Chapter 872: Transformation… Complete

The sea witches—visitors from the deep ocean, emissaries of the unknowable, shadowy abyss—waited patiently in the waters just beyond the island.

Inside the grand, ancient temple, silence reigned. The once bustling priests had mostly vanished, leaving only the last few undergoing transformation, hiding in scattered chambers, awaiting the day of destiny.

In the temple’s innermost room, an elderly man wearing the triple crown of storms stood before a bed adorned with carvings of waves, clouds, and lightning. He gazed down at the figure lying there.

That was the last Storm High Priest besides himself—a powerful, resolute supernatural being.

But now, this once mighty man lay listless, weakening bit by bit in mounting terror. His skin had taken on a visible gray-blue hue, and scales—like those of a sea fish—covered his neck and limbs. In fact, his legs had already “melted” and deformed, merging into a shape somewhere between fish and serpent. He could no longer wear human clothes, only wrapping himself in a thin blanket.

“Your Holiness…” the High Priest’s lips twitched, uttering a low murmur. “You’re still here…”

“I am,” Storm Pope Sol Sthorm bent down, his voice calm and deep. “Can you still hear me?”

“Yes… though it sounds distant,” the High Priest whispered, the scales around his neck rippling as he spoke. “Are we by the sea now?”

Sol shook his head. “Have you forgotten? We’re in the temple at the island’s center—far from the shore.”

“Is that so… I can’t quite remember. I hear the waves, so close, I thought we were at the shore…” The High Priest’s voice grew softer. “And the sea breeze on my face… it feels… comforting.”

The old pope’s expression darkened, his words slowing. “No sea breeze reaches here.”

“Maybe it’s because my time is near…” The High Priest fell silent for a moment, then spoke with a hint of relief. He slowly raised his severely mutated right hand, the slender pale-blue fingers connected by tough webbing. “I can hear their call more clearly now—the call from the sea itself… It’s a gentle voice. I don’t think she means harm.”

Faced with this low murmur, the pope said nothing. A heavy silence settled between them.

After a few seconds, the High Priest broke the quiet. “We’ve clung to this path for too long… maybe it’s time to let go.”

Sol shook his head. “That’s not something you’d normally say.”

“But these aren’t ‘normal’ days,” the High Priest said quietly. “We stubbornly sought answers in the deep sea, but a fallen god can’t give us any… Our original resolve has decayed over these seven hundred years. You, I, and many others—we started out seeking truth, but in the end, ‘seeking truth’ became an excuse for all kinds of fanaticism… What’s happening to us now is the price of that obsession. Obsession breeds even stranger mutations…”

The pope was silent for a moment, then chuckled softly. “They call you ‘the Philosopher,’ so you’re still pondering all this at the end.”

“Thinking is human nature, a gift and an inherent right…” The High Priest’s voice was slow and low. “I only hope… that when I fully become one of ‘them,’ I can still think as I do now, just as I am now…”

His words suddenly stopped, replaced by an unsettling noise bubbling up from deep in his throat. The sound seemed laced with faint waves, as if invisible currents flowed through the room. A damp, seaweed-like scent filled the air. Water elements gathered, leaving visible stains on the bed, floor, and walls. Amid this terrifying transformation, the man on the bed rapidly entered the final stage of mutation—

His last distinctly human trait, his pale blue eyes, were quickly overtaken by a faint golden chaos hue. His pupils shifted into vertical slits. Amid his labored breathing, Pope Sol Sthorm heard barely recognizable human words from the man’s throat: “Ah, I hear it… the voice in the waves… Your Holiness, I hear the call of the dark abyss… a voice, many layered voices…”

The pope grasped the High Priest’s hand, sensing his soul resonating with some distant, higher will. The man was being influenced by the consciousness of the endless deep sea. His lips moved, eyes growing vacant. His final words came in broken fragments: “Those voices call… those voices gather… those voices say…”

Suddenly, the haze lifted. An unprecedented clarity shone in the mutated eyes of the High Priest. The man—just moments ago still human—now a naga, his lips trembled violently, as if the last vestiges of instinct fought back. But in the end, his struggle failed—

The trembling lips curved into a brilliant smile, joy radiating from his face. “Let’s go hunt the giant squid!!”

Sol Sthorm released the High Priest’s hand and sighed deeply.

This man now belonged to the deep sea.

Everyone on this island belonged to the deep sea.

The naga High Priest still lay on the bed, lost in the daze of his initial “ascension.” The pope, crowned with the triple storm diadem, stood and straightened his robes. He picked up the staff leaning against the corner and turned toward the door—leaving the temple’s innermost chamber, he walked down the long, shadowed corridor, passing closed doors behind which came inhuman murmurs, distant sounds of waves, and the chilling, slimy slither of sea serpents crawling on the floor.

Expressionless, he moved through it all. His robes gradually eroded and disintegrated by elemental forces. Scales began to sprout on his face, webbing grew between his fingers, thick, moist skin covered his torso, scales and fins slowly emerging. He staggered and fell, dropping his staff. After a few seconds, he rose again, picked up the staff, and continued forward in a serpentine crawl.

Sol Sthorm passed through the now empty, silent town streets and reached the shore. Many naga emerged silently from nearby houses, trailing behind him. They climbed the harbor ramp—built by hand centuries ago—and reached the pier stretching out to the sea.

The water stirred, and a magnificent throne formed from condensed water elements slowly rose from the waves. Before it stood a regal, elegant woman with long silver hair and stunning beauty. Beside her were deep-sea attendants in fine robes; flanking the throne were the Tidal Royal Guards, armed with particle pulse rifles and trident-shaped energy blades.

“Sol Sthorm,” the Sea Witch Queen Petia nodded slightly, a faint smile on her lips. “We have waited a long time.”

“The last of us held on longer than expected,” Sol bowed his head. “We wanted to see this through peacefully.”

“That’s alright. It was a promise we made from the start,” Petia said gently. “Though I am not human, I understand the desire of a species to hold onto their original form until the very end… The last human, if he knew that half a month ago everyone on this island—including you, the pope—had already transformed into naga, he would likely have taken his own life. Such a tragedy.”

“The drastic change in life form wreaks havoc on body and mind. Before the transformation completes, the human mind cannot comprehend or imagine it,” naga-formed Sol Sthorm shook his head. “Anyone mid-transformation falls into deep fear. Too many have harmed themselves needlessly.”

“Fortunately, we solved the problem of mental instability during early naga transformation, or chaos would be far worse,” Petia nodded, her gaze drifting toward the churning sea nearby. A tower-like structure, gleaming under the sun with pipes and antennae, slowly rose above the waves. “I will leave the Mind Stabilizer here for a while. Once the last batch of naga on the island regain full clarity and personality, I will bring them to the continent of Eo.”

The tower was a simple device by the sea witches’ advanced standards, designed after studying naga for some time. Its sole function was to emit a “psychic song” inaudible to human ears but recognizable to sea witches and naga, soothing those newly transformed and disoriented. What once took a month for a naga to recover memory and personality could now be achieved within hours.

The sea witches’ beloved “psychic song” accelerating naga awakening was a serendipitous discovery—originating months ago during a “New Naga Citizens Welcome” event on a sunny beach. The deep-sea witch Hathorvey had consumed too much “giant squid extract,” entering a hyperactive state. Breaking through the royal guard blockade, she and several other excited witches performed a death metal concert. The sea witches loved music of all kinds, but the newly transformed naga had yet to adapt. Over half the naga fell into deep comas.

Three days later, the deep-sea witch awoke from her hangover and reasoned that the effect on the naga wasn’t the instruments but the witches’ powerful “psychic song.” She conducted experiments that confirmed her theory.

After complex testing and adjustments, the sea witches created the Mind Stabilizer: a device with two main parts—a music player emitting sounds only audible to sea witches and naga, and a tangle of pipes and antennas to make it look impressive.

Petia withdrew her gaze from the stabilizer, sighing softly.

This was the extent of the sea witches’ “technological development” for now.

Fortunately, the situation was gradually improving. As more and more sea witches unlocked the secrets of arcane magic, they began to understand and navigate the natural laws of this world. The ancient, icebound technology tree—frozen for a million years—finally showed the first signs of thawing.

Sol Storm, once the Storm Pope and now the Naga leader, had no idea what the queen he had just sworn allegiance to was thinking at this very moment. His mind was focused solely on the future of the Stormborn. After receiving further assurances from the queen, he visibly relaxed. “We’ve had years of conflict between us… but thankfully, it’s finally over.”

“The sea witches never wanted war with anyone,” Petya said, snapping out of her thoughts. She smiled softly and nodded to the Naga leader before her. “Unfortunately, communication between us was always difficult. Now that you’ve sensed our goodwill through the echoes of the mind, as a celebration of our reconciliation… we will share with you the secrets of the deep sea.

“Welcome to the ocean’s embrace. May this become your new home.”

(End of chapter)