The room was thick with the smell of salt and decay.
Assad stood frozen in the doorway, the gentle crackle of the fireplace behind him barely breaking the heavy silence. Mya's trembling hand gripped his sleeve, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her eyes wide with terror.
Even as her knees threatened to buckle, Assad remained still. His face was calm too calm for the situation.
Only his eyes gave him away.
They darted across the ceiling, taking in the horrific sight above them.
Bodies.
Countless bodies.
Mermaids and mermen pale, lifeless figures hanging from iron hooks that pierced their shoulders and wrists. Their once-glimmering scales had lost their luster, now a sickly gray-blue. The faint sound of dripping blood echoed in the chamber, pooling in dark puddles beneath each suspended corpse.
Assad clenched his jaw. He forced himself to look closer, scrutinizing every detail despite the growing knot of dread in his stomach.
They had been tortured, he realized.
The flesh around their tails was torn apart, their fins stripped away as if someone had methodically peeled them off. Some were entirely missing their lower halves left as broken torsos, their hands hanging limply, their mouths frozen in silent screams.
"What the hell… is this…" Mya whispered, her voice trembling.
Assad didn't respond. On the outside, he maintained his composure his expression cold, distant, unreadable.
But inside, his mind was racing.
Why are there so many?
Why here?
Who could possibly do something like this?
Assad turned his head toward Mya.
She was shaking violently. Her knees buckled beneath her, and her fingers clawed at the hem of his shirt, desperately seeking balance. Her lips trembled, but at first, no words came out. Her wide eyes were fixated on something deep within the room.
"Mya?" Assad's voice was low and cautious. "What are you—"
Her hand shot up, trembling, her finger pointing toward the far end of the chamber.
Assad followed her gaze. "What are you pointing at?"
Her lips parted, her voice barely a whisper broken and trembling, yet filled with recognition. "O… Onee-chan…"
The sound of those two words shattered the silence like glass breaking. Assad's blood ran cold. He turned his head slowly, dreading what he might see but the moment his eyes landed on the far corner, his chest tightened.
Hanging from a single rusted hook was a head.
A young woman's head her hair long and tangled, streaked with dried blood, her eyes frozen wide open. The same sea-blue eyes as Mya's. Her once beautiful ear-fins were gone, ripped away, leaving only raw, scarred stubs. Her lips were pale, slightly parted, as if she had been calling out to someone in her final moments.
Nothing else remained.
No body. No voice. Just a head, swaying faintly in the still air.
Mya collapsed to her knees. Her hands pressed against the floor, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. "T-That's… that's big sister…" she choked out, her voice cracking like fragile glass. "That's… Onee-chan…"
Assad didn't move. His eyes were locked on the hanging head his face calm, but his heart pounded so violently it felt like it might burst.
He had seen death before. Too much of it. But never like this.
Mya's sobs filled the room, echoing off the walls like a prayer no one would answer. "Onee-chan… Onee-chan…" she kept repeating, as if saying it enough times could somehow undo what she was witnessing.
Assad crouched beside her, his hand hovering just above her shoulder, never quite touching. He wanted to say something, but the words felt trapped in his throat.
All he could do was stare at the lifeless head of Mya's sister… and feel something twist deep inside him.
Mya's sobs caught in her throat, and then, all of a sudden, she went completely still.
Her eyes widened, tears still streaming down her cheeks. Her body stiffened, trembling, but this time it wasn't from sorrow it was from shock.
A soft whisper brushed against her ear.
"Mya…"
She gasped, looking up, her breath hitching in her chest. "O–Onee-chan?"
Her lips quivered. The voice came again, gentle and fragile, echoing as if it were slipping through water.
"Run away… now… out of here."
Mya sprang to her feet, her eyes racing around the room in a panic. "Onee-chan! Where are you? Why-why are you telling me to run? Where's Nui?!"
The voice didn't respond to her frantic questions. It only repeated, weaker this time
"Mya… please… run…"
Assad turned sharply, his brow furrowing. He saw Mya standing there, trembling, her eyes unfocused as if she were looking right through the world.
"Mya," he said cautiously, taking a step closer. "Who are you talking to?"
She turned to him, her face pale and streaked with tears. "It's… it's my sister! She's talking to me! She's telling me to run—"
Assad's gaze flicked to the severed head still hanging from the hook. It hadn't moved. No sound came from it. The air was eerily silent.
His heart sank, and his mind sharpened.
But I don't hear anything…
He stared at Mya her shaking hands, her wide, terrified eyes and the faint blue shimmer that seemed to flicker around her temples.
Could this be an auditory illusion? Or something spiritual… maybe even an echo of her sister's energy before death…
He narrowed his eyes.
"Mya," he said, his tone steady but calm, "listen to me. You need to focus. Tell me exactly what you're hearing."
"She— she keeps saying 'run,'" Mya stammered. "She sounds scared… like she's in pain…"
Assad's eyes darted toward the rows of mangled merfolk corpses hanging above them. The air felt thicker now, heavier.
Each body seemed to sway ever so slightly even though the air was still.
The silence grew unbearable.
Mya's hearing something… but I can't. Which means either this place is cursed… or it's targeting her specifically.
Assad clenched his jaw, gripping Mya's trembling hand tightly. "Mya, we need to get out of here."
She blinked, still shaking, her gaze locked on her sister's horrific remains. "W–Why?"
"I don't know," Assad replied, his voice steady but his heart racing. "I just… I can't stand it here."
He scanned the dark chamber the swaying corpses, blood dripping from above, and the faint hum of something mechanical beneath the floor. Every instinct in him screamed that they were in danger.
"Please," he urged, tightening his grip. "We have to move. Now."
But Mya resisted, her voice breaking with sobs. "No! I— I can't leave yet! Maybe… maybe Nui's still alive somewhere! Please, Assad… just a little longer!"
Her desperate plea sliced through the air, and for a moment, Assad hesitated. He wanted to believe her wanted to hold onto the hope that someone could survive this nightmare.
But deep down, he already knew the truth.
He glanced up at the ceiling one last time at the sea of mutilated bodies, the shattered faces of those who once called the ocean home and his expression hardened.
There was no life here. Only death… and something that reveled in it.
"Fine," he said quietly, his voice dropping. "But if anything moves we run. Understood?"
Mya nodded weakly, clutching his sleeve like a frightened child.
Together, they stepped forward, deeper into the room, their footsteps echoing softly against the glass floor unaware that far above them, hidden behind reinforced walls and shadowy monitors—
Zheng Yan was watching.
The light from the screens glinted off his sharp, almost predatory eyes. He swirled a glass of whiskey lazily in his hand, the amber liquid catching the glow of the monitors.
On the main feed, every move Assad and Mya made flickered across the screen their fear, their hesitation, the way they clung to each other as the horror closed in around them.
A slow smile spread across his face.
He leaned back in his chair, his tone smooth, precise, almost elegant as he whispered to himself. Raising his glass to the screen, as if toasting the dead.
"…He's sharp."
The ice in his glass clinked softly, breaking the silence.