Sam drifted out of his meditative state as the kitchen doors creaked open. The Pig-men filed in, pushing carts piled high with used dishes; they had clearly finished their meal.

  Nearly a dozen of them ignored him, focusing instead on clearing the mess and loading plates into a massive industrial dishwasher.

  Sam observed the hundreds of food trays, realizing the crew on this ship was substantial. He guessed the vessel was similar in size to an old-world destroyer. One thing puzzled him, however: the facilities in this kitchen seemed primitive—at least compared to his own era.

  Sam had stepped onto modern warships before, and by comparison, what he saw now didn't even belong on the same scale. The surroundings reminded him more of a World War II-era battleship.

  It gave Sam the unsettling feeling that he hadn't just woken up 1,000 years later, but had been transported to an alternate universe—one where pigs were the masters and the timeline was stuck in a distorted version of the 1940s.

  "Let’s go. Time for entertainment!"

  Bert Hull, the butcher, had removed his apron and stowed his slaughtering knives. He wore a black military uniform with a nameplate on his left chest and several symbols that Sam presumed denoted rank.

  Sam looked closely at the tag: "Bert Hull." Next to the name were two blue wild boar head icons.

  The other crew members had also changed into uniforms, but most wore only a single blue boar icon, confirming that the butcher held a higher rank among them.

  Bert Hull unchained Sam and turned toward the door. Sam stood up and followed slowly, the leash sagging near the deck floor. Behind them, Bert’s subordinates followed with eager excitement.

  "This one looks like a fighter. I think we’ve got a winner today."

  "Yeah, he’s stubborn. The most important thing for a 'War-Human' is the ability to take a hit. My family used to raise a fighter like this—village champion. When he finally got sick and died, my father butchered him for a feast."

  "Fighter meat always tastes better than the industrial-raised ones."

  "Tell us something we don't know, boring bastard."

  "That’s why War-Humans cost ten times more. I heard in some elite breeding pits, they don't even eat them..."

  "True. When a legendary fighter dies, they bury them with dignity, just like a Pig. But that’s rare. Most places just dig in—it’s a waste to throw away super-nutritious meat."

  "What a joke. Burying a human like a Pig? The world is going to hell."

  Along the way, Sam listened intently. These were the small puzzle pieces he needed to map out this thousand-year-later world.

  The kitchen crew led him onto the main deck, where a massive crowd of sailors had gathered. Sam was stunned by the sheer scale of the vessel. It was as large as a WWII battleship. In fact, it was a battleship, but Sam surmised that because these Pig-men were all over two meters tall, they viewed this as a "small" warship with a crew of just over a hundred.

  Usually, a human battleship of this size would require a crew of 1,000 to 2,000. But again, Sam was only guessing based on human logic; he didn't know how the Pig-men measured their naval requirements.

  The ship featured three main turrets—two forward and one aft. Each turret housed four massive barrels. Sam estimated them to be roughly 380mm guns, similar to those on European battleships in the 1940s. This further solidified his theory about their level of civilization.

  Beyond their ship, Sam saw an entire fleet at anchor. In the distance sat a colossal hunk of metal—a monster floating on the waves. It was an aircraft carrier so vast it looked four times the size of the USS Gerald R. Ford. Sam had once boarded the Ford during a SEAL combat training course; back then, it was the largest carrier in the world.

  Sam guessed the fleet was positioned about 400km off the English coast, near where he had surfaced. But he knew "England" no longer existed—nor did America, China, or any other nation he once knew.

  I wonder what has become of Britain... Sam sighed, a wave of homesickness hitting him.

  On the main mast, a black flag flew. Its center featured a twelve-pointed red star—a symbol that historically represented luck and prosperity.

  "Welcome, brothers, to the human arena of the 'Fury'!"

  A voice boomed from the center of the huddle. Bert Hull led Sam toward the crowd. Dozens of eyes looked down at him with predatory excitement, clapping and whistling through their snouts.

  "Brothers, we have two matches today! First up: Steel Warrior from Engineering vs. The Annihilator from Logistics!"

  Two Pig-men led their humans into a designated fighting area—roughly 80 square meters, resembling an old boxing ring.

  From Engineering came a tall, muscular Black man. He wore a filthy loincloth that looked like an oil-stained rag. His eyes were rolled back, baring white teeth as he screamed and snarled, desperate to tear his opponent apart.

  Sam noticed the man’s body was a map of jagged scars. He had survived many bloodbaths. Sam estimated him to be 45 or 50 years old—at an age where he should have been long retired.

  On the other side stood a man with tanned skin, a shaved head, and a face contorted with rage, his eyes bloodshot. He appeared to be roughly the same age as his opponent.

  "Steel Warrior is a professional. He fought in the Capital’s arenas. When he got too old, the Chief Engineer bought him for these 'dirt league' matches. He's bloodthirsty—once crushed an opponent’s skull with his bare hands," Sam heard the crew whispering.

  "I heard Logistics bought The Annihilator from the Sun Empire. Apparently, he’s a veteran too."

  "Hey, Bert Hull! Is this the one you fished out of the sea? He looks pathetic compared to the others. Think he can take a hit? Hope he lasts longer than the last one." A sailor mocked.

  "You'll see who eats who. Shut your trap!" Bert snapped back, inciting a roar of laughter.

  "Matches are starting! Place your bets! Odds are 3-to-1 for Steel Warrior and 1-to-1 for The Annihilator!"

  The sailors swarmed a nearby betting table, pulling out bills.

  "10 on Steel!" "5 on Steel!" "20 on the Annihilator!"

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  The area descended into a cacophony of shouting. Most of the Pigs were betting on Steel Warrior, but the odds suggested The Annihilator was the more respected fighter.

  Bert Hull led Sam to a waiting area near the ring. From here, Sam could analyze the fight. He felt a surge of nerves. This wasn't his first hand-to-hand combat, but in the old world, there were rules. Here, it was life or death. One mistake meant the end.

  It reminded him of dog fights or cockfights from his era. Humans used to put animals in rings for entertainment; now, humans were the ones in the ring, dying for the amusement of another species. The irony was suffocating.

  "Are you ready?!" the announcer screamed. "YES!" the sailors roared in unison. "LET THE MATCH BEGIN!"

  The leashes were yanked off. The two humans let out savage howls and charged. They didn't use stances or techniques; they simply collided like wild beasts.

  Sam’s gaze darkened. Fear gripped him. These weren't men—they were animals in human skin.

  Will I become like them? Is this my future? To lose my mind and become a toy for the top of the food chain? he asked the AI, his heart burning with rage.

  "It is the law of nature, Master," Ade replied, cold and detached. "The victor, the one at the top of the food chain, may do as they wish with the lesser species."

  Ade was just a program. Cold logic. No soul.

  "GRAAAH!"

  The Annihilator leaped into the air, covering five meters in a single bound, aiming to crush Steel Warrior. Sam narrowed his eyes at the raw power of the jump.

  They collided with a heavy thud, rolling across the deck. The Annihilator locked Steel Warrior in a vice-like grip, wrapping his legs around his opponent’s waist.

  "Agh... ah!" Steel Warrior screamed as he was pinned.

  CRACK! CRACK!

  The Annihilator slammed his forehead repeatedly into Steel Warrior’s face.

  "Kill! Kill! Kill!" the crowd cheered. "Perfect strike!"

  "First the flying lock, then the iron-head. The Annihilator is a pro," Bert Hull muttered beside Sam.

  Sam analyzed the struggle. "Steel Warrior has lost," he told Ade.

  "Analyzing kinetic patterns... not necessarily," the AI replied.

  Just as the words faded, a loud THUD echoed. The Annihilator suddenly released his grip, his eyes rolling as if seeing stars.

  Steel Warrior felt the pressure ease and bucked his body, rolling away. He scrambled to his feet while The Annihilator remained dazed.

  "How?! What happened?!" the Pigs shouted in confusion.

  "Impressive," Sam whispered. "He tucked his chin and aimed the crown of his skull at the point of impact. By bracing his neck, he let The Annihilator smash his face against the hardest part of the human skull. Of course he’s concussed."

  Bert Hull glanced down at Sam, an unreadable expression on his face. He had heard him.

  "GRAAAH!"

  Steel Warrior charged the staggering Annihilator. A barrage of punches rained down on his opponent's head.

  The crowd erupted. Steel Warrior had flipped the script, delivering hammer-like blows. The Annihilator curled into a ball, shielding his vitals. Most punches hit his arms, but a few landed on his temple, worsening his concussion.

  Suddenly, Steel Warrior paused. He waited for The Annihilator to stumble back into range, then whipped his leg upward in a perfect arc. His instep connected squarely with The Annihilator’s jaw.

  CRACK!

  "A roundhouse kick!" Sam’s eyes lit up. It was Muay Thai—a technique Sam had mastered under world-class special forces instructors who synthesized the best of Muay Thai, Vovinam, and Karate.

  Steel Warrior didn't stop. He leaped into the air and brought his knees down onto his fallen opponent's chest with the weight of a falling boulder.

  A sickening CRUNCH followed by a wet gargle. Blood sprayed from The Annihilator’s mouth as his arms went limp.

  "Shattered sternum and broken ribs," Sam noted, horrified. At that force, the ribs would have punctured the lungs. The man was as good as dead.

  "Enough! Enough!" the referee shouted. Pigs rushed the ring to pull Steel Warrior away as he continued to stomp on the unconscious man's head.

  "The winner is... STEEL WARRIOR!"

  The Engineering crew hoisted their fighter up like a trophy. Steel Warrior bared his teeth and roared savagely. Sam watched the "human" in silence.

  "Are you ready for more?!" the MC screamed. "YES!"

  "Excellent! Introducing our next match. A monster from the Firepower Division, the bloodiest killer on the 'Fury'... give it up for THE VILLAIN!"

  A Pig with two blue boar icons led out a massive man in a black loincloth. He had platinum hair, deathly pale skin, and stood about 1.9 meters tall. Like the others, he was covered in scars—three parallel gashes ran from the bridge of his nose to his jawline.

  The Villain didn't roar. He walked onto the stage slowly, his breathing steady, his eyes cold and lethal, fixed on the corner where his opponent would appear.

  "Bert Hull, what do you call your human?" the MC asked.

  "What should we call him?" Bert squinted at Sam, then looked back at his crew.

  "Bloodthirsty!" one suggested. "The Vegetarian! Since he won't eat meat!" another joked.

  "Call him the Sea God," another subordinate said. "We pulled him from the ocean, after all."

  Bert liked that. He nodded. "Sea God! We call him the Sea God."

  The MC stepped into the center of the ring. "Opponent to The Villain... from the Kitchen Crew... the SEA GOD!"

  "Go on, Sea God," Bert Hull whispered, unlinking the chain. "Win, or you're dead."

  Sam took a deep breath and stepped into the ring. He stood alone under the gaze of hundreds of Pig-men. A wave of nausea and unease washed over him.

  "Master is anxious. I will adjust," Ade noted.

  In an instant, Sam felt a surge of euphoria.

  "I am modulating your neurochemistry. Your reflexes and visual acuity will now operate at peak performance."

  "Thank you, Ade," he said politely.

  "You are the reason for my existence. Do not mention it," the AI replied. Sam felt a pang of longing; Ade’s voice reminded him so much of his mother.

  The betting began. "50 on The Villain!" "100 on The Villain!" "80 on The Villain!"

  "What the hell, Karl?!" Bert Hull roared at his own subordinate, who had just bet 50 on The Villain.

  "Sorry, Boss. Business is business," Karl chuckled.

  "Fine, you traitors! Just you wait!" Bert turned to the Firepower Chief who was taunting him. "Don't tempt me, you bastard!"

  Bert stormed to the betting table. "What are the odds?"

  "The Villain is at 1-to-0.5 because everyone's on him," the bookie smirked.

  "I asked for the Sea God’s odds!"

  "Oh. That’s 1-to-100. No one’s touched it."

  "I’m putting 1,000 on the Sea God!" Bert slammed ten 100-dollar bills on the table. Both his allies and enemies stared in shock.

  "Boss! You’re throwing money into the gutter!"

  "Shut up!"

  The match began. Unlike the first fight, both The Villain and the Sea God remained eerily silent. Bert Hull knew he was being reckless, but his ego was louder than his logic. Yet, a gut feeling told him to trust the Sea God.

  "BEGIN!" the referee yelled.

  The Villain stepped toward Sam. He moved slowly, but each footfall vibrated through the deck. He stood 1.9m to Sam's 1.75m—a massive physical advantage.

  When the distance closed to five meters, The Villain stepped forward. Sam whispered to Ade:

  "Now!"

  Sam moved like a ghost. His speed was blurring. In the blink of an eye, he was inside The Villain's guard.

  Ade’s voice echoed: "Explosive Entry!"

  The Villain only saw a blur. Suddenly, his throat felt like it had been struck by a steel rod. Breath left him instantly. He let out a choked gasp as his strength evaporated.

  The Villain collapsed, clutching his throat. He couldn't breathe; his eyes bulged, and foam bubbled at his lips.

  Silence fell over the deck. Hundreds of Pig-men stared at Sam. He stood over the motionless Villain.

  "Explosive Entry"—a technique from MMA used to close distance and strike instantly. Sam had timed it to the exact millisecond The Villain was between steps. The strike to the throat was a lethal move taught by special forces to neutralize enemies instantly.

  "Is... is he dead?" someone stammered.

  Sam looked down at the man, a wave of fear hitting him. This was the first human life he had truly endangered. He began to tremble.

  "The Villain is unable to fight! But he is... still alive! Get him to the medic!" the referee shouted.

  Bert Hull leaped into the air. "Suck it, you bastards! Did you see my Sea God?!"

  The kitchen crew cheered, while those who lost money cursed in disbelief.

  "How?! So fast?!" "That match was a scam!"

  The sailors were disappointed; they wanted blood, gore, and a long struggle. Bert Hull climbed into the ring and hoisted Sam up. "Sea God is the champion! Look at him!"

  "Take him to the kitchen," the Firepower Chief spat, tossing the unconscious Villain at Bert's feet. "He’s useless now. Butch him for a midnight stew. Throw in The Annihilator too."

  Sam went cold. He felt a crushing weight of guilt. Because of him, another man was becoming dinner.

  "Master, do not be emotional," Ade said. "If you had lost, you would be the one in the pot."

  "I know... it's just hard to process."

  "I understand," Ade replied.

  "Let the Sea God fight Steel Warrior! We want our money back!" a sailor screamed. The crowd took up the cry.

  "Steel Warrior just fought! He needs to recover!" the Engineering Chief barked. Despite the win, his fighter was battered.

  Suddenly, a piercing siren wailed across the deck.

  From the command bridge, a towering figure appeared.

  "COMBAT ALERT! Get to your stations, you idiots!"

  The fleet erupted into chaos. Sam looked up at the bridge. Standing there was a female commander, radiating an aura of absolute authority.