The creature did not climb onto the ship.
That, at least, was mercy.
It circled once beneath the fractured moonlight—its many eyes blinking independently, its massive body rolling just beneath the surface—and then slipped back into the Devil Sea. The water closed over it without a splash, as if the sea itself had learned how to hide sound.
No System message followed.
No warning.
No confirmation that the danger had passed.
Only silence.
The kind that didn't retreat—only waited.
For several seconds, no one moved.
Then someone vomited.
The sound struck the deck hard and wet, sharp enough to break the paralysis gripping them. Voices erupted immediately—overlapping, panicked, raw.
"What the hell was that?"
"It looked straight at me—did you see its eyes?"
"Why didn't it attack?"
"Is it still there?"
Jaden raised his voice. Not shouting. Projecting.
"Everyone sit," he ordered. "Weapons down. No running."
Some collapsed where they stood, legs giving out now that permission existed to stop holding themselves together.
Others hesitated, fingers still white-knuckled around spears and knives, eyes darting to the water as if expecting it to rise again.
Aron stood near the railing, his sword still in his hand.
The metal was warm—unnaturally so—thrumming faintly against his palm, as if it remembered being used. He forced his grip to loosen and lowered the blade.
His hands were shaking.
His chest hurt—not from injury, but from the delayed realization that he was still alive.
The ship groaned beneath them, wood creaking in long, exhausted complaints. It felt like standing on the ribs of something that had already decided it didn't want to keep breathing.
But it held.
For now.
Victor emerged from below deck, his sleeves torn and stained, his expression tight.
"Hull's damaged," he said. "Scratches. Gouges. Nothing punched through."
Ronald followed him up, grease smeared across his knuckles, breath uneven. "Whatever that thing was, it tested us. Pressed. Pulled away. Like it was checking how hard it needed to bite."
"That's comforting," Jester muttered.
No one snapped at him.
That unsettled Aron more than the joke itself.
---
Counting the Living
Once it became clear they weren't sinking—yet—Jaden gathered them near what remained of the mast.
This time, no one resisted.
Fear had done what leadership couldn't. It had stripped away the illusion that they were equals drifting through this together. Survival required roles now.
"Status," Jaden said. "Injuries first."
Victor stepped forward. He didn't hesitate. He already knew.
"Three critical. One broken leg—compound fracture." A pause. "He didn't make it."
No name followed.
"Two deep lacerations. High infection risk. I can clean them. I can stabilize. I can't promise recovery."
The woman who had been sobbing since dawn sat curled near the mast, eyes hollow, rocking slightly. Someone had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. She didn't seem to notice.
"And weapons?" Jaden asked.
The count was brief.
Two spears—both chipped.
Three knives worth trusting.
Several clubs fashioned from wreckage that looked better as threats than tools.
And one sword.
Aron's.
He felt the attention settle on him—not admiration, not blame. Assessment.
"And food?" Jaden asked.
Silence.
Not awkward. Worse.
Linh shifted. "I have… protein bars. Two."
Mira hesitated, then pulled out a soggy pack. "Crackers. Half."
Someone laughed. Too loud. Too brittle.
Ronald shook his head. "Nothing. This was supposed to be a day trip."
Fourteen people.
Enough food for maybe two days if rationed brutally.
Water was worse.
They had salvaged bottles, but most had been contaminated with salt. Drinking it straight would only accelerate dehydration.
Aron swallowed.
His mouth already felt dry. His tongue scraped against his teeth, swollen, cracked. He imagined day three. Day five.
He didn't imagine rescue.
He imagined bones.
---
The First Ugly Thought
It was Marcus who said it.
Quietly.
Almost ashamed.
"…The Swordfish."
Several heads turned.
"The ones we killed earlier," he clarified. "They didn't… vanish. They were bodies. Meat. Right?"
No one answered.
The idea settled into the space between them, heavy and obscene.
Jester broke the silence.
"Well," he said thoughtfully, "I've eaten worse things emotionally."
"Jester," Jaden warned.
"I'm just saying," Jester continued, hands raised, "we've already violated several unspoken agreements with reality. Eating monsters probably won't be the worst one."
"That's not funny," Mira snapped.
"I know," Jester said. "That's why it's sticking."
Aron said nothing.
But his stomach twisted—not in disgust.
In calculation.
He remembered the Swordfish bodies. The weight of them. The heat that hadn't faded immediately. Blood that was still blood.
Food.
The thought scared him more than the creature in the sea.
Not because it was horrifying.
But because it felt reasonable.
---
System Silence
"If that was possible," Linh said slowly, "wouldn't the System tell us?"
Jaden shook his head. "The System reacts. It doesn't guide."
Victor nodded. "I've noticed that. It rewards outcomes. Not intentions."
Jester snorted. "It's less god, more accountant. Doesn't care how you make money—just wants the numbers."
No blue text appeared to contradict him.
Aron noticed something then.
The System hadn't forbidden it.
---
Testing the Unthinkable
They argued.
Quietly at first. Then louder.
"That's not food, it's a monster!"
"It tried to kill us!"
"So did the sea. Are you going to stop drinking water because it touched you?"
"That's different!"
"Is it?"
Fear sharpened voices.
Hunger sharpened them further.
Jaden let it go longer than Aron expected.
Then he raised his hand.
"We don't guess," Jaden said. "We test."
Ronald frowned. "Test how?"
Jaden looked at Aron.
Not command.
Request.
Something settled in Aron's chest. Heavy. Certain.
"I'll do it," Aron said.
A few people stared.
Jester tilted his head. "You're volunteering fast."
"If it's poison," Aron said evenly, "better one of us knows now."
Jaden nodded once. "Carefully. No heroics."
Jester muttered, "Put that on a banner."
---
They hadn't thrown all the Swordfish overboard.
One carcass had lodged against the hull, fins tangled in rope and splintered planks. Its glassy eye stared up at them.
They worked in silence.
Aron cut carefully. The flesh was dense. Firm. Clean-smelling—not rotten, not foul.
That disturbed him more than if it had been disgusting.
They built a small fire. The flames burned low, reluctant. Smoke curled upward and vanished into the wrong sky.
Victor watched closely. "If you feel anything—numbness, heat, hallucinations—you stop."
"Hallucinations are kind of standard now," Jester muttered.
Victor ignored him.
Aron took the first bite.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
Waited.
Nothing happened.
No pain.
No sickness.
No divine punishment.
His stomach didn't rebel.
"…It's food," he said.
Relief crashed through the group—immediate and shameful.
Some cried. Some laughed. Someone crossed themselves without realizing it.
Jester exhaled. "Great. We're officially monster omnivores."
Aron took another bite.
This time, something shifted.
Not dramatic. Not violent.
Just… warm.
Deep in his gut.
Later—much later—the System whispered.
> [Minor Soul Fragment Detected]
[Fragment Quality: Low]
[Assimilation Optional]
The message faded.
Aron said nothing.
---
Consequences
They rationed carefully.
No one ate until full.
No one enjoyed it.
But hands stopped shaking.
Bellies stopped screaming.
For the first time since the Devil Sea claimed them, survival felt possible.
That was the most dangerous feeling of all.
Jaden reorganized watches.
"Next time," he said quietly, "we don't waste bodies."
Silence followed.
Consent.
---
Jester, Unmasked
Later, Jester sat beside Aron as he wiped his blade clean.
"You didn't hesitate," Jester said softly. "That scares people."
Aron nodded.
"It also keeps them alive."
Silence stretched.
"You'll remember this," Jester added. "The first time you decided living mattered more than being clean."
Aron didn't look up. "I already do."
Jester smiled faintly.
Not amused.
Just tired.
---
The Sea Listens
That night, the Devil Sea was calm.
Too calm.
The Feeding Grounds felt closer.
And somewhere beneath the surface, something learned.
Humans could adapt.
Humans could eat monsters.
Humans could harvest them.
The sea was curious.
And Aron understood—without knowing how—
that curiosity would cost them far more than hunger ever had.
---
The Swordfish did not vanish.
It stayed where it fell—half-hooked against the ship's ribs, blood leaking slowly into the Devil Sea like a second horizon. Its body steamed faintly in the cold air, flesh twitching now and then, not alive, not entirely dead either. Meat and bone. Heavy. Real.
Aron crouched beside it, boots sinking slightly into gore-soaked planks. The smell was overwhelming—salt, iron, and something sharper beneath it, like ozone burned into flesh.
This was not a dungeon reward.
This was a corpse.
He swallowed, forcing his breathing steady, and reached toward the creature's head.
A faint pressure bloomed between his shoulder blades.
Then—
> [SOUL ITEM CONFIRMED]
Name: Arial Fang
Binding Status: Exclusive (Owner: Aron Hale)
Summoning: Available
The message vanished before anyone else could notice.
Aron froze.
No item dropped. No weapon clattered onto the deck. Nothing glowed or materialized in his hands.
Instead, heat spread across his back.
He sucked in a breath as something etched itself beneath his skin, just below his right shoulder blade—lines carving inward, not painfully, but insistently. A glyph. Curved and jagged, like a fang drawn by something that had never seen a human alphabet.
Jester noticed the flinch immediately.
"Oho," he said lightly, leaning in. "That was either a System orgasm or you just unlocked a very personal curse."
Aron didn't answer. His fingers trembled as he reached behind himself, touching warm skin.
The glyph pulsed once.
Not an object.
A claim.
He understood it instinctively.
Arial Fang was his—but not in the way a sword was owned. It wasn't something he could drop, trade, or lose. It wasn't something anyone could rip from his corpse if he died.
It existed because he was alive.
And if he wanted it, he had to call it.
Aron focused.
The glyph flared.
Pain—not sharp, but heavy—rolled through his spine as something answered.
With a wet, metallic hiss, a blade of bone and condensed force tore itself into being along his forearm, extending past his hand like a hooked fang ripped straight from the Swordfish's jaw.
Gasps broke out around him.
The weapon wasn't fully physical. Its base looked like bleached enamel and cartilage, but the edge shimmered—half-solid, half-idea. Veins of crimson light pulsed through it, synchronized with Aron's heartbeat.
He flexed his fingers.
The blade moved with him.
"Oh," Jester said quietly. "That's not fair."
Aron released his focus.
The fang dissolved instantly, collapsing back into heat and pressure before vanishing into the glyph beneath his skin.
No clatter. No residue.
Just flesh.
Just him.
Jaden exhaled slowly. "So… soul items don't drop."
Aron nodded. "They bind. Confirmed on kill."
"And transferable?" Victor asked sharply.
Aron hesitated. Then shook his head. "Only if the owner gives it up. Voluntarily."
Jester grinned, sharp and humorless. "So murder doesn't get you gear anymore. That's… inconvenient for psychopaths."
"Or comforting," Mira whispered.
No one corrected her.
They all looked back at the corpse.
Because the corpse still mattered.
Aron knelt again, this time slicing deeper into the Swordfish's torso. His knife scraped bone, then struck something harder—he pried it loose with shaking fingers.
A soul fragment.
Small. Jagged. Dull red.
Physical.
Lootable.
This was different.
The fragment didn't hum or respond. It didn't belong to anyone. It didn't bind.
It could be eaten.
Or crushed.
Or wasted.
Victor stared at it like a live grenade. "Drop rate?"
Aron remembered the System's cold arithmetic. "One in a hundred. For most people."
Jester's eyes slid sideways. "And for us?"
Aron didn't answer.
Because the answer was obvious.
They were exceptions.
Hunger clawed at him again—stronger now, sharper. His body wanted more than calories. It wanted reinforcement. Growth. Change.
He cut a strip of meat and held it over the fire.
The others watched.
Not with disgust.
With calculation.
When Aron took the bite, the taste was worse this time—bitter, almost electric—but his body accepted it eagerly. Heat spread through his limbs, subtle but unmistakable.
No System message this time.
Just sensation.
Strength, barely there.
Potential, undeniable.
Jester chewed his own portion slowly, face unreadable. Then, after swallowing, he said softly, "If my family ever ends up in this place…"
Aron looked at him.
Jester smiled again—but it didn't reach his eyes. "I might start killing people for their soul items."
"You can't," Aron said.
Jester shrugged. "Then I'll convince them to give them to me."
The fire crackled.
The sea shifted.
And beneath the deck, in the bones of the ship and the blood-slick waves below, something listened.
Humans were learning the rules.
And learning how to bend them.
---