Taming the Beast World with a Frying Pan-Chapter 96: Swamp Alien Invasion

It was undeniable. The water was rippling against the current. Bubbles were rising in patterns that had nothing to do with swamp gas.

Ren sat frozen, her hands gripping the edges of the rotting boat until her knuckles turned white. She was on the verge of a cardiac event. Her eyes darted frantically across the murky surface ahead, waiting for the jumpscare. She imagined a giant tentacle, a row of razor-sharp teeth, or maybe just a massive mouth swallowing them whole Pinocchio-style.

A large part of her—the part that wanted to live to see thirty-three—prayed that the danger would change its mind and swim past them. ’Nothing to see here, Mr. Monster. Just a girl and her two feral husbands in a salad bowl.’

But a tiny, treacherous part of her brain—the part that watched horror movies through her fingers—hated the suspense. ’Just show yourself! I need to know if I should scream or faint!’

Then, about twenty feet directly ahead, the water broke.

Pop.

A head surfaced.

It looked human, sort of. But the skin was a slick, slimy gray, glistening with mucus. Its eyes were massive, solid black orbs that reflected no light. A few wispy, pathetic strands of dark hair clung to its wet scalp like seaweed.

Ren’s eyes widened.

"Swamp Alien," she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of horror and fascination, but mostly horror.

It didn’t look aggressive. It just floated there, bobbing slightly, staring at them with those giant, unblinking void-eyes. It looked almost... innocent. Like a wet, gray puppy that had been dropped in a puddle.

Ren glanced at her bodyguards.

Kael hadn’t moved. His red eyes were locked on the thing, his lips pulled back in a silent snarl. Syris was tense, his hand hovering over the hilt of an obsidian dagger he had pulled from the trunk. Viper held the pole like a javelin.

They didn’t look like they were looking at a puppy. They looked like they were looking at a bomb.

Ren looked back at the creature. ’Is it really that dangerous? It looks like it wants a hug. Or a cracker.’

Pop.

Another head popped up directly beside the first one.

Pop. Pop.

Two more appeared on the left.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

Suddenly, the water ahead of the boat began to boil with gray heads. They didn’t surround them. They formed a wall. A solid, bobbing barricade of gray flesh stretching from one bank of reeds to the other, blocking their path completely. There were dozens of them. Fifty. Maybe a hundred.

All of them stared at the boat with those dead, black eyes.

Ren’s fascination evaporated instantly.

"Oh shit," she muttered.

The suspense was gone, replaced by the cold, hard reality of a blockade.

"Syris," Ren whispered, not daring to take her eyes off the legion of gray heads. "What are they?"

Syris didn’t look at her. He was busy calculating kill angles.

"A school of fish beastmen," Syris replied, his voice tight.

Ren’s eyes widened, and she tore her gaze away from the aliens to look at him.

"Fish beastmen?" she hissed. "You mean... like Mermaids? Sirens? Are they going to sing? Do they want to be part of our world?"

Syris glanced at her, completely baffled. "What is a ’Mermaid’? And why would they sing? They are hunters, Ren."

Ren shook her head, dismissing the Disney reference. "Never mind. Can we fight them?"

"No," Syris said instantly. "There are too many. Even for me. They will drag us under and drown us before I can slice through half of them."

As they spoke, more heads popped up, thickening the wall of bodies. Kael let out a low, menacing growl that vibrated through the hull, his feral instincts screaming at the encroachment. The fish beastmen didn’t flinch. They just stared, motionless.

Ren felt the blood drain from her face.

"But... aren’t you the King?" she whispered frantically. "The Swamp King? Can’t you just order them to move? Tell them to shoo?"

Syris shot her a look of exasperation.

"I am the Snake King," he corrected her sharply. "I rule the snakes and the land. I do not rule the water. I am only one of the Kings in this swamp, Ren. I do not hold a monopoly on the mud."

Ren gaped at him. "You’re telling me there’s a homeowner’s association here and you aren’t the president?"

She looked back at the wall of gray faces. An idea—a stupid, desperate idea—sparked in her brain.

"Well, if there’s a Fish King," Ren said, her voice rising with panic, "Can’t we just... talk to him? Maybe he has a map? We could borrow it! Ask for directions!"

Syris looked at her like she had just suggested they try to tickle a sleeping bear.

"You want to ask the mindless, flesh-eating fish swarm... for a map?" Syris asked slowly.

"They’re getting closer," Viper interjected, his voice flat but urgent.

Ren looked. He was right. The wall was moving. The gray heads were drifting silently toward the bow of the boat.

"That’s it," Syris decided.

He reached up and grabbed a thick, low-hanging branch from a skeletal tree above them.

Snap.

He broke off a long, sturdy limb and jammed it into the muck. "We are changing course," Syris gritted out, shoving the boat violently to the left. The rotting wood groaned in protest. "Now!"

Viper slammed his pole into the water, muscles straining, matching Syris’ frantic energy. They rowed hard, tearing through the vegetation, sending mud flying as the boat lurched sideways.

Ren looked back, clutching the gunwale.

The "innocent" gray faces contorted instantly. They shrieked, a high-pitched, shattering sound that pierced the humid air. Their jaws unhinged, skin stretching tight over bone, revealing multiple rows of needle-sharp teeth designed for shredding meat. They dove in unison, a tidal wave of gray flesh, swimming after the retreating boat with terrifying, torpedo-like speed.

Ren’s heart hammered in her chest as she had one singular thought.

’We’re gonna die.’