Unwritten Mythos

"I'm not dead?" Siren muttered, bewildered, as she slowly crawled up from the floor. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of her own hands, now covered in shimmering scales. The backs of her hands were adorned with iridescent, blue-purple scales that reflected the dim light, while her palms remained soft, human flesh.

She tried to stand but found herself unable to. The fishtail that had replaced her legs was utterly unsuited for standing on land, leaving her sprawled awkwardly on the ground.

A fishtail?

Siren trying to grasp the absurdity of her new form. Her gaze shot toward Mei, who sat calmly, legs crossed, as if this was just another routine observation. Mei had somehow pulled a chair from nowhere, her cool eyes studying Siren's every move.

"Even though it's a failure, I can't just leave you like this. Come on, study your abilities. See if you can stand," Mei commanded, her voice laced with detached curiosity.

Siren struggled to obey, her body still betraying her efforts. No matter how hard she tried, the fishtail made it impossible for her to rise. Mei shook her head in mild disappointment and moved as if to intervene. But just as she was about to act, Siren's body suddenly erupted in a mass of heat, white smoke billowing upward.

As the smoke dissipated, Siren found herself back in her human form. She blinked, astonished, examining her legs, her hands—everything had returned to normal.

"I... changed back?" Siren's voice was a mix of disbelief and relief. "I just imagined my legs, and they returned."

Mei raised an eyebrow, intrigued. This level of control far surpassed what she'd seen with the 002 Deep One. Perhaps this experiment wasn't a complete failure after all. She made a mental note: Siren, or Number 007, could potentially provide a more stable, controllable version of the Fish-Man Potion.

"Stand up," Mei ordered.

Without hesitation, Siren complied. Her body responded automatically, almost instinctively.

"You... Who are you?" Siren's voice trembled as she spoke. The woman standing before her suddenly seemed to grow, her figure towering over her like a massive shadowy mountain that threatened to engulf her. The air thickened with an overwhelming sense of dread, and Siren felt her pulse quicken.

It's so scary...

Mei's eyes glinted beneath her mask, and her pupils fragmented into eighteen sharp segments, a sight that sent a chill down Siren's spine.

"Do you believe in fate?" Mei asked, her voice eerily calm.

"I..." Siren's heart raced as she stared into Mei's unnerving eyes. The mask obscured Mei's face, hiding her true expression, but that only made her more terrifying. Was there a human face behind that mask, or something else entirely? The divided pupils made Siren think of a creature far removed from humanity.

I don't know, it's terrible.

"...I... believe," Siren whispered, almost as if the words were pulled from her against her will.

Mei waved her hand, and a sliver thread appeared, gleaming faintly. "But sometimes, in this world, there is no such thing as fate," she mused. "If one person can decide the life and death of another, whose fate is that?"

She paused, letting the question linger in the air. "Is it the fate of the dead, or the one who delivers death? And if it is the fate of the dead, then who controls the fate of the executioner?"

Mei's voice grew softer, more contemplative. "So you see, what most people call fate... it's often just the result of human actions."

"But there was a time," she continued, her tone shifting to something almost wistful, "when I felt that fate truly existed in this world."

She looked at Siren, her gaze piercing through the mask. "Was it fate that brought us together? I don't believe in coincidences. It's like this thread—though invisible, it's binding you and me, connecting us in ways you can't see."

As Mei finished speaking, she lightly tapped her finger, and Siren's arm moved as though it had a will of its own. Siren stood frozen, unable to control her own body, a wave of fear washing over her.

"Even though I don't know whose hands my fate rests in," Mei's voice was cold and certain, "I know that your fate is now in my control."

She continued, her tone almost indifferent, "Of course, it's not just you. I hold the lives of many in my grasp. They might find themselves on an entirely different path because of my presence—one they cannot return from."

Mei's words seemed to hang in the air like a dark omen. "To them, I am Fateweaver."

As Mei withdrew the thread, Siren regained control of her body. The flood of terror she felt was mingled with confusion. She tried to grasp the full meaning of Mei's words, but the fear left her only able to focus on one phrase: I am fate.

Gradually, Siren's panic subsided as she contemplated Mei's declaration. If death had been her destined fate, Mei's intervention had altered it. What was once a foregone conclusion had been interrupted by Mei, creating a new path. From losing her voice to attempting suicide, from the heights of fame to the depths of despair, and now, reborn in a different form—this was no coincidence but a deliberate orchestration.

Mei had woven her fate, manipulated it from the beginning. Siren felt like a puppet whose strings were pulled by an unseen hand, dragged onto a stage where she was merely one among many.

As Siren looked at Mei with newfound reverence, Mei's eyebrows arched slightly, questioning if she was being misunderstood. She decided it was not worth the effort to clarify further.

Siren, her posture now one of respectful submission, asked, "Excuse me, where will fate lead me next?"

"Choice," Mei replied enigmatically.

Choice? Siren's mind raced, and a glimmer of realization sparked in her eyes. Could it be that this "choice" meant she might reclaim her singing career? The prospect seemed like a blessing from fate itself.

"But remember," Mei cautioned, "keep your secret hidden from everyone. Also, once you've adjusted to your new form, provide me with daily reports on the changes in your body and abilities."

Since Siren was not Mei's primary focus, Mei wasn't inclined to observe her progress directly. Instead, Siren would monitor herself.

"Yes," Siren responded eagerly.

With a final, imperceptible nod, Mei stepped forward and vanished from sight.

As Mei departed, she reflected on her experiment. Reagent No. 1 had yielded unexpected results. Now, Reagent No. 2 awaited testing. If it also fail, she would need to return and create a new Poiton.

...

After Mei departed, Siren made her way back upstairs, her thoughts swirling with the day's strange events. In the hallway, she stumbled upon a familiar sight: the neighbor's yellow cat. Siren had always enjoyed feeding it ham sausage, and today she was in high spirits, ready to indulge the cat with a gentle scratch behind the ears.

However, as Siren approached, the cat's reaction was anything but welcoming. Its fur bristled, and it hissed and bared its claws with a ferocity Siren had never seen before. The once-docile feline now looked like a creature transformed, its usual gentleness replaced by hostility.

Siren winced as the cat's claws raked across her hand, leaving a sting. She stood frozen, momentarily stunned by the cat's unexpected aggression.

What Siren failed to realize was that, in the cat's eyes, she had become something nightmarish—a grotesque monster cloaked in writhing tentacles and oozing with thick, unsettling liquid.

Hearing the commotion, the neighbor rushed out to see what was happening. Upon seeing Siren's injury, they quickly apologized, scooping the agitated yellow cat into their arms. Despite the comforting gesture, the cat continued to snarl and glare at Siren, its hostility unabated even as it was held close.

The neighbor's hurried apology and the cat's continued hostility left Siren with an odd sense of disconnection. "It seems there are still some differences," she mused to herself, noting the strange shift in her once-familiar world.

As she walked away, Siren couldn't shake the feeling that something profound had changed within her, and the cat's reaction was a strange symbol of that transformation.