My Taming System Makes Me Overpowered

The jagged trench at the edge of the Western District was pitch-black, silent, and bitterly cold.

Crouched inside a narrow fissure between two basalt shelves, Vetra and Lyrielle pressed themselves flat against the rock. Above them, the pale, sweeping cones of Vanguard searchlights cut through the upper currents every few seconds, signaling the desperate lockdown of the surrounding sector.

”Keep your head down, long ears,” Vetra warned in a harsh whisper, her tail coiled tight under her body. ”If those search-flares catch the edge of your illusion, we’re going to have at least forty spears down our throats.”

”I know,” Lyrielle murmured, holding her hand over her chest to quiet her rapid breathing.

Suddenly, the current beneath them died.

It wasn’t a gradual slowing of the water—it was an absolute, unnatural freeze. The temperature plummeted so fast that frost crystals bloomed along the edges of the coral shelf. The natural hum of the ocean vanished into a suffocating, dead silence.

Vetra’s amber eyes widened in primitive horror. Her hand shot to a dagger at her hip, every instinct in her body screaming that death was hovering inches away.

A single figure glided out of the darkness above the trench.

He swam slowly, unhurried, moving toward the bright spires of the inner city. His massive frame was covered in glowing, bone-white abyssal runes that cast an eerie light across his dark scales.

Across his broad back, two massive blades forged from leviathan jawbone dripped with a dark crimson haze that hovered in the stagnant water. He didn’t even look down at the trench; his cold, dark gaze was fixed entirely on the distant royal palace.

Neither of them breathed until the figure dissolved into the abyssal gloom, and the dead water slowly loosened its grip, allowing the natural tides to rush back into the canyon.

Vetra let out a ragged exhale, her knuckles white around her blade. ”What in the hells... was that?”

”The scent,” Lyrielle whispered, her dark eyes wide with realization. ”It was copper and dead tide. Vetra... that was him.”

Before Vetra could respond, a deafening war-horn shattered the quiet of the ridge.

HOOOOOOOOOORN.

Red panic flares detonated in the sky above the city, illuminating the water in a blood-red light. Signals rippled through the hydro-channels—House Aris had fallen. The fifth noble anchor had been shattered.

”He just butchered another estate,” Vetra said, her face turning grim. ”The whole city is going to implode in ten minutes. We go for Vince now while the guards are running around like headless fish.”

Without waiting for a response, Vetra kicked her tail, pulling Lyrielle into the dark, churning water of the lower palace aqueducts.

Far below the panic sweeping the surface streets, inside the subterranean darkness of Cell Seven, Vince sat quietly against the stone wall.

Through the floorboards, he felt the deep, low-frequency shudder of a heavy spell breaking somewhere miles away. Five. That made five noble anchors destroyed.

”Time’s up,” Vince said to the empty room.

He didn’t activate his Man-Beast transformation, nor did he attempt to channel mana into his hands. Instead, he planted both booted feet firmly against the solid basalt wall in front of him. He shifted his grip on the abyssal iron manacles, wrapping his thick fingers tightly around the heavy metal links.

He took a slow, deep breath, letting his posture set. Then, with a sudden, explosive contraction of his back and forearms, he pulled.

CREEEAAAK.

The multi-ton abyssal iron wall-anchors groaned under the un-magical, sheer physical force pressing against them. Vince’s jaw clenched, his veins bulging against his skin like thick ropes as he exerted maximum leverage against the stone foundation.

CRACK-THUD!

With a sickening crunch of shattered bedrock, the multi-ton iron bolts tore completely out of the wall, sending a shower of stone dust into the air. Vince stood up, rolling his shoulders, the shattered wall-anchors dangling uselessly from the heavy chains bound to his wrists.

He walked to the heavy basalt door, raised his chain-wrapped hands, and drove the dense iron block directly into the runic lock plate with a vicious, heavy strike.

BOOM!

The runic array shattered in a spark of blue mana. The heavy iron door ground open, swinging outward into the empty corridor.

Vince stepped into the hallway. Two remaining skeleton-crew guards rushed around the corner, spears raised—but before they could process the sight of a human walking out of an anti-magic cell with his wall-anchors in his hands, Vince closed the distance. He grabbed the first guard by his collar plate, slamming him face-first into the stone wall, before sweeping his leg to take out the second guard.

By the time Vetra and Lyrielle breached the iron grate of the lower aqueduct junction, Vince was standing casually over the unconscious guards, flipping a silver key-rune in his hand.

”You took your time,” Vince grunted, looking up with a faint smirk. ”I was starting to think you got lost in the scenery.”

Vetra stared at him, then at the shattered basalt wall inside his cell, before shaking her head with a dry laugh. ”You’re an absolute freak, you know that?”

Lyrielle swam forward, her eyes scanning his body for injuries. ”Vince... we saw him. On our way down here. I think they call him The Calm of the Sea. He was heading straight for the inner city rings.”

Vince’s expression hardened, his smirk fading into a sharp, analytical gaze. ”House Aris fell five minutes ago. That leaves three noble houses standing before the seal collapses entirely.”

”It’s worse than just the seal,” Lyrielle said, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper as she stepped closer to him. ”Vince, back at the tavern... I spoke to an old siren. She recited an ancient foretelling known as The Prophecy of the Drowned Crown.”

Vince tilted his head. ”A prophecy?”

”Listen to me,” Lyrielle said, her hand resting against his chest as she repeated the words from memory:

«Then shall come the Stranger—born beneath a different sky, walking where no blood of Nethros should walk. The tide shall carry him to the heart of the abyss, though he shall not come as its savior... Beware the hand that bears your own blood. For the blade that shall split Nethros shall not be forged by an enemy. It shall be raised by one who calls the kingdom home.»

Vince stood motionless in the dim aqueduct light, processing the lines in silence.

A Stranger born beneath a different sky...

”It’s describing us, Vince,” Lyrielle urged. ”And the blade raised by one who calls the kingdom home—that’s the rogue merman. The prophecy says the kingdom will crumble beneath the shadow it once buried, but victory demands a price.”

Vetra crossed her arms, leaning against the damp wall. ”So what does that mean for us? Do we run while the city falls apart?”

Vince looked down at his cuffed hands, a low, slow grin spreading across his face.

”Run?” Vince chuckled, his dark eyes flashing with dangerous ambition. ”Not a chance. An ancient prophecy, a kingdom falling apart, and a rogue merman clearing out the nobility for me... this isn’t a disaster, girls.”

He flexed his wrists, the abyssal iron chains clanking sharply in the quiet aqueduct.

”At least not for us”