29 Fish Versus Shaman

"Tch! This place is nasty." A Shaman spat out in disgust as he emerged from the sludge flowing through a quarter of the pipe's height. The volume of the waste wasn't high at this time of the day, so there was enough room within the pipe to walk.

Of course, they had to trudge through the sludge that almost reached their hips. Exhaling softly, he grunted, taking out a fishing rod as its string coiled into yarn and lit up with a fluorescent light, brightening up the interior of the pipe.

Once there was sufficient light, he was able to notice the faces of the other two Shamans, calling out excitedly, "Canl, Menl, it's you two. Thank goodness."

"Royl?" The Shaman addressed as Canl remarked in surprise, "I was wondering which Shaman dared to head deep into the river. If it's you, it makes sense."

The three were familiar with each other, having served the same Devil long ago. Unless it was for a mission, Shamans were prohibited from meeting each other in the city. Hence, even if they were comrades previously, it was hard for them to encounter each other in the city.

"At least, it's the three of us. We don't have to worry about any friction while completing the mission." Menl spoke.

Royl had a rough complexion and a severely tanned skin tone, evidenced by prolonged exposure to the sun. He sported cut marks on his hands, most of which seemed to have come from fish bites. It was pretty common among fishermen, so in a crowd, he would blend in with everyone.

His physique wasn't anything special while his hair was black at the roots and lost tone to become grey towards the ends, a pretty common hair trait. He seemed no different than your average joe. But he was a Merit Shaman.

Royl was 42 years old, the oldest among the three, followed by Canl at 38 and Menl who was just 34. Canl was weirdly thin, as if suffering from a disease while Menl had a rotund figure, not to mention a pot belly that held him back from most physical activities.

If anyone were to see these three out in the city, they would never think that they were Shamans. Only those capable of perceiving the Fear in them would know they were Shamans.

"Just where the heck did this brat run off to?" Menl complained in annoyance, feeling a bit tired already.

"It seems to be a last-ditched effort." Canl snorted as he began to walk through the pipe.

The pipe extended horizontally for a few hundred metres before branching out in various directions. Despite probing around with his senses, Canl was unable to detect Iota's presence, causing him to feel irritated.

"Don't underestimate him, even if he is just a normal human." Royl was the most experienced among the trio and hence took the role of a leader. "Lord Keyn wouldn't have any reason to announce a hitlist otherwise…"

He was just speaking when suddenly, his body began to tremble violently. He frothed at the mouth and collapsed into the sludge, thrashing about wildly.

"What happened?" Canl shouted in alarm as he unfurled a long string that danced around him in a protective embrace.

Swoosh!

A syringe flew out of the sludge and pierced through the skin on his hand. Canl acted promptly as his string danced and severed the syringe into two. But by then, a tinge of blood had already been injected into his body, causing him to writhe in pain.

The moment this happened, a fish head peeked out of the sludge, opened its mouth at him, and fired three syringes at his forehead. They were all fish blood, instantly causing gills to form on his neck. It forced him to struggle to breathe.

"Royl! Canl! Come to your senses!" Menl shouted as he held a tiny fishing rod and flailed it around, causing the string attached to it to thicken and lash about.

Like a revolver, a dozen syringes had been tied around the large fish's body. When it approached the target, it turned one syringe into a tattoo and then shot it out with force from its mouth.

It repeated the same to shoot syringes at the target. Upon seeing both his comrades down for the count, Menl thickened his string and formed a protective cocoon, managing to protect himself.

A couple dozen metres away from him, peering through the sludge was Iota. A gelatinous membrane protected his eyes while despite being strained, his gills allowed him to breathe even in this condition.

He first escaped deeper into the pipeline and had been biding his time. Once he heard the Shamans shouting, he carefully swam through the sludge. A pair of fins were now growing on his limbs, allowing him to move easier in the sludge.

But, this was only brought about by injecting five syringes worth of fish blood in himself. Iota was already feeling the side effects, observing a tremble in his hands while every time he moved, it seemed like an electric current was flowing through him, shocking him.

If his senses weren't abysmally weak, he wouldn't have been able to endure the pain.

Iota didn't touch Menl as he carefully grabbed the collars of Royl and Canl. Like a crocodile, he slowly pulled them a bit farther away, hiding behind them as he plunged a dozen empty syringes into the necks of each.

The twitching bodies of both subsided as Iota constricted them, choking the gills that had formed on their necks. Injecting fish blood wouldn't have affected them this much. It would only do so if they were not in water.

The reason for their erratic twitching was his blood. It seemed the energy of the syringe—the golden stream—countered Dullip Garobu's Faith, and hence, he was unable to handle it. When even a Spirit was unable to handle it, a Merit Shaman would face even more difficulty.

Iota was right on the money, having incapacitated both the Merit Shamans. Now, he waited patiently while the large fish was buying time by attacking Menl.

The golden stream mixed with their blood, taking two minutes to do so.

Bang!

Menl defended against another syringe shot at him by the fish, getting accustomed to the attack patterns as he lashed out with his string, causing the sludge to spill out, followed by blood.

Upon seeing that he managed to land a successful attack on the large fish, Menl lashed out more vigorously, cleaving the latter into pieces, "Phew…it's finally done."

He turned around, staring at his comrades, "I've taken care of…"

His words came to a halt when suddenly, his comrades pointed their palms at him when immediately, two syringes stabbed into his forehead.