Shadow Dragon: The Fallen Angel Is My Teacher

I sang again.

The sound carried over the river, but nothing happened.

"…Even if your voice changes, the tone you use stays the same," Yuna said carefully.

She looked nervous, as if she thought I'd take it the wrong way. "Maybe we should try something else?"

I understood what she meant.

She wasn't saying I sang badly, just that the Cursed Spirit had a different sense of beauty.

"It's fine. I have a plan," I said, turning toward Dante. "Dante, sing for a bit."

The hulking Cursed Spirit nodded slowly and stepped forward.

Then, he opened his mouth behind the cloth covering his face.

The sound that came out wasn't singing.

It was a mess of low, distorted hums and whispering echoes that felt like thousands of animals shouting at once, the sound of explosion of a star, and the whispers of night.

The sound scratched at my ears and made my head feel heavy.

The air grew cold.

The water began to ripple.

A few seconds later, something rose from the center of the river.

A woman sat on a small patch of land in the middle of the water, brushing her long hair with a bone comb.

Her skin was pale, her eyes bright, and her lips curved into a gentle smile.

She laughed softly and beckoned us with her finger.

She was beautiful, quite so.

This was the Cursed Spirit's nature. It appeared as the ideal woman one imagined.

"…Lord of Shadows, correct me if I'm wrong, but the siren looks like… Seris' mother—"

"Don't focus on small details," I interrupted quickly and stepped into the water. "Dante, follow me. From here on, until we reach the Bermuda Triangle's domain, don't do anything."

Dante nodded and followed.

The cold water rose to my waist, then to my chest.

The siren's form started to distort.

Her smile widened unnaturally, splitting across her face until it almost reached her ears.

Rows of sharp, shark-like teeth filled her mouth.

Her eyes disappeared, replaced by ears that stretched and twisted, sprouting human teeth inside.

Her beauty melted away, replaced by something monstrous.

She lunged forward.

The river erupted, waves crashing around us.

Her long hair moved like snakes, wrapping around our necks.

She pulled us down, deeper and deeper into the dark water.

Her strength was immense, but I stayed calm.

The Adrenal Silence perk of my Assassin Class dulled my instinctual panic and slowed my heartbeat.

The water around us turned black.

My lungs began to burn.

We sank deeper than the river should go.

And then, just as I expected, the world shifted.

The pressure vanished, replaced by the smell of wet wood and moss.

My feet touched a floorboard.

It was slippery and old.

I looked around.

Dante stood beside me, his clothes already dry.

We were standing on what looked like a ship, but also a town.

Wooden masts rose around us, mixed with buildings made from shipwreck parts.

Cargo boxes were stacked nearby.

Everything was damp.

A large blue flame floated above, lighting the area.

White mist rolled in from the edges, hiding whatever lay beyond a certain radius of us.

Even the sky—or the barrier above—was covered in fog.

In front of me stood a man.

His body was fused with sea moss, coral, and fish parts.

His skin was rough and greenish, and his eyes bulged slightly, glowing dimly like deep-sea lights.

Pieces of shell and seaweed hung from his arms.

He looked like a Cursed Spirit now, but he must have been a human once.

His sanity was gone, completely consumed by this place.

He had been contaminated completely, and turned into a Cursed Spirit.

Still, he was one of the lucky ones.

This was one of the "better" endings for anyone stayed too long here, or chose a wrong choice.

He tilted his head, seaweed hanging from the side of his face, and spoke in a rough, slurred voice that sounded like an old pirate.

"A-aye, mate… ye be a passenger… or a worker?"

I glanced around.

The place looked like a ship mixed with a town because of the wooden decks, masts, and houses made from shipwreck parts.

But I knew better.

This wasn't really a town or a simple ship.

It was part of something far bigger.

The City Below the Sea, also known as Nautilos, the moving city.

Despite being quite large, this ship-cum-city was just one small part of the Bermuda Triangle's domain.

The entire domain was massive.

It had whole societies living inside it.

The domains of the Rank 5 Cursed Spirits weren't just spaces; they were entire worlds.

People lived and died here.

Some were even born here, never knowing there was an outside world.

And everyone who entered the domain for the first time—no matter who they were or when they came—always appeared here, on Nautilos.

Even if someone born here left the domain and later returned, the domain would treat it as their "first time", bringing them back to this same ship.

"M-Mate? Are ye a passenger… or a worker?" the crewmate repeated, scratching the side of his barnacle-covered face.

I already knew the answer to that question, but I asked anyway, "Can you tell me what's the difference between them?"

It was always better to confirm what you knew inside a domain like this.

Memories could be twisted or corrupted.

Field confirmation was safer.

The crewmate nodded, his lips splitting into a strange grin.

"Aye, aye. A worker's one o' them who stays aboard, ye see. They help with the routines, the cleanin', the loadin' o' cargo. Easy work, easy life."

He leaned closer, his breath smelling like seawater and rot.

"They get paid after every voyage, too.

"Honest pay for honest toil, har-har.

"I'd recommend ye take it.

"Even the passengers end up workin' later. Earning a bit o' Tide Coins—or whatever ye got—is always good."

He chuckled again, his tone almost cheerful.

"And there be good places to spend yer earnings here, mate. Very good places."

His grin stretched wider, and bits of moss fell from his cheek.

I kept my voice calm. "And passengers? What do they do?"

"They pay their fares," he said, the tone dropping low.

"What's the fare?"

He looked at me with both eyes open wide, as if surprised by my ignorance.

"Wh-why, o' course, it's yer memories."

I nodded slightly.

That confirmed it.

The domain worked by taking pieces of your identity in exchange for travel.

The more you rode the voyages, the more memories you lost.

Some people forgot who they were before they ever reached their destination.

Of course, it didn't mean being a worker instead of passenger would save you.

I glanced at him again. "And you, mate… are you a worker too?"

He puffed his chest, or what was left of it.

His ribs creaked like wood under strain.

"O-of course, I am," he said proudly, slapping his chest with a wet thud. "I'm a proud crewman o' the Sir Navigator XVI, the great Captain o' Nautilos! Hehe…"

He grinned again, showing broken, uneven teeth covered in green moss.

His smile was meant to be friendly, but it looked more like a grimace.