We Lease The Kraken! - A LitRPG Pet Shop System Story.

Jeremiah tracked the timing of Jonny's speed bursts through three more exchanges. The man was crafty, deliberately varying his rhythm to obscure the pattern. But the signs were there. Subtle hesitations, tiny flickers of strain. Jeremiah finally pieced it together: the timing fell into a rhythm: a 1:2 ratio. For every one second of acceleration, two seconds of downtime followed.

He could work with that.

The next time Jonny lunged in with a jab aimed at his ribs, Jeremiah twisted into the strike, letting it glance off him as he staggered back, feigning weakness. Jonny's grin sharpened like a knife. He smelled blood. He stepped in for the follow-up, arm cocked for another punch.

But Jonny had gotten greedy.

Jeremiah pivoted. In one fluid motion, twin tentacled hands lashed out — one clamped around Jonny's wrist, the other catching him just above the elbow. Jeremiah's hips rotated hard, and with a practiced shift of momentum, he hurled Jonny over his shoulder. Jonny's eyes went wide a split second before he sailed through the air. The man crashed into the far wall with a dull, wet thud and crumpled to the floor, coughing and dazed.

Jeremiah stood frozen, breath caught in his throat, eyes wide with disbelief.

Had he really just thrown a grown man across the room like a sack of pillows?

Physical 5 shouldn't be able to do something like that, even if he was skinny… right? Or is stacking skills really that strong? He wondered to himself, dazed. Something to think about later.

Jeremiah snapped back to the moment as Jonny groaned and struggled to his knees. The taunting grin was gone, replaced by a twisted scowl and a smoldering fire in his eyes.

"You bastard," Jonny spat, fury seething in his voice. "You're gonna pay for that."

But Jeremiah wasn't listening.

His eyes were locked on a glint of metal that had slipped from Jonny's coat in the scuffle. A small, silver pocket watch.

There! his mind screamed, heart thundering against his ribs. That's it!

Jeremiah lunged for the fallen watch before he even realized he was moving.

Jonny's eyes widened, his body flickering. Only to reappear a few inches from where he started, teeth gritted in pain. Even then, the other man reached for the dropped watch as well.

Jeremiah's tentacles lashed out, their extra reach giving him the edge. They coiled around the pocket watch just a heartbeat before Jonny's fingers closed. Jeremiah tucked into a roll, momentum carrying him across the floor, and stuffed the watch into his pouch as he slid into a kneeling crouch.

"That's mine, you bloody thief!" Jonny roared, rage thick in his throat.

They both rose. Jeremiah sucked in sharp, ragged breaths, sweat stinging his eyes, while Jonny limped, favoring one leg. A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then—

The pounding of boots against wood shattered it.

The dark-skinned woman burst into the apartment, braids whipping behind her. Jeremiah recognized her instantly from the description. Nic. And she wasn't alone. Three larger men stormed in behind her. Only one was in the body armor the guards wore, but each was twice as big as Jeremiah and looked like they would have had little trouble breaking him in half.

Jeremiah's blood turned to ice. Time was up.

Five against one. And only one way out.

His gaze darted to the window, then snapped back to the advancing group.

"Oh no you don't!" Jonny growled. His body flickered—

And stuttered.

He reappeared barely a foot from where he'd started and dropped to a knee with a raw, pained scream.

Whatever he'd damaged in that throw was screwing with Jonny's power.

Jeremiah didn't let the chance escape him. He bolted for the window, snatching up the hammer he'd flung at the start of the fight as he sprinted past.

"After him, you fools!" Nic bellowed, and the thunder of boots shook the floor behind him.

Jeremiah didn't look back.

He cranked his arm and hurled the hammer with everything his skill-enhanced strength could muster.

It screamed through the air and smashed into the window, instantly shattering it in a spray of glass.

The next heartbeat, Jeremiah hurled himself through the shattered window, arms crossed over his face and neck in the way he'd seen in the movies. Even so, he hissed as jagged glass slashed into his arms and shoulders. But just as he cleared the frame, a single, jarring realization crashed into him—

He was six stories up.

Time stretched thin. Suspended in midair, Jeremiah watched in horror as he sailed past the narrow walkway outside the window. The ground below yawned wide, a dizzying drop that made his stomach lurch. In a frantic scramble, he flung out his morphed hands, tentacles stretching, just barely managing to catch the walkway's railing before gravity could claim him.

The rusty metal shrieked under his weight, bending dangerously with a groan of protest. Then, with a jolt, the railing gave way. Still gripping it tightly, Jeremiah swung beneath the walkway, smashing hard into the building's wall a level below with a breath-punching thud.

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His grip slipped. He fell.

With a bone-jarring impact, Jeremiah landed shoulder-first on the walkway under him.

For a moment, the world spun — then steadied. Dazed and gasping, he pushed himself up just in time to see a heavy boot lowering over the edge above him. Someone was climbing down to finish what had started.

No time.

Jeremiah turned and bolted, every muscle screaming in protest. He pounded down the walkway, breath ragged, limbs aching. He was nearly at the end when another guard rounded the corner, drawn by the commotion. The man froze at the sight of him, eyes going wide.

Jeremiah glanced back. The brute from Jonny's apartment had made it down as well, and was grinning while cracking his knuckles. Another man followed close behind, descending fast.

When Jeremiah turned back, the new guard's face had already hardened. He started advancing, slow and steady.

"Who's this then, Mac?" the guard asked.

"Duh know. We's about to find out though." 'Mac' said with a grin.

Jeremiah's jaw clenched. He glanced over the side of the railing and prayed.

Whether guessing his move or sensing his desperation, both men lunged forward — but they were still too far. Jeremiah's tentacles lashed out, coiling around the railing, and in one smooth motion, he vaulted over the edge.

This time, the metal held. He swung down to the next floor, hitting the walkway hard but on his feet. As soon as he landed, Jeremiah sprinted forward, not even taking the time to look back.

He tore around the corner — then let out a breathless cheer.

The lift!

He surged forward, barreling past startled crew members, and skidded to a stop in front of the liftgate. Behind him, a whistle blared, and shouts erupted from every direction. If there had been any hope he might blend in, it vanished. All eyes turned toward him.

Unfortunately for Jeremiah, the lift was currently at the bottom and was only now starting to make its way up.

A scarred woman near the gate narrowed her eyes, frowning as her hand drifted to the thick, coiled chain on her belt. She stepped toward him with deliberate, hostile intent.

Jeremiah's gaze darted between her, the shouting guards now appearing on higher catwalks, and the lift — creeping upward far too slowly.

This is going to suuuck, he thought.

Gritting his teeth, Jeremiah stepped off the platform's edge.

His tentacled hands shot out mid-fall, wrapping tightly around the thick lift cable. He plummeted several meters in a barely controlled descent, the rough metal biting against his skin. The mana-weave beneath his morphed skin flared hot, doing its best to shield him from shredding his palms to ribbons.

Even so, by the time he managed to halt his slide, his vision swam, and both hands burned like he'd plunged them straight into open flame.

Panting, he hung there for a beat, then continued downward, slower now. The rest of the climb was mercifully easier.

He landed with a metallic thud atop the lift's roof, glanced up once to see guards crowding the levels above him, then vaulted down into the alley below.

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

He turned and vanished into the maze of alleys and broken streets, boots slapping the pavement. The only sound that cut through the chaos behind him was the sound of a single, feral roar.

——————————————————

"RAAAAAAAARGH!"

As Jonny watched the masked intruder vanish into the alleyway, he slammed his fist into the wall beside the shattered window. Then again. And again. By the third hit, blood smeared the cracked surface. On the fourth, a hand caught his wrist in mid-swing.

Nic.

Jonny's glare snapped toward her, teeth bared in a feral snarl.

She held his gaze, unflinching. "Jonny... breathe." Her voice was calm. Her eyes flicked sideways, just once.

Still seething, he followed her glance.

Behind her, several crew members had filtered into the room. Some were quietly picking up furniture or righting what had been knocked over — but most just stood there, gawking at him.

Nosy bastards.

Jonny drew a long breath through his nose, straightened his back, and wiped a streak of blood from his face. Then, forcing the words through clenched teeth, he barked, "Everyone. Get out."

The crew didn't need to be told twice. In moments, the room cleared, leaving only Jonny and Nic. She moved to the door and shut it with a soft click, while Jonny dropped onto the couch with a grunt, wincing as a fresh jolt of pain lanced through his leg. Something in there shifted — cracked or worse.

Nic headed to the kitchen, rifled through a cupboard, and came back with a beat-up first aid kit. She sat beside him, popped it open, and began to sort through the supplies.

Jonny gave her a sidelong look and clicked his tongue. "I'm fine," he muttered, flat and sullen.

"Bullshit," Nic shot back in the same deadpan tone. "Now hold still."

She pulled out a stim pack, snapped off the cap, and drove it into his shoulder. He grunted at the sting, but his whole body sagged in relief as the high-grade meds surged through him. The Gifted-rated cocktail of painkillers, muscle relaxants, and more exotic medication was expensive but effective.

Nic followed up with antiseptic and gauze, dabbing at his cuts with practiced efficiency. Judging by how often she had to swap out blood-soaked pads, the masked bastard had gotten in more lucky hits than Jonny cared to admit.

They sat in silence for a while — Nic quietly tending his wounds, Jonny brooding, replaying every second of the fight.

Then, finally, she asked, "So... any idea who that was?"

Jonny sneered. "Not a bloody clue. Bastard had a mask on the whole time. And I haven't heard of anyone with a morph like that, either. A tentacled freak like that would've drawn attention." He spat a bloody wad onto the carpet.

Nic scowled but said nothing, tugging his face back toward her to treat the jagged gash across his nose.

"Any idea how he even got in?" Jonny asked, his voice still thick with anger.

Nic shook her head. "No, but I've already got people looking into it. I told you we should've bought those scrying runes when we had the chance."

Jonny rolled his eyes. "And I told you that was a scam. No way someone's doing real rune work in a place like this for that cheap. Either they'd have fizzled in a week, or worse — they'd have been feeding us to a recording charm the whole time."

Nic smirked. "Right. Because you're suddenly an expert on rune work."

Jonny grinned. "I know a deal that's too good to be true when I see one."

They fell into a brief, familiar silence, until Nic asked, "Any idea what he took?"

Jonny's shoulders slumped. "Other than my lucky watch?" He gave a weary shake of his head. "Not a clue. I haven't had a chance to look around yet..."

His eyes scanned the wreckage of his apartment. Furniture overturned, collectibles scattered, photos knocked off the walls, but nothing obviously missing.

Then his gaze caught something.

His expression changed in an instant. He stood and bolted toward the far corner of the room, near the bed and dresser, nearly tripping in his rush.

"No. No no no no no!"

He dropped to his knees before an open bottom drawer, frantically shoving aside cash and small trinkets like they were garbage. His hands found the ornate wooden box buried underneath.

Jonny's fingers trembled as he opened the lid. His heart thudded loudly in his ears.

Inside, nestled in velvet, the polished medal lay untouched.

A breath escaped him — shaky, ragged, half a sob. His whole body sagged with relief as he gently closed the box and held it tight to his chest.

He stayed there a long moment, eyes shut, saying nothing.

He didn't even hear Nic approach until her hand settled gently on his shoulder.

Jonny flinched, blinked, then exhaled slowly. Wordlessly, he returned the box to its place, pulled a small key from around his neck, and locked the drawer with a soft click.

With Nic's help, he got back to his feet. Together, they turned toward the broken window.

Jonny's fists clenched. His jaw worked.

"I don't know who that was…" he said, voice low and tight, "…but I'm sure as hell going to find out."