Chapter 4981

This sea bass wasn't just long; its key width and thickness far exceeded those of its peers. Without such strong waist muscles, it couldn't have surged onto the boat like this, let alone flop around so much. Moreover, its color differed from other sea basses—the patterns were lighter, and its body was covered in a layer of white silver membrane that gleamed brilliantly under the lights, making it look quite beautiful.

What worried Thor most was that the fish's eyes were red, looking very abnormal. Moreover, its fins were much longer than those of other fish, seemingly with some spines. Thor really didn't dare let Sif get close, in case this thing was a mutant biochemical weapon—getting pricked by it would be trouble.

The Aesir have strong physiques, not immune to all poisons. Though they have divine power protecting their bodies, making it hard for ordinary things to breach their defenses, fish raised by humans could still pose a threat.

Thor actually understands human capabilities better than most in this universe. Although he didn't let Asgard descend upon Earth, their Earth had descended upon Asgard.

This change stunned everyone. Basically, no one in Marvel expected to fish something like this out of the sea. Put bluntly, even a four- or five-meter-long blue marlin couldn't jump onto a yacht—this is a yacht, not some small paddleboard. They actually got slapped in the face by a fish on a yacht—is that even possible?

Diana wasn't without the thought to stop it, but she's not Captain America; she can't throw Captain America's shield with that kind of boomerang technique that would send it flying back to hit the opponent and return on its own. So after the shield slapped the fish, it just fell into the water. Diana pulled out the Lasso of Truth, then hesitated a bit.

Fish don't even have limbs—if you wrap a rope around it, it'll still flop around, right? You can't possibly expect that after binding it with the Lasso of Truth, it would spit out a few sentences in Russian and then get killed on the spot.

Moreover, the fish was flopping while people were running. If the Lasso of Truth got tangled wrong, things could get a bit awkward. After thinking for a while, Diana decided to just use her fists.

She flew over directly and punched the fish in the belly. The fish suddenly straightened up, then lay motionless on the deck. Diana let out a breath; she still had to control her strength, lest she capsize the yacht. If she weren't experienced, they'd probably have to spend the night out in the Atlantic tonight.

"Awesome, lady!" Thor shouted first, "Father of the Gods…… I mean, Zeus bless you!"

Diana nearly fell from midair: "That's not necessary."

Seeing the fish motionless, Peter wanted to get closer to look. He'd never seen such a large bass before—this fish was taller than a person, and he'd only seen such specimens in oceanariums or taxidermy halls; this was his first time seeing a live one.

He had just taken a step forward when Shiler grabbed him. Sure enough, Eddie was faster than him. Don't forget Eddie Brock is a reporter—he encounters such things and his professional instincts kick in. Just moments ago he was getting slapped by the fish, and now he'd rushed ahead of everyone to get to the fish.

Then he got slapped again.

"Oh, shit!" he yelled, "Mask!!!"

With a swish, Venom appeared, arms outstretched, grabbing the fish's tail and about to bite it.

"Wait!!" Carter came running over in a hurry, "Don't touch! Don't don't don't! No! Don't eat!!! Let go, quick let go!!!"

At that moment Thor rushed forward, directly grabbing Venom and pulling him back. Venom refused to let go—the fish wasn't dead to begin with, and after being bitten, it flinched in pain, then swung its tail and whipped Carter over there.

Shiler quickly stepped forward to support Carter, but the fish swung its tail again. Fortunately, Shiler was experienced—he took a backward step and dodged; otherwise, he'd probably have already ended up on the windshield of the cockpit.

Blame it on the fact that he's the only pure-blooded Gothamite here—others may be DC characters, but they still underestimated Gotham's fish, allowing this fish to act so arrogantly. If there were even one Batman, the moment the hook caught, he'd throw a batarang to cut the line. Old Gothamites know what they've hooked just by seeing the rod dip—they know they've snagged a major thunderous disaster.

Quickly helping Carter to stand up. Carter's anger flared up too—he'd been in a bad mood these days, organizing a visit that had been nothing but trouble, and now he'd actually been hit by a fish. He pulled out his pistol and fired two shots, bang bang.

Since he was aiming right at the fish's mouth, those two shots should have hit the brain directly. The fish twitched slightly, then soon lay still.

Carter let out a breath, told them to stay back, then said: "I need to take this fish back for inspection, just in case there's really something wrong. Don't want you guys getting into trouble. Make way, I'll call someone over."

"Can't you leave me a tail?" Venom flicked his tongue, "I just took a bite—it tasted great, way better than the fish we had at noon……"

Then he wobbled—obviously Eddie was fighting for control of the body. After a while, Eddie finally came back, panting, and even gritted his teeth and whispered: "Can't you stop acting like such a country bumpkin?"

Then he put his hands on his hips, twisted his body, and smiled at Carter: "Don't mind, ma'am—you know parasites all love seafood……"

"You say who's the parasite?! Apologize!!!"

This night fishing was truly thrilling. After this, nobody dared to fish anymore. Sure, fishing does aim for big catches—landing a two-meter-plus fish is impressive—but getting slapped by a fish ruins the whole trip.

Still, even if they didn't fish, they could have fun on the yacht. Carter had prepared a rich spread of food, but since they'd eaten a lot at noon, most of it was cold dishes—like smoked fish and smoked meat, which are New York's specialty.

The buffet table had many croissants and French pastries. Shiler took a croissant, and upon picking it up, he knew the pastry chef's skill was excellent. The croissant's shell was slightly firm, but picking it up felt light—indicating proper proofing—and the bottom color was even, the heat just right.

He split the croissant open, then Shiler went to pick the cheese, and was delighted to discover there was actually yellow-and-white marbled Jack cheese. Of course, this cheese has nothing to do with the name Jack—its full name is Colby-Jack cheese, made by combining Colby cheese and Monterey Jack cheese.

This cheese is actually the best for sandwiches, because its melting speed is just right—it won't be like some dry cheeses that stay hard halfway through, nor too salty; and it won't be like mozzarella, which melts too fast, soon dripping everywhere, and sometimes being too stringy, which is a hassle when eating sandwiches, since sandwich-eating occasions generally don't suit stringiness.

This cheese melts gradually under temperature influence, and after melting, it still retains some firmness—this way it can release the cheese's aroma without affecting edibility.

He placed two slices of Jack cheese, then went to get the ham. Shiler chose two slices of Italian ham, looking at the color—it was Parma ham. Italian ham tastes lighter than Spanish ham, and because it's cured for a shorter time, it's moister, making it more suitable for sandwiches as a side, while Spanish ham is better suited for solo tasting or as a drink accompaniment.

After taking the ham, Shiler originally didn't plan to take seafood, but he remembered Peter mentioning salmon at noon, so he came to the seafood section and found sliced raw fish here—this allows the most direct view of salmon's growth condition. As expected, the deep-sea fat pig looks like the raw fish slices in that cartoon, with orange and white parts almost one-to-one.

However, Shiler still bypassed the raw fish slices and looked toward the herb salmon salad cubes at the back. This contains both salmon and dressing, saving him the trouble of squeezing dressing separately. So he directly scooped a spoonful of the salad and poured it over the folded-up ham.

Shiler took his croissant back to his seat and noticed most people weren't eating it that way. They took a plate, put everything on it spoon by spoon, then treated bread like croissants as staple food, cutting it up and eating it together with everything else.

But that's not wrong—or rather, that's how buffets should be eaten. Still, Shiler preferred eating pre-assembled sandwiches. He picked up his croissant, was about to bring it to his mouth, when he saw a black thin line stretching over from his dining table.

He turned his head and saw Eddie sitting beside him, using a knife to spread the soft part inside the Brie cheese onto the bread. It was clear he still cared about his image, but Venom obviously didn't.

"Hey, I want that." Venom said to him.

Eddie turned his head, first saw the croissant in Shiler's hand, then saw Shiler's face. After recognizing him, he gave an apologetic smile, then took Venom and left.

Not long after, Shiler saw Eddie at the buffet table cutting croissants—apparently to assemble sandwiches for Venom.

Alcohol is prohibited on the yacht; Carter's earlier explanation was to prevent them from drinking too much and jumping into the sea. But now this restriction seems a bit excessive—after going through that old-man-and-the-sea struggle, drinking more wouldn't make anyone jump into the sea; the deterrent effect was immediate.

"These few meals I've eaten……" Thor sighed deeply, then sat down opposite Shiler.

"What's wrong? Not satisfied?" Shiler asked. He felt Thor and Sif wouldn't directly tell Carter what they disliked. They were true guests—not just from other multiverses, but from other planets—so it wasn't appropriate to comment much on Earth's food, or they'd seem like overly picky nuisances.

Thor lowered his voice: "The taste is actually not bad, but is the portion too small? Just this ham—I could gnaw off a hind leg by myself."

Shiler felt helpless: "In this setting, you really want to gnaw on a pig's hind leg?"

"No, that's not it—I just don't know how much is appropriate to eat." Thor craned his neck to look at Sif by the buffet; Sif turned her head, and Thor smiled at her like a golden retriever, gesturing for her to take her time choosing.

Thor turned back and said: "Take king crab, for example—I could eat ten or eight by myself. I want to grab a crab leg, but Sif worries I'll eat too much, leaving none for you guys."

"Didn't you have this problem when you came to Earth before?" Shiler asked.

"When I was on Earth before, either I was playing alone—then I ate as much as I wanted; or it was business talks—then you couldn't eat much, since you had to say dozens of sentences per bite, not really there for the food. Like this case, where others are treating me to food, drink, and fun—I've never experienced it before, and besides, they're not acquaintances, so I feel awkward ordering."

Shiler smiled—even though Thor had become the God King, he still just puts on airs when facing strangers. Earlier, when he went to Marvel and met many people there, they were acquaintances. In front of familiar people, Thor is still that big, straightforward, blunt personality.