Under the cover of night, Twisted Fate's little boat bobbed up and down with the waves.
From the depths of the sea, an enormous creature breached the surface, a monstrous Jaull-fish. In its deep, malevolent eyes, the reflections of everyone on the boat were clearly visible.
Its gaping maw, filled with jagged, sword-like fangs, opened wide. From the deck, Duke could just make out what looked like… a door? A window? As if an entire captain's cabin had been jammed directly into the creature's stomach.
And from that maw emerged a figure, stepping carefully between the rows of teeth, eyes flickering with a murderous gleam.
"The captain told me to kill the fish.
The fish told me to kill the captain.
Fair enough.
Time to settle the score…"
The raspy, guttural voice echoed across the fishing boat, sending a chill through everyone present.
Duke's expression darkened the moment he saw the figure inside the Jaull-fish.
"Shit… it's him."
The figure stepped fully onto the deck, and now they all saw him clearly.
Hunched yet towering, the man had ghost-pale skin and a gleaming bald head. In his right hand, he gripped a jagged, half-meter-long dagger made from fishbone, serrated, menacing. A blood-red triangular scarf masked the lower half of his face, leaving only his cold, dead eyes exposed, eyes burning with pure bloodlust.
His tattered clothing, tangled with rotting seaweed, dripped water as he advanced slowly.
The moment Duke heard him speak, he already knew who this was.
There was no doubt, this was the Bloodharbor Ripper himself.
Pyke.
"The Bloodharbor Ripper from the bounty board… wasn't he just some horror story to scare kids?" Graves yelped, drawing Pyke's gaze.
Duke nearly choked on air, he wanted to punch Graves straight off the boat.
Because when Pyke kills, he always asks for a name. It's part of his process, just like how he used to butcher giant sea beasts, step by step, methodically.
And once you give your name?
There's only one outcome.
Death.
Whoever speaks first becomes Pyke's first target.
And Graves… had just painted a massive bullseye on his own back.
"Boss, I think we're seriously screwed," Graves muttered, gripping his shotgun tight.
Pyke stood motionless on the deck, then slowly pulled out a piece of waterlogged parchment.
Unfolding the soaked parchment revealed a chilling sight, name after name, slashed through with red ink, each one bisected cleanly. The sight alone was enough to make one's blood run cold.
With dagger in one hand, Pyke traced a finger down the list. His icy gaze swept across the group.
Graves was breaking into a cold sweat. Twisted Fate looked even worse, backed into a dead end by Duke, and now Pyke had joined the party.
"Why has Lady Luck abandoned me...?" Twisted Fate muttered.
The only one unfazed was Fizz, clutching his Sea-Stone Trident. As one of Bilgewater's legendary terrors himself, Fizz didn't fear Pyke. In fact, the little fish even looked a little excited — like he wanted to make a new friend.
Yep. That's just how big this kid's heart was.
Inside the cabin, Neeko peeked out, but Duke stepped forward and blocked her view with his body.
This whole situation had spiraled completely out of his expectations.
He'd just planned to intercept Twisted Fate, subdue him, and drag him back. Simple.
But now that Pyke had arrived... things had gotten way more complicated.
Pyke flipped the parchment over, the other side still had blank space, with new names listed.
"Which one of you… is the captain?"
The moment Pyke's ghastly voice rang out, Graves stepped forward and shouted:
"Pyke! Leave now!"
"This isn't the Terror! There's no record of it docking in Bilgewater, you're on the wrong damn boat!"
Graves' finger tightened around the trigger, ready to fire at any moment.
Pyke's eyes, which had been hesitant, suddenly sharpened into clarity.
"You… recognize me?"
A low, gravelly chuckle spilled from his throat.
Then, a whisper, dark and resentful:
"I remember now."
He looked down at one name on the parchment and muttered:
"People forget buried pasts.
But the sea never forgets."
The long scroll was filled with names, scattered without any clear order. Duke, with Edith's enhancements, could see them clearly.
He spotted it immediately:
Malcolm Graves.
Pyke's finger tapped the very last name on the list.
"There you are."
"You can't run anymore."
Pyke rolled up the parchment and began walking forward, slow and deliberate. His eyes shimmered with memory and rage.
"Now I remember. You cut my lifeline. Watched me get swallowed by the Jaull-fish.
There was time, and there were men, but none of you moved.
You just stood there. Watched me die."
His voice quivered with fury. The veins on the back of his hand bulged as he tightened his grip on the fishbone dagger.
He raised his arm. The jagged blade dripped seawater.
"You bastard… Don't think I'm some pushover!" Graves shouted.
He racked his shotgun and fired a smoke bomb.
BOOM!
The explosion blanketed the deck in a thick fog.
"Eat this, Pyke!"
Another shot rang out, a beam of pure Hextech energy tore through the smoke and blasted a gaping hole through Pyke's chest.
But he kept walking. Like nothing had happened.
Swoosh!
His right hand flicked. The fishbone dagger, attached to a tether, launched through the air.
Duke acted fast, kicking Graves back into the cabin just in time. The dagger pierced the air where Graves had stood.
The tether snapped taut, then yanked the dagger back into Pyke's hand.
"Sailor… you want to stop me?"
Pyke looked at Duke and spoke calmly.
Duke didn't respond. He could tell — Pyke wasn't just out for revenge. He was now a slaughterer lost in darkness.
Everyone even slightly connected to the Butcher's Wharf trade — even if they hadn't directly taken part, even if they had only spent the money, ended up on Pyke's list.
The man had become a ghost. He could slip between mist and flesh at will. That massive hole from Graves' shot? Already healed.
He could break apart into salt and water, reform as a phantom — the true form of his W ability.
And in reality, it was far more terrifying than in any game.
Among the four legendary terrors of Bilgewater, Pyke was by far the most dangerous.
Nautilus? Just pay your tithe, and you're safe.
Fizz? Play a few pranks, he gets bored, and leaves.
Tahm Kench? Targets the greedy — but he chooses his prey.
Pyke, on the other hand?
If you're on his list — you die.
No exceptions.
And conventional attacks? Useless.
But that didn't mean he had no weaknesses.
Duke was already formulating a plan.
"Hey... future boss," Twisted Fate adjusted his hat nervously. "You got a plan for this guy?"
"You're not hired yet. Don't call me that."
"Well, I'm seriously considering applying now!"
Twisted Fate forced a smile, though his face was pale. He already had a hunch about why Pyke showed up.
Duke gave him a side glance.
"Wait... Graves ended up on the list because of you, didn't he?"
"Hahaha… How could that be?" Twisted Fate laughed awkwardly, eyes avoiding Duke's.
"So it was you."
Duke finally understood. These two weren't just chaotic partners — they'd evolved into full-blown enemies with benefits.
"Let's keep this between us, yeah?" Twisted Fate made a zipping motion across his lips.
"In return, I'll work for you for a while."
"Hope you don't regret that."
In that instant, Duke finalized his plan to take down Pyke.
The man was here for Graves.
He wouldn't leave until the debt was "paid."
And to Pyke, there were only two types of people:
The named. And the dead.
Pyke hadn't landed a blow, and he was growing agitated.
"This isn't over…"
"Debts must be paid.
Vengeance has a name!"
"Graves — into the sea!"
"This boat — turn around!"
"Or..."
His gaze swept over Duke, Twisted Fate, and even glanced at the cabin.
"You all die."
"No room for negotiation?" Twisted Fate still kept his cool in this nightmare. "Maybe... come back another day?"
"No delays. Debts paid today."
"Graves — the sea is waiting.
I've saved you a spot at the bottom."
Suddenly, Pyke glided forward — as if riding invisible wheels.
Where he had stood moments ago, a ghostly afterimage lingered in the mist.
Skill E: Phantom Undertow.
He charged straight toward the cabin.
But standing in his way now was a figure — Duke, guns drawn, one ebony, one ivory, aimed square at Pyke's chest.
"Sorry.
You're not getting through."
End of chapter...
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