"You Bastards!!!!!!!!!"
The bell-like chime from behind had barely faded when an earth-shattering roar exploded forth—one so thick and guttural it could never belong to a woman in her early twenties.
"I get it! Being trapped on a ship adrift in the vast ocean, dying unjustly—fine! But what the hell are you now?! You're worse than the water corpses who threw themselves into the sea—you're just filthy maggots!!!!"
"Shut your filthy mouth!!!!"
KRAAANG! It was thunder from a clear sky.
A massive whale—something unheard of in Korea's southern seas—burst from the waves out of nowhere, skimming past the ghost ship and kicking up a colossal spray. The shockwave rocked the enormous vessel, nearly capsizing it.
The water corpses clinging to its hull like barnacles screamed as they peeled away. In their places remained only sticky flesh scraps and bone shards, grotesquely adorning the ship's body.
"The living have their fates, the dead have theirs—yet you dare wreak havoc in this sacred sea and defy heaven's will?! Did you think you'd get away with sins that heavy?!?!"
Earthworm. Did that word prick the pride of the Dragon God the Mad Woman served?
With a single sweep of his hand, the sea mist enveloping us receded, and the icy ocean began bubbling like a boiling cauldron.
The water corpses, accustomed to the cold, let out silent screams, scrambling to flee the oil-like scalding sea. Those lurking beneath, waiting for their chance, missed it and boiled alive. From their cooked husks, souls began slipping free one by one, sensing the unnatural warmth.
Hundreds, thousands—maybe tens of thousands—of souls, forcibly released by the karmic flames heating even the frigid depths, scattered to the heavens, their grudges purged against their will.
True to his title as Dragon God, he freed a massive horde of souls piled up in the ocean's abyss—not even his home turf, the Han River—just because they pissed him off.
"Boss! Yonghwa Seonnyeo's bleeding from all seven orifices...!"
"Let her enjoy it."
Blood streamed from the Dragon God's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, yet he glared at the ghost ship with eyes white as a winter glacier.
No more water corpses lingered nearby. Even the evil ghosts prowling like hyenas on the savanna, hiding among them to snatch more life force and souls, couldn't escape the Dragon God's wrathful natural disaster.
But with the water corpses propping it up gone, the ghost ship stubbornly held its form amid the churning waves.
The captain—his body so mangled you couldn't guess his nationality—shambled to the bow, chewing noisily on some shellfish.
Like the Dragon God before him, he raised one hand, clenching as if grasping something invisible.
Just like that, the explosive boiling sea went deathly still, the face-searing heat vanishing as if it had never been.
"Enough."
I raised my hand before the Mad Woman's body could hemorrhage from all seven orifices.
We had the perfect setup going, and these goddamn sons of bitches had to ruin it.
"Your sins are deep and vile, so I'll name just three of them."
First.
"You're all ugly as sin. The Lord Jesus Father molded you from clay in His own perfect, beautiful image—yet you've spat in the face of His effort and aesthetic sense. Blasphemy."
Second.
"You ought to believe only in the Lord Jesus, Creator of heaven and earth, and praise Him alone—instead, you worship false idols, spread twisted teachings. What makes you any different from a cult? Sacrilege."
Third.
"And finally, I tell you this: You've turned this woman's boiling sea—a natural hotpot brimming with plump seafood—into worthless foam. Heaven weeps, earth trembles at this tragedy. Can't you feel my rage at not salvaging even one dol-dom fish? You fucking bastards."
I beckoned S-man from behind.
He promptly placed in my hand a premium fishing rod of special alloy and Kevlar—springy yet tough as a steel bar.
"S-man, oh S-man. Do you truly believe in me?"
"I do."
"Then stand with me on the water."
I stood tall on the waves, rod in hand. Without hesitation, S-man leaped from the bow.
His body began sinking slowly, but he clawed his way back up, refusing defeat. At last, he stood beside me—two humans treading solid ground on the sea.
"Boss, you still don't know the true joy of ocean fishing. Guess I'll have to teach you a thing or two."
"You're right."
S-man grinned, hefting a harpoon gun meant for sharks or whales. We charged straight for the ghost ship.
"If Peter was a fisher of men, I'll be a fisher of sinners!"
"Go first! I'll follow right behind!"
"Heave-ho!"
S-man dropped to one knee. I stepped on it, then his shoulder, launching onto the rust-eaten deck of the ghost ship.
I yanked off my fishing glove and hurled it at the captain. It smacked his bony chest and flopped off.
"Duel! Draw your sword! Beat me, heaven awaits. Lose, heaven still awaits!"
"I can. Fuck off!"
I'd told him to draw, but not to wait for it. Using the rod's long reach, I whipped his sodden body smack-smack-smack.
The ghost ship's crew, prowling nearby, finally erupted in beastly howls, charging with swords and iron pokers.
No tetanus shot since childhood—the effect had probably worn off. Blades that'd infect you on a graze reminded me of Korea's medical insurance perks.
"Confiscate those tetanus-debuff weapons!"
Shhhrrrrrak!
Never fished before, but I knew the drill: fling the rod back cool-like, thrust forward hard, and the float flies.
The hook snagged their weapons perfectly. I reeled in fast, confiscating the lot.
Kiiiiik-kik-kik! As the reel spun, the hooked gear dragged in—felt just like landing a monster catch.
"Argh? Words starting with 'E'?! Escalator! Everest! Eminem!"
S-man bellowed it as thunk!—a thick, pointed harpoon blasted through a ghost crewman's body.
He used the impaled corpse—skewered into the deck railing—as footing, reeling in the wire to climb hand over hand.
"And your Eminem."
S-man yanked the harpoon free clean, hurling the body into the sea's midst with a mutter. That broke their patience.
The captain's phlegm-choked bellow opened the cargo hold. A swarm of vengeful spirits from countless victims poured out like ants.
They'd all been avid anglers once. Some fleeing the wife's nagging, others salvaging family pride after botching a big catch, still others forced into weekend golf-fishing with the boss.
Here for different reasons, they now opposed us with sashimi knives and iron landing nets.
"Too many enemies."
"My harpoon can skewer max three at a time."
"Then what we need is a fusion."
"Fusion?"
"Father, Son, Holy Ghost—one Trinity. Boss and employee together? A mere fusion's nothing."
"Mount up!"
I hopped on piggyback, S-man's shoulders.
"I have the high ground. Give up and believe in Jesus."
Poor, pitiful sinners.
Time for our office catchphrase?
"Jesus Heaven!"
"Nonbelievers Hell!"
Man-horse as one, S-man and I smashed headlong into the ant-swarm of fools.