Conflicted

The sound of waves crashing against the shore were echoing throughout the night as the moon shone brightly upon the ocean's surface. Seaton shuffled along the sandy shore, kicking aside a couple of shells here and there with his rather large feet. The effeminate shark man enjoyed strolling on the beach in the evening, nobody was there to bother him. Humming to himself, he looked up, his long teal hair draping behind him, it's been quite a while since he was reincarnated as a Sharkin. To think, he used to be a simple thresher shark living his life as one would in the deep blue sea.

The past is in the past, though, a lot changes over the years to a wild animal, especially once one gains limbs and the ability to walk on land. This broadened the pup's horizons tenfold. Sighing, Seaton shook his head, how much he missed being a regular shark. Sure, there were merits when it comes to having hands and feet, but it was all so clunky to him. 

As he stared at the sky, the Sharkin let out another deep sigh, he didn't want to return to the undersea kingdom, having to fake being a rough and tough shark to prove to their society that he was worthy of respect. All Seaton wanted was to live a peaceful life and not live to slaughter whatever came onto their turf. He could still remember it vividly when he butted heads with Grag, a legendary great white shark warrior of their kingdom. 

"I swear, Seaton, you aren't going to get anywhere with a crap bite like that! Put more muscle into it!" Grag barked loudly during their training, holding up the mangled carcass of a bulky tuna.

Narrowing his large, black eyes, Seaton, nodded, "Affirmative, sir. I'll do better next time, I promise." he stated, standing tall as he saluted the higher-up. It's not like everyone was fifty-percent mouth like some sharks were. In fact, Seaton's were far  smaller than most in his clan.

"Better next time my ass!" The great white bellowed, "You need to do better every single damn time, we can't have weaklings in our ranks! We are a clan of warriors, boy!" He shouted as he swam forward, placing a clawed finger upon the thresher's chest, poking him harshly with each word, "We. Are. Not. Weaklings."

Hardening his gaze, Seaton frowned deeply, "Of course, sir. The weak are meat, the strong eat." 

Seaton hated how he had to act in front of his brethren, it was such a pain to keep up the tough-guy act. He was but a gentle soul that was plagued with expectations for his species. Be rough. Be tough. Be intimidating. Such things sickened the small shark man, he wanted to explore the world, learn new things. But could he? No, he's tied down to his clan, to his kingdom; forever trapped in an endless cycle of fakery and bloodshed. One day he would escape those shackles, but until then, he needed to return to what he called home.