Pirate Ship
“Arrrgh, damn it all!”
A furious roar erupted from a pirate with a parrotfish-like skull, echoing through the temple inside the pirate ship. The interior of the shrine, built from coral and fish bones, was crowded with people lining up before the altar. They had all come to offer sacrifices to the god, but there wasn’t a trace of piety or devotion among the temple’s followers, even if you scoured every corner. Expecting reverence from pirates was laughable to begin with—they didn’t believe in the god for faith’s sake, but purely for profit.
“Hahaha, total bust this time!”
His hair, transformed into anemone tentacles, swayed in response to his rage, and the other pirates burst into laughter at the sight. With a head resembling a parrotfish topped by glowing pinkish anemone tentacles, he looked utterly ridiculous, and the pirates mocked him mercilessly.
“Kuhahaha, head’s all fluttery—are you trying to seduce us?”
“Woo! Lookin’ pretty!”
“Arrrgh! I’ll kill you all!”
The parrotfish-headed pirate swung his left hand, now a crab’s claw, and charged at the onlookers jeering at his failed sacrifice. As he stormed down from the altar, the next pirate in line dragged up a sailor he’d captured alive.
“N-no, please, spare me!”
“No use. You think you can escape from here? Just go quietly—it’ll be easier for you.”
The sailor, bound in seaweed ropes, writhed desperately but couldn’t break free from the burly pirate’s grip. Hoisted high, he was dropped into the altar’s central tank-like basin. Another captive who’d witnessed the fate of the previous one screamed in horror.
“Aaah! Someone, save me, please!”
The pirates watching the spectacle only laughed at the sailor’s desperate cries.
“O Naaru, lord of sea life, behold as your faithful offers this sacrifice—grant us your blessing, we pray.”
With the pirate’s somewhat flippant yet fervent prayer complete, the sailor on the altar melted away like water. It was a gruesome sight, but the pirates, accustomed to it, jeered and shouted.
“Boo, hope you get somethin’ weird!”
“Get some flying fish wings!”
“Herring gills!”
“Eat a stingray dick!”
As the melted sailor drained into the altar’s hole, a small orb of light emerged. The pirate snatched it eagerly, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
“Krrgh!”
The moment the light entered his body, his skin began to writhe. It split open like a molting shell, revealing sharp black shark scales beneath. The pirate let out a cry of ecstasy.
“Kuhahaha, jackpot!”
Staring at the razor-like scales now covering his body, the pirate laughed maniacally. But the waiting pirates behind him shouted in annoyance.
“Get outta here!”
“Kuhuhu, good luck with that!”
“Ah, damn, that bastard snagged the good one—now we’re all gonna get duds?”
“That fucker should’ve gotten herring eyes instead of shark scales!”
Naaru, god of the sea and life, granted the power of sea creatures in exchange for sacrifices. These weren’t limited to mere aquatic animals; they included the might of mana-infused sea monsters. The shark scales this pirate had just received belonged to the infamous blade shark—a monster whose scales were like razor blades, slicing through anything they grazed.
No one knew what blessing Naaru would bestow. Stronger sacrifices tended to yield better rewards, but even then, it was all luck. Some pirates got monstrous powers from worthless offerings, while others sacrificed mighty mercenaries and ended up with junk. Still, the chance to gain power through fortune made pirates capture people without hesitation.
In this crew, three stood at the pinnacle, blessed most abundantly and powerfully by Naaru:
Kadok, bearer of sea serpent muscles and scales.
Sea Witch Ashriel, wielder of kraken mana.
Admiral Ludwig, granted a living ship.
Gathered in the lowest chamber of the pirate ship, these three apex figures plotted their raid on Atillain. They’d lived by smuggling and quiet plundering, but their sudden decision to assault a port city was simple: divine blessings weren’t infinite.
Naaru was generous, rewarding every sacrifice—but humans had limits. Like a stomach that couldn’t hold endless feasts, no matter how bountiful the god’s gifts, the body could only absorb so much.
While underlings clawed their way up with new blessings, the trio grew anxious, unable to receive more. They decided to raise their own limits.
The method was straightforward: accumulate karma to elevate their stature. They didn’t grasp the intricacies of karma and stature, but they knew piling up karma increased one’s limits.
A farmer tilling soil day in, day out had low stature—no will, no novelty, just inertial survival: dig, sow, harvest. Minimal experiences meant scant karma, thus negligible stature.
But a warrior on the battlefield—fighting to survive, rise, avenge, or earn coin—stabbed foes, swung amid dying comrades, growing with every moment. Each instant built karma, elevating stature.
The blacksmith hammering iron daily, enduring sparks and burns to forge better blades through trial and study. The merchant wielding heavier gold than his body weight, earning more. The tailor innovating designs, honing skills for superior cloth. Even the gambler risking all in perilous bets. They accumulated karma, nourishing their souls to grow in stature.
Naaru blessed any who sacrificed, and the trio once saw their rapid growth as an advantage. But now, at their limits while subordinates surged ahead, impatience set in. They could dominate the weak, but equals would threaten their thrones.
Unable to gain more blessings, with underlings rising, Kadok and Ashriel sought ways to boost their stature and expend their crew. The result: the Atillain raid.
“Razing and looting a port city should rack up major karma.”
They didn’t know exact conditions, but combat and great deeds yielded karma. Killing people, slaying monsters, raiding villages—it was obvious.
“Kuhuhu, finally raiding a city!”
Kadok, rippling with sea serpent muscle and scales, twisted his shark-like face in anticipation, fiddling with his massive anchor weapon—a trophy from a great warship, so heavy six sailors strained to lift it. Yet he swung it like a greatsword.
Boarding with anchor in hand made ships rock; crews panicked at the sight. One swing turned sailors to minced meat and vessels to splinters.
To offer wrecks to Naaru, he boarded first, massacred crews, sank the laden ships, then towed them back with his anchor for parts and sacrifices—earning sea serpent might and other oceanic powers.
His anchor pulverized flesh effortlessly, shattered sturdy hulls. The overwhelming destruction, watching things crumble—that was Kadok’s joy. Bored of smashing people and wood, he eagerly anticipated crumbling a lord’s castle.
“Don’t forget, the mage tower’s mine.”
Ashriel, graduate of Atillain’s Deep Sea Lighthouse Mage Tower, scowled at Kadok’s brutishness. She’d turned pirate post-graduation to research favored spells, sacrificing liquefied souls to Naaru for kraken mana.
With vast kraken power surpassing frail humans, she wielded tentacles like limbs without complex casting and corrupted her mystery to manifest phenomena. Yet she craved more: greater mana, knowledge for perfect manifestations, ultimately grand magus status. Needing more sacrifices and tower lore, she targeted her alma mater in Atillain.
Unlike the others voicing desires, Ludwig silently tended his cutlass.
“I’ll take the city, Ashriel gets the tower. What do you want?”
Kadok asked. Ludwig replied quietly.
“As long as I offer the strong to Lord Naaru, I’m content.”
“Tch, boring. All you care about is the god—where’s the fun?”
In downtime, Kadok drank, gambled with women in his arms; Ashriel tormented handsome captives for service amid drug-fueled revels, her quarters a palace of vice. Ludwig? Silent sword drills in the training yard, honing martial arts.
Unlike them sacrificing for pleasure, he offered piously, immersed in training. It irked Kadok and Ashriel, but they couldn’t kill him. Naaru’s chosen paladin, favored beyond mere high priests like them—and simply stronger.
Despite fewer sacrifices, he hoarded blessings. They envied him but rejected his ascetic life.
“I merely fulfill Naaru’s will. My joy is aiding Him alone.”
His deep-sea blue eyes held no desire—only fanatic devotion. Unfathomable to those feigning faith for pleasure and glory. But they ignored it. As long as they professed belief, he’d never strike, a god’s puppet indifferent to power.