pale, distant, and utterly empty of the life he'd seen in them before.
"MELISSA!" Azael lurched against his restraints, the chair groaning. "WHY? I thought we were…" His shout faltered, crumbling into a wounded whisper. "…friends."
She didn't answer. She didn't even blink. From within her robe, she produced a small alchemist's bottle. Inside, a green liquid swirled and pulsed with a sickly, internal light, alive and hungry.
With methodical calm, she uncorked it and tipped it over his chest.
Azael braced for cold, but it was fire. The liquid did not dilute instead it clung and burned, dissolving his tunic as it flowed. He hissed, arching his back as the chemical sting seared his skin. In moments, the fabric was gone, eaten away to nothing, leaving him exposed and vulnerable in the cold water.
"Damn it, Melissa! What are you doing?!"
Silence only answered him. She discarded the empty bottle and drew out the second item from her robe.
It was the dagger. His dagger. The tentacle-carved blade glinted dully in the gloom.
"Hey! That's mine! What are you—"
She raised it. Both hands on the hilt, point aimed downward, directly over his heart. Her expression was still terrifyingly blank.
Azael's protest died in his throat. He looked from the blade to her dead eyes, and a chilling resignation washed over him. I can't die in Hell anyway, he reasoned, a numb thought in the storm. The worst she can do is torture me. And I'm used to pain already.
He closed his eyes and turned his head away, waiting for the blow.
It didn't come.
Instead, he heard a sound, a wet, choked sob, strangled and full of agony.
He opened one eye.
Melissa still held the dagger aloft, but her arms were trembling violently. Tears, real and shining, streamed from her eyes, mixing with the endless sea. Her beautiful doll's face was crumbling into a map of grief and regret. She was looking at him, and for the first time, he saw her in there scared, trapped, and heartbroken.
"Melissa…?" he breathed.
With a shuddering gasp, she released the dagger. It didn't fall, it simply floated between them, turning slowly end over end. She turned her back to him, shoulders hunched, her whole body wracked with silent weeping.
The dagger.
Azael's survival instinct roared back to life. He focused on the slowly spinning blade. He pursed his lips and blew a gentle, controlled stream of water towards it. The dagger wobbled, drifted an inch closer. He blew again, his heart hammering against his ribs. Come on… just a little more…
"I… I'm so sorry, Azael." Her voice was a raw whisper, muffled by her tears and the water. "I had no choice."
He kept blowing, eyes locked on the prize. Almost there.
"Since we couldn't find the ammolite pearl… I had a second plan." She took a ragged breath. "To sacrifice your soul… to awaken what's left of Cthulhu."
Azael's blood ran colder than the ocean. Sacrifice his soul? His focus on the dagger wavered for a second. He glanced at her back, so small in the dark robe.
"But…" she choked out, her voice breaking completely. "I didn't want to! I didn't want the second option! Because I… I've grown attached to you. In just these few hours, I've really seen you…"
She finally turned to face him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks stained with tears, but her gaze was clear and desperately honest.
"…as a friend."
The words landed in Azael's chest with the weight of a truth he hadn't dared hope for. His initial plan was to grab the dagger, break free, and fight Melissa. The floating blade was now within reach, its hilt bumping softly against his restrained fingers. He could seize it, cut himself loose, defend himself.
He looked at Melissa, truly looked at her. Not as a monster or a betrayer, but as a friend who was crying because she couldn't bring herself to hurt him.
His fingers, which had been straining for the hilt, went limp.
He let the dagger go. It floated away, forgotten.
"Untie me, Melissa," he said, his voice soft, gentle, meant only for her. "We'll find another way. Together."
A fresh wave of tears spilled from her eyes, but they were different now relieved, hopeful. She swam to him, her hands trembling as they found his bound arms. They held each other's gaze, a silent promise passing between them in the watery silence.
"Let's defeat the Leviathan," Azael said, strength returning to his voice. "Together."
A fierce, determined light ignited in Melissa's ocean-blue eyes. She nodded, snatched the drifting dagger, and with two swift cuts, severed the thick restraints. They fell away, slithering to the floor.
Azael's arms were free. He rubbed his raw wrists, but his focus wasn't on escape.
"Okay, let's find a way to—" Melissa began.
He didn't let her finish. He surged forward and pulled her into a crushing hug, so tight it squeezed the water from between them. He buried his face in the rough fabric of her robe.
"Oof! Okay, dude, easy…" Melissa mumbled, patting his back awkwardly. But then she felt it—the subtle, silent shudder of his shoulders. He wasn't just holding on; he was holding together. He was crying, too. Overwhelmed by betrayal, fear, relief, and the fragile, newfound certainty of friendship in a place designed to strip it away.
Her awkward pats softened. Her arms came up and wrapped around him in return, holding him just as tightly. They floated there, two lost souls anchored only to each other in the immense, crushing dark.
"No matter what happens," Azael whispered, his voice thick and raw, directly into her ear. "We'll always be friends."
Melissa just hugged him harder, her answer in the pressure of her arms.
As he held her, Azael's gaze drifted over her shoulder, scanning the strange, carved wall. His eyes, still blurry with tears, caught on a flash of light, a sharp, brilliant sparkle that shouldn't exist in this murky gloom. It was embedded in the wall, partly hidden behind a frond of black seaweed.
He squinted, focusing.
It wasn't a diamond. It was something else, a clear, fiery gemstone that threw rainbow shards of light even in the deep-sea darkness. It was wedged deep in the stone, glittering with a promise as sharp as a knife.
What… is that?