A blood-soaked figure tore through the jungle, thorns and sharp rock flensing his skin and bare feet. Bloody prints tracked his flight, but he never looked down.
Run…
Run faster…
Fisher Tiger… you have to get out of here!
The desperate roar in his chest drove him on. Teeth clenched so hard they might crack, eyes red and spilling muddy tears, he ran.
Behind him, savage laughter, screams, curses, the wet sound of blades through flesh, and the thud of falling bodies blurred into a single, distant howl.
He didn't dare look back. Eyes squeezed shut, he plunged blindly through the undergrowth like a trapped fly, wringing the last drops from his strength.
Those gaunt, lifeless faces… those bitter, defiant smiles…
Their voices echoed in his skull until thought melted.
They… they gave me their last shred of hope to live!
Fisher Tiger clenched his fists until nails bit his palms and drew blood. His jaws ground like millstones.
If… if only I'd been stronger…
"Damn it!!"
He ran harder, as if he could outpace the sounds behind him, leave it all far, far away.
---
Two minutes later, before a resplendent golden palace at the jungle's heart, corpses lay strewn over blood-soaked ground, spiked on swords and spears. The air reeked of metal.
"Damn it!" Saint Feipuluosi snarled, his pocked face twisted with rage and a smear of snot hanging from his nose. "Trash! You couldn't even train them properly!"
"My perfect play!" he shrieked. "That damned Fish-Man ruined it! A slave should follow my script!"
He laid into a cowering slaver with an iron whip, again and again—crack, crack, crack—until the back beneath him turned raw and stopped twitching. Then he tossed the whip aside, drew a pistol, pressed it to the corpse's head, and fired.
Bang!
The skull burst like a melon, red and white spattering the palace stones—and the inside of the noble's glass bubble—deepening the madness in his eyes.
"Seal the island! Find that Fish-Man!" Saint Feipuluosi roared, face dark with fury. "Drag that filthy creature back here! Fail, and you die!"
Terror jolted the courtyard.
"Yes, Saint Feipuluosi!" the guards and two CP0 agents snapped, vanishing at once.
The Celestial Dragon looked over the field again—and froze. Every corpse wore a wide, gleeful grin, as if mocking him and his art.
"That wretch…" he hissed. "I'll tear you apart!"
He threw his head back and howled, then staggered among the bodies, gun in hand, steps unsteady as he sank deeper into mania.
---
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bullets chewed the earth beside Fisher Tiger, spraying dirt and stone. A cold shudder ran his spine; his pupils shrank.
They're closing!
"Stop running, slave!"
"You can't escape!"
"You offend Saint Feipuluosi and think you'll live?!"
…!
The torrent of curses spurred him to grit his teeth and push harder.
Cold sweat salted his brow as his heart sank. Every step grew heavier; each breath was a knife. His lungs burned.
Fish-Men had power ten times a human's—but on land that meant little.
Worse, six months of chains, starvation, and the lash had bled him down. He could barely sustain a sprint—like most slaves, his body was ruined.
Feeling them close, Fisher Tiger stopped short, spat blood, turned, and slammed out his palm.
"Fish-Man Karate: Thousand Water Strikes!"
Ssshhh!
Under Fish-Man Jujutsu, the blood burst into a squall of needle-fine rain that riddled the vanguard where they stood.
The rest faltered, eyes wide. How could this battered Fish-Man still hit so hard?
He stamped and launched forward, a red streak slipping through the green. Blood seeped from crosshatched wounds in streams now.
At this rate, he would bleed out.
But—
Closer!
His eyes burned hotter than ever.
His only hope lay ahead.
The jungle broke onto a beach—
Beyond it—
The sea.
Run.
Run.
Run with everything left.
He knew why they had laid their last hope on him.
Because he was a Fish-Man.
On a dead island ringed by ocean, only a Fish-Man could escape without a ship.
If he could just reach the sea…
Blood trailed from his nose and lips as he clenched a fist.
I'll be free.
Not even the World Government's ships could catch him then.
Huff… huff… huff…
His steps dragged; his breath tore.
The world tilted and swam.
Trees and brush streaked past.
A pale strip of light at the jungle's edge called to him like a beacon, painting his blood-smeared face.
A real smile bloomed, unbidden.
Ten meters…
Five…
Three…
One…
He surged—
The world opened.
Sunlight blazed; a cool wind off the water kissed him. He felt the sea's embrace, tasted freedom.
He laughed.
Everything snapped into sharp relief.
His smile froze.
Two ghost-white figures stood ahead, grotesque masks hiding their faces, as if they had condensed from air.
The sea, so near, slid away to a dream.
"You can't escape," one rasped.
Ice water poured over him. The light in his eyes guttered.
He dropped to his knees. His gaze went flat.
So… this is it? I won't make it after all?
He stared at his blood-wet hands. His eyes hollowed.
"No, he can."
A cold, deep voice cut the air.
"Huh?"
The two CP0 agents froze, their stance shifting.
Before they could move, two razor-bright lances of cold light knifed from the sea, carving a narrow furrow through the water for hundreds of meters and punching through both men.
Shhh!
Blood misted; masked heads spun skyward.
Fisher Tiger's thoughts went blank.
He stared at the headless bodies crumpling and couldn't fit the pieces together.
A tall, lean figure stepped out before him.
Stiffly, Fisher Tiger raised his head.
Bathed in warm sunlight stood a strikingly handsome young man with dark hair and a faint, dangerous charm. Hands tucked in his pockets, he smiled down at Fisher Tiger. A broad, pristine white coat billowed behind him like a banner.
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tiger," the young man said with a smile. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
To be continued...