mizuxfem!oc
The Ningyo (人魚, "human fish") is a creature with both human and fish-like features.
Many fishermen who find these creatures caught in their nets throw them back into the ocean.
For if a ningyo is caught, she will bring misfortune and cal...
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CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR: BLOODTHIRSTY HOUND
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Late that night, the trade ship burst into flames. The sea was as black as the sky above it, and the fires turned the dock into a red lantern. Sparks of flames jolted upwards and parachuted down. It was like the sky was falling. As citizens ran to get to a safe distance, they turned their heads at the destruction of the European vessel. It was a miraculous sight if it weren't so terrifying.
The bottom was rigged with explosives by the rebels once they docked. It was so skillful and seamless. No one saw it coming. Men on fire ran out from the ship and dove into the water. The stench of burning flesh and gold and silver melting. The precious metals they were—gone into liquid form and joined the fire like molted rocks and lava.
The troops behind Van Ruyven immediately tried to extinguish the fires. They deployed arsenals of water, but there was no use. The fire was a deadly, destructive source; one could only wait out and order all his men to run in and get out as much gold and silver as they could. Fear froze their legs, and he commanded them again. They ran in, praying not to return as lifeless, scorched corpses in a body bag.
I'm as good as dead, Van Ruyven tried to control his anxieties. There was a long line of commanders before him that died in mysterious ways. Either they were executed or deployed back to the Netherlands, but the unusual thing was, no one ever heard from them again. Even word back home. That commander in question simply... vanished.
He knew Father Baltus was an unforgiving governor. Deploying someone for their inadequacies wasn't enough. One's life was only worth something if they were useful.
Crackings of the trade ship burst out and zoomed over his head. He stood there, watching his men return sparsely. Their faces blackened with soot. They could barely breathe. He sent them back in. Fewer and fewer came back each time. Less gold, each time. Some fell to their knees, withering in asphyxiation, or holding their bloody limbs with fourth-degree burns. The metals of the ship's foundation burst out as it began to sink, narrowly missing him each time in the line of fire. He hoped, maybe, it would kill him, then and there, instead of whatever Baltus had in mind...
"Commander!"
He almost didn't hear it, in a state of unresponsiveness. He dissociated. It was the end, wasn't it?
"Commander!" again, the desperate voice repeated. A young man from the training squadron flew in on a horse. They had awful news. As they all came to assist their most vital import, the rebels stormed the castle. More than the storm, they were inside. The guards were dead. Their blood lined the carpets of the castle. Van Ruyven's distant, empty eyes looked through him as if he were air, and he watched as a flying piece of metal from the exploding ship came and pierced the soldier in the face, molding into his nose and forehead. Blowing his skin clear off as he fell off his horse. The animal running towards freedom.
