Chapter Three: The Birth of the Phantom of Blood Harbor

“Brother, I’ve never treated you poorly. I won’t bury you in cement, so remember my kindness in hell, hahahaha.”

At night, a gangster dragged Saunders to the edge of the docks. After tying him up tightly, they hung several weights from his body. With those weights, even a world-class swimmer couldn’t survive in the water without using their hands.

Seeing Saunders facing certain death, Yang Qiu, who was observing the script, finally began to write.

Script Three, Prologue: I died where the monster was born, I was born where the monster died.

Under Yang Qiu’s pen, a fish that had never existed in this world was born in the depths beneath the docks.

This was a Bluenettle Fish, sharing its name with a species from the world of Valoran, and its purpose was similar as well. Yang Qiu used the power of the script to transmute his spiritual energy into tangible magic, stored in the blue sac behind the fish’s sharp teeth.

Now, this Bluenettle Fish was nearly identical to those of Valoran—possessing insane value. Of course, there might be reproductive isolation between the two, since this one was Yang Qiu’s creation.

The Bluenettle Fish seemed to understand its purpose and lingered quietly beneath the docks, watching the shadows cast on the water by the overhead lights.

“Hey, get on with it! Don’t get any funny ideas. We’re all watching you.”

The gang leader kept urging Sandel.

Yes, Sandel was chosen by Denoir to send Saunders to hell—perhaps the cruelest punishment of all.

Denoir’s arrangements had their effect. Saunders, who hadn’t reacted to beatings, looked at his brother with swollen eyes, waiting for an explanation.

Sandel opened his mouth, glanced at the others behind him, and thought for a few seconds. “Brother, just think of this as a sacrifice for your brother. Don’t worry, you won’t suffer long—I hear drowning only hurts for a few minutes.”

“Whew, listen to him! What a truly rotten soul,” the gangsters jeered from behind.

Amid the uproar, Sandel kicked his brother, sending him off the dock and into the water. Afterward, Sandel forced a smile and turned to celebrate with the others—only to find the barrel of a shotgun pressed to his chest.

“Why?” Sandel’s legs trembled, and warm urine trickled down his pants to the floor.

Seeing Sandel’s pathetic state, the gangster with the shotgun recalled the boss’s orders and eased his finger off the trigger. “Don’t get me wrong. I just haven’t aimed a gun in a while—just practicing, that’s all.”

From his omniscient vantage, Yang Qiu breathed a sigh of relief. The plot had nearly derailed—if Sandel hadn’t been such a coward, if he’d shown even a shred of backbone instead of soiling himself, he’d be dead.

Below the docks, the Bluenettle Fish began to thrash its tail, surging toward the surface.

Thud—the weights on Saunders’ body crashed into the water with a dull sound. Submerged, Saunders gasped for breath; he made no attempt to struggle. Water poured through his open windpipe into his lungs. In his agony, darkness closed in, and a massive gate of razor-sharp teeth slowly shut before his eyes.

After swallowing Saunders, the Bluenettle Fish, driven by the script’s power, swam into the ocean’s depths, while Yang Qiu continued writing the prologue.

Under the influence of an unknown force, Saunders’ eyes suddenly snapped open to utter darkness, dotted with pale blue lights.

Abruptly, the blue lights shattered, and a deep blue mist drifted in the fish’s mouth.

Then, an ancient and mysterious echo quivered through Saunders’ mind: “Pyke… Pyke…”

Because of this voice, Saunders seemed to see someone with a fate like his own reaching out to him—a being that wanted to manifest in this world through Saunders’ body. The face matched the gate he’d seen at death’s door: filled with razor teeth and clutching a battered harpoon in its right hand.

“Do you want it? Take it, then. Help me kill the traitors…”

Saunders spread his arms. The harpoon pierced his chest, and he saw a list hovering before his face—new names appeared, with his brother Sandel’s at the very top.

“The depths of the sea are vast—vast enough to bury everyone!”

Corroded by magic, the Bluenettle Fish faded away, and another monster was born from its corpse.

Seeing Pyke emerge at last, Yang Qiu exhaled in relief. The first stage of the evolution was complete. The first time he attempted this, he hadn’t even gotten this far—a cat appeared instead of an apostle. In the end, though, the difference wasn’t so great.

The next stage was simpler: as long as everyone on the list died by Pyke’s hand, the embodiment would be complete. That part was easy enough. Though this Pyke was weaker than the Bloodharbor Phantom of Yang Qiu’s imagination—limited by the world—he was more than a match for the gangsters. Ordinary bullets couldn’t hurt him, and his ghostly, tireless nature would soon wipe them all out.

Feeling most of his daily spiritual energy consumed, Yang Qiu withdrew his consciousness and let Pyke act freely. In Yang Qiu’s mental cosmos, the star representing Script Three pulsed vibrantly, marking Pyke’s awakened state.

Late at night, Sandel lay on a bed—the only thing Denoir had left him after it all ended, bought with Saunders’ inheritance. As for the house, Denoir rented it to Sandel at a high price, leaving him with regrets; he was worse off now than when his brother was alive.

Drip… drip…

Sandel frowned at the ceiling, where something kept dripping down like a leak. Yet the salty, fishy taste confused him—how could a leak drip seawater?

With a sigh, Sandel propped himself up, reached for the lamp, and flicked it on.

The ceiling light came to life, but the glow was nearly blocked by something above. As Sandel screamed in terror, a surge of seawater gushed from his throat, and the shadow from the ceiling crashed down upon him.