Anomaly

Fish growing legs and walking like humans is a common concept in fiction, but reality has a cruel habit of twisting what once seemed fascinating. I know this because I’m witnessing something right now that should never exist: a humanoid fish walking on human legs.

Its scaly skin glistens under the dim light, its dead, bulging eyes staring into nothing, while its jaw opens and closes in slow spasms, as if still trying to breathe underwater.

The damp, uneven sound of its footsteps echoes across the floor, accompanied by a pungent stench of the sea and decay. What should have been nothing more than an innocent fantasy had crawled out of the impossible, turning into a nightmare.

But the scene wasn’t just bizarre—it was fundamentally wrong. Think about it: a fish. Fish don’t have legs. They glide through water; they don’t walk on land. So when something like this grows legs, its movement turns into an abomination.

Its joints bend in erratic ways, its steps awkward, as if it might collapse under its own weight at any moment. The scaly skin stretches and wrinkles in ways it shouldn’t, pulled tight over muscles that were never supposed to exist.

One glance is all it takes to see that their bodies were never meant to support something like this. And yet, they walk—stumbling, trembling, advancing in grotesque defiance of nature’s laws with every wet, uneven step.

Their movements were erratic, disconnected, as if every step was a struggle against their own existence. With each shaky lurch forward, their thin, clammy legs seemed on the verge of giving out, ready to collapse at any second.

They were slow—agonizingly slow—too sluggish to catch you if you simply turned and walked away. But that didn’t matter. The real horror wasn’t in their speed; it was in their numbers. There were too many. Far too many.

A writhing mass of scaly bodies dragging themselves forward, slamming into the ground with wet, heavy footsteps. Every empty space gradually disappeared, every possible escape route swallowed by the rising tide of deformed beings.

And they kept coming—relentless, ceaseless—their dead eyes locked onto us as their mouths opened and closed in silence, as if trying to smother reality itself around them.

"Yeah, I think I’m gonna stay away from seafood for a while" one of the team members muttered, watching tensely as the mutant fish crept closer.

While the reaction team focused on preparing for the inevitable fight, I just stood there, scanning my surroundings. To be honest, I wasn’t looking for anything in particular—my thoughts drifted as I tried to process the absurd number of creatures.

There were so many that they nearly blocked my entire field of vision... And of course, the fact that I was relatively short—practically kid-sized—didn’t help either.

Either way, in the next moment, something shifted in my vision. The uniform gold that once colored my sight dissolved into a mesmerizing dance of shifting tones, blending seamlessly in perfect harmony.

My perception expanded, and a new world unfolded before me—though only on the surface, I noticed something crucial: there were no thin, faint lines on these creatures. That meant their bodies were real.

More importantly, there wasn’t a single concentrated point that glowed brighter than the rest, no weak spot to exploit. Instead, their entire bodies shimmered before my eyes, which could only mean one thing—they were incredibly fragile. There were countless ways to kill them, and even the reaction team could wipe them out without much trouble.

Honestly, I could eliminate them all effortlessly with my Alter Ego. A snap of my fingers would probably be enough to make them vanish. But there was one small problem: while he remained in his mist-like form to support us, he couldn’t attack directly. At most, he could slow them down—wrapping their feet in shadows and limiting their movement.

Other than that, we were completely on our own. I wasn’t sure exactly how or why I knew that—it wasn’t like I had ever discussed this kind of situation with my Alter Ego before. I just knew he couldn’t attack. Strangely, it felt like if I were in his place, I wouldn’t be able to either.

In short, I’d have to fight using my other anomalous abilities, which, to be honest, weren’t many. But in the end, the ones I did have would be more than enough to deal with these creatures.

I pushed those thoughts aside the moment I noticed one of them approaching. Its steps remained slow and clumsy, its movements rigid, as if it didn’t belong in this environment—like a true fish out of water. And yet, it was coming straight for me.

I didn’t move, nor did I prepare myself for what was coming. After all, at that moment, a golden circle had already formed around me. Just as I expected, the instant the mutant fish stepped inside that circle, its movements stopped entirely. From the outside, everything seemed normal, but within the marked area, time itself appeared to slow... or rather, freeze completely.

I walked toward the mutant fish, staring at it for a few seconds. I blinked briefly, circling it as I examined its grotesque form—no matter the angle, it remained equally repulsive. Well, in the end, I suppose it didn’t really matter.

With that simple thought, I raised my arm and pulled it back, preparing my strike. In the next instant, I drove my fist straight into the mutant fish’s chest. A few seconds later, I pulled my arm back and observed the hole left behind by my punch. No blood spilled out, but that eerie stillness would only last while the fish remained inside my golden circle.

Slowly, I pulled away from the mutant fish. The exact moment its body left the reach of my golden circle, something happened. A jet of thick, viscous blue blood erupted from its body, as if the creature’s insides were in a chaotic state of rupture.

The liquid spilled from its wounds in an abnormal, almost dancing way, spreading across the ground with a horrifying viscosity, as if it had a life of its own. I observed, not out of curiosity, but due to a strange disturbance forming in my mind. Why the hell did that fish have blue blood? Wouldn’t something more... green be normal? That’s what I always thought, at least.

Behind me, the team members finally realized what was going on. Their eyes widened briefly, fixating on the scene before them. The leader, on the other hand, was much more expressive than I expected: "What the hell!"

Well, that was quite a reaction, but unfortunately, we didn’t have time for questions or anything like that. Maybe seeing their teammate die made the mutant fish even more aggressive.

Suddenly, they began moving with impressive speed. Given their bodies were still awkward and seemed like they might fall at any moment, this only made their speed even more surprising.

"Fire!" shouted the commander, pointing his weapon at one of the mutant fish and immediately firing.

I glanced briefly, curious about the weapon, since its shape was unlike anything I’d ever seen... though, to be honest, in the past few months, almost everything I see is something new. Anyway, when he pulled the trigger, something strange happened: instead of a shot, or any kind of projectile, nothing came out of the weapon. He simply pressed the trigger, but there was no reaction.

However, despite that, the entire upper half of the mutant fish simply disintegrated. A burst of bright blue blood erupted from its top, like a geyser, scattering through the air.

The scene was undoubtedly impressive, but even in front of that spectacle, he kept the weapon steady, aimed at the mutant fish.

I tilted my head, confused, not understanding why, but the answer came seconds later when the monster’s body fell heavily to the side, remaining motionless even after a few seconds of silence.

"Is it really dead?" the leader commented, immediately drawing the others’ attention.

As if that were a signal, everyone began firing immediately. I won’t deny it, they were incredibly fast and accurate, shooting with impressive skill and covering each other whenever possible. Plus, their agility was remarkable; they knew exactly how to move through the crowd, with some even jumping over the mutant fish with surprising lightness.

In the end, I was so absorbed by the scene in front of me that I lost track of what was happening behind me. When I finally turned around, the sight was so repulsive that I couldn’t process it immediately.

A monstrous mouth, with teeth as sharp as blades, grotesquely opened, locking onto my neck. The pressure of its jaws against my skin was intense, but I didn’t feel pain—only a cold sensation, almost devoid of life. I blinked, trying to understand, and when I did, I met the creature’s eyes.

They were wide open, bulging, emotionless, as if they were just fulfilling a meaningless destiny. As I stared, still not comprehending, the creature remained motionless, staring at me without any reaction.

It’s strange trying to react when I feel nothing, no pain, not even the sensation of being attacked. As my mind wandered in thought, the mutant fish, with unusual strength, tore half of my shoulder off. Once again, I felt nothing. I just stared at the empty, grotesque hole it left.

Though I’d been expecting it, the scene was still... unsettling. There were no exposed bones, no blood flowing — just abnormally white, translucent skin, with no sign of life.

The hole in my body was just another grotesque detail, while my anomalous regeneration ability began to kick in. In seconds, the damage was erased, as if it had never existed, and my body reconstituted itself, intact, almost indifferent to the brutality of the attack.

Even without looking directly, I could feel the reaction of the team members’ perplexed stares on me. I myself found the scene strange and uncomfortable, so I can imagine how much more impactful it must have been for them.

Anyway, I decided to focus—I knew there were many more of them, and we’d probably be here for a while. I activated my other anomalous ability, and bones started emerging around my body, fixing themselves like a grotesque medieval armor.

I extended my arm in front, and another bone grew quickly, shaping itself into an intermediate-sized blade—long enough for combat, but short enough to maintain agility.

Though I haven’t trained as much as I’d like, I’ve practiced some of my abilities while learning telepathy from Nekra. I can’t say I’ve mastered them completely, but at least I can use them better than before. Unfortunately, when I absorb new abilities, they don’t come with a user manual— in the end, it all comes down to experimentation and adaptation until I get used to them.

Without hesitation, I raised my golden field and charged toward the crowd of mutant fish. They rushed to intercept me, but the instant they crossed the boundary of my territory, their bodies froze completely.

With a simple, precise motion, their heads rolled across the ground. I didn’t waste time, ignoring them—I knew they were already dead. Instead, I went straight for the next group, ready to continue the massacre.

I kept repeating the same process with the next groups. From the others’ perspective, it probably looked like I was teleporting from place to place, while the mutant fish’s heads just detached on their own, as if some invisible force was ripping them off.

Well, whatever, I guess. In the end, it didn’t matter. A few minutes later, I decapitated the last remaining monster. Like the others, it sprayed a jet of blue blood before its body collapsed to the ground.

The head rolled slowly, stopping just inches from me. I stared at it for a moment, its dead eyes still fixed on something that no longer mattered. Then, without thinking much, I turned and began walking back.

The reaction team watched me in silence, eyes slightly wide, as if they were still processing what they had just witnessed. On my way, I passed the trail of bodies I had left behind—a shapeless sea of scaly flesh and contorted limbs, mercilessly cut. The smell of blood and sea air filled the atmosphere, but for me, it was just another transitional scene, something that would soon be forgotten.