Chapter 42: The Weak and Short-Lived Octopus King's Shattered Dreams
In a dark bedroom at the Assassin's Guild headquarters, a man lay in bed. Intricate black tattoos covered his back and arms, stark against his skin in the moonlight streaming through the open glass doors to the balcony. Suddenly, he jolted upright and turned toward a flower-shaped glass ornament resting on his dresser, thin cracks spiderwebbing across its surface. He snatched it up, cradling it in his palm, careful not to damage it further.
"What's going on? Why is Datura dying?" Boar growled, studying the ornament.
The ornament was a spiritual item, both a locator and a life detector. Long ago, to keep tabs on Chameleon, he had forcibly taken a drop of Chameleon's heart blood and fed it into the glass. The tool wasn't precise—it could only provide a general sense of his location—but when its target was dying, the glass would begin to fracture. If the person survived and recovered, the cracks would mend, but if they died, the ornament would shatter. Harvesting heart blood was an excruciating process for the victim, but Boar hadn't cared. Hurting Chameleon was simply another way to control him.
"What the hell is Sable making him do?" Boar muttered, gritting his teeth as he pulled on a shirt and began buttoning it. He was worried, but not too much. It wasn't the first time Chameleon had almost died during a mission. This time is no different, he thought, slowing his movements to a leisurely pace.
The bed behind him stirred, and a pale arm snaked around his waist.
"Leaving?" a tired voice asked. Another man's face peeked from under the sheets—pretty, with a faint resemblance to Chameleon, though lacking his striking allure. Unlike Chameleon, this one had climbed into Boar's embrace of his own free will.
But thinking of Chameleon while seeing a ghost of his features on another man's face left Boar disgusted. His aura lashed out, slamming the man into the far wall. He screamed, curling into a ball to suppress the pain.
"Grab your clothes and leave," Boar commanded, fastening the last button as he stepped out with the ornament in hand.
Outside his door stood a suited gentleman, one of his assistants. Boar turned to him. "Where the hell is that old bastard?"
The assistant adjusted his glasses, understanding immediately who Boar meant. "The Guild Leader left in a helicopter not long ago."
Boar snarled. "What's he taking a copter for in the middle of the night? Have you figured out what the hell Sable has Datura doing these days?"
The assistant shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. Whatever the Guild Leader is hiding, he's keeping it tightly under wraps."
Boar snorted, staring at the cracked ornament in his hand as he strode down the hallway with the assistant following close behind. "Heh, well… maybe it won't be so bad if Datura comes back a little broken. Maybe he'll be more obedient once I heal him up."
He smiled, already savoring the thought of Chameleon's pride being ground down again.
But in the next instant, the ornament shattered into glittering shards in his hand.
His hand trembled as the shards crumbled into glass powder, slipping through his fingers. "D-Datura…" His voice faltered as the unimaginable happened. "He's dead? I–Impossible."
The assistant stared at the remains, recognizing the item. His boss carried it everywhere; Boar's obsession with Chameleon was nothing new to him or anyone else who worked under him. Sweat dampened his back as he stepped away, already anticipating what might come next.
Iron-tier aura erupted from Boar's body, almost suffocating the man. He heaved ragged breaths as he attempted to gulp the air. If he hadn't been an initial-phase iron-tier himself, the assistant would have collapsed on the spot. The floor cracked beneath them, the ceiling trembled, and plaster rained down as a few janitorial staff fled in panic.
"Sable, you bastard… what the hell did you do to Datura?" Boar's face twisted into something devilish as he clenched the powder so tightly that shards cut into his palm, blood dripping between his fingers.
He dug his phone from his pocket with a swift motion and dialed a number. It rang for a while before being picked up.
"There better be a good reason for you to be contacting me," Sable's frigid voice leaked from the other end.
"Heh? I should have a good reason? Don't I have the right to question you, you son of a bitch? You told me you'd return Datura to me once your mission for him was done. So why is Datura dead? Explain it to me, bastard! I'll rip your throat out when I get my hands on you!" Boar roared into the phone, gripping it so hard he nearly cracked it.
The other end went silent for a moment. "…Dead? Chameleon's dead?" Sable's voice wavered—not with grief, but with shock. "How is this possible? We made so many contingencies… so many preparations." Boar heard him whisper.
"What the hell did you get Datura involved in?" Boar snarled.
"I can't stay," Sable said flatly before hanging up.
Boar stood motionless, listening to the dead tone. His aura surged again, more violent than before, a storm tearing through the hall. His assistant trembled as janitorial staff collapsed, pools of blood streaming from their orifices, their lives snuffed out by the air-shattering pressure. The assistant stepped back, desperate to stay out of range. Overhead, light bulbs burst one by one, plunging the corridor into the dark, save for the faint moonlight seeping through the windows.
'Why did Chameleon, of all people, have to die?' his assistant thought, wiping his damp forehead with a handkerchief. The coming days—no, weeks—would be hell for everyone under Boar's command. Even his own neck wouldn't be safe if he wasn't careful.
The edges of Boar's phone dented under his grip before he hurled it through a nearby window. It exploded into shards that scattered into the night. The last of the janitors fled down the stairwell, stumbling and shoving each other as they fought to leave first.
"Sable…" Boar seethed, his voice low and venomous. "When I get my hands on you, I'll watch you die with my own eyes. No excuse will save you. What's mine will always be mine. Who gave you the right to destroy my things?"
He stood at the shattered window, glaring at the moon, blood dripping from his clenched hand as his eyes flickered black.
—--
High above a stretch of water, Sable piloted a helicopter, lost in thought. He pulled out his specialized flight phone and dialed Chameleon's number. The line rang a few times before defaulting to the out-of-service recording. His eyes narrowed. He tried again, only for the same result. His jaw tightened. Perhaps Chameleon really was dead. Boar wouldn't lie about something tied to Chameleon's life.
'Chameleon… just what the hell happened?' Sable thought. He often threatened him to ensure missions were done well, but he knew Chameleon's caution and skill. He was one of the best they had who hadn't yet awakened. In truth, if Boar wasn't always cutting his resources, Chameleon would have long since had the chance to awaken. But Boar never allowed his prey to grow strong enough to escape his grasp.
A storm brewed in Sable's eyes as he steered the copter toward the rendezvous point he had originally planned to meet Chameleon.
"Seems even after all our preparations, we still underestimated the kid," Sable muttered under his breath.
A glimmer of energy lit his eyes. "I'll have to handle this myself. No matter how lucky he is, I refuse to believe he'll stand a chance against an awakened being… Just perfect. I wanted to feel his heart beating in my hand before I crushed it, anyway. I'll bury you with my son's remains as atonement, so Theodore can finally rest in peace."
---
On a massive ship, seven men and women battled monstrous sea creatures—giant octopi whose writhing tentacles reached for the crew, only to be severed mid-strike. The ocean heaved in violent waves as slain beasts crashed back into the water, yet the awakeners stood firm, energy coursing through their bodies as they fought.
Two men stood out from the rest, carving through the creatures with ease. One, with black hair, black eyes, and olive skin, grinned with reckless excitement as he fought. The other, equally as handsome with sand-colored hair, pale skin, and brown eyes, moved with cold precision, his face unreadable. Together, they were the picture of power and grace.
The black-haired man leapt toward the final monster—an enormous, energy-wreathed octopus.
"D-damn h-human… H-how d-dare you," it croaked in broken speech.
The man smirked. "So you can talk? Learned that from the fishermen before you ate them? Ambitious fellow. Too bad you ate people, otherwise maybe you could have lived," With a bronze-glowing blade, he plunged into its skull. The beast shrieked, thrashing as tentacles lashed out. He swatted them aside and called over his shoulder:
"Nols, take the bottom half! I'll handle the top!"
The other man's brow furrowed. "Captain Randall, it's Vice Captain Nolan on duty. Stop with the nicknames." His irritation was plain even as he sliced through the flailing limbs with clinical speed.
Randall only laughed. "You're too strict, Nols! This isn't an office job. Who cares about titles when we're gutting awakened beasts?"
"Because we lead by example," Nolan replied coolly, severing the last tentacle.
Randall chuckled, wiping blood from his blade. "What's the fun of being captain if I can't mess around a little? You're no fun."
The octopus died feeling wronged. He had clawed his way to awakening, only to be slaughtered after just a few months by two men who treated the fight like banter between colleagues. His reign as king of the ocean ended not in a climactic battle, but during a bickering session between two men about appropriation of nicknames—his achievements becoming nothing but background noise to their squabble.
"Finally, the leader's down," sighed a large Black man with caramel eyes as he collapsed onto the deck. Sweat drenched his shirt, which he promptly peeled off. "Maybe I'll actually get a full night's rest."
"On the floor?" scoffed a brown-skinned man with sunglasses and an anchor tattoo on his neck. He gave him a light kick as he lit his cigar. "At least use a bed, Paul."
"I can sleep anywhere," Paul muttered, shutting his eyes—then wrinkled his nose as smoke drifted over him. "Dave! At least have the decency to not light your cigar right above my face!"
Dave responded by blowing a perfect smoke ring at him.
Nearby, a girl with reddish-brown hair and side buns drooled openly while dragging massive tentacles across the deck. "So much meat… I can make so many dishes with this!"
Her blonde teammate with glasses and a tight ponytail gave her a look of disgust. "Mira, you'll make yourself sick. At least donate some to the nearby villages."
"Not sharing. Not even with you, Tina ," Mira said, already lost in recipe calculations. Tina could only sigh in helplessness.
Another crewmate, a baby-faced young man with round spectacles, eagerly gathered tissue samples into tubes. "These will be incredible for research… shame I couldn't take one alive."
"Collin." Nolan's voice cut across the deck. "Rest tonight. No more all-nighters reading or doing research. Don't test me."
"Yeah, yeah," Collin muttered, already distracted by his dissection. Nolan pinched his nose bridge. Tomorrow, if Collin woke up late again, he'd make him do weighted push-ups until dawn the next day.
Randall finished cleaning his blade and walked over to Nolan. "More mutated octopus than we expected… at least only one awakened. The others were probably its spawn or clones. Still, I'm ready for a break once we turn this mission in."
"Agreed," Nolan said as he cleaned his own blade with meticulous strokes.
Randall's grin faded. "But the number of awakened beasts keeps rising. Too many strange abilities popping up lately…"
Nolan raised a brow. "That concern is above our pay grade."
"Maybe, but only for now," Captain Randall shrugged. "Anyway, you should check on your siblings soon. Your parents are still missing, right? I'll handle the follow-up, so don't you dare refuse. Sounds like your brother's been facing some dangers, recently … so, those kids could use some adult protection. Saving the world can wait. Save your family first, okay?"
Nolan's gaze lingered on the waves. Images of Elias and Eve filled his mind. "Thanks… Randall. I'll take you up on that."
"No problem, Nols," Randall said with a bright smile, placing his arm around his shoulders. "I've got your back."