The stolen submarine, a sleek black shadow against the grey cliffs, rested in a shallow, acidic inlet at the base of Mount Kyosei. The air here was different—thinner, filled with a whispering static that wasn't sound, but the pressure of deep time. Jagged peaks of calcified ash spiraled upward, their porous surfaces sighing with the trapped echoes of ancient voices.
Galit Varuna secured the mooring line, his long neck coiled with tension as he scanned the lifeless shore. Jannali Bandler was already several paces ahead, holding a curious device salvaged from the sub's tech lockers. It was a brass-and-crystal contraption that hummed and emitted a soft, pulsing glow, its needle spinning wildly like a compass lost in a storm. She tapped its glass face, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Behind them, Atlas Acuta leaned against a spire of rock, his breathing a ragged, wet sound that cut through the whispers of the mountain. Each inhale hitched, a sharp pain echoing in the bandages constricting his chest. His rust-red fur was matted, the black spots dull.
"You should wait in the sub," Galit said, his voice low. He didn't look at the Mink, his emerald eyes fixed on the higher paths. "You are in no shape for a climb."
Atlas's head snapped up, his sapphire-blue eyes flashing. "Shut up, Noodle-Neck," he growled, the words strained. "I am fine." He pushed off the rock to stand straight, a tremor running through his legs. The movement pulled at his wound, and a fresh bloom of crimson seeped through the wrappings.
Vesta Lavana, trying to inject a sliver of normalcy, sat on a grey boulder, strumming Mikasi. The guitar-shaped deity emitted a soft, warm chord that fought the oppressive silence. She hummed a wandering, hopeful tune, her violet eyes darting between her struggling friends.
"Jannali," Galit called, ignoring Atlas's defiance. "Anything?"
She paused before a dark, jagged maw in the cliffside—a cave entrance that looked less like rock and more like a petrified scream. The device in her hands went berserk, the needle vibrating so fast it became a blur, the crystal glowing with a fierce, internal light. "This thing's going bonkers," she said, her twang sharp with focus. "The motherlode must be in here!"
Galit gave a tight nod. "Good. Let's be quick and—"
A small, terrified squeak cut him off.
They turned.
Vesta was no longer on her boulder. Benn Roland stood behind where she'd been, his lanky form towering over her. One of his grease-stained hands was clamped over her mouth, the other held her arms pinned. Her wide, frightened eyes peered over his fingers. Mikasi, in guitar form, hung uselessly from her shoulder.
Beside him, Polly Tetsuko planted her massive, steel-toed boot on the path. Her furnace-orange skin glowed with contained heat, her I-beam horns casting long shadows. She folded her muscular arms, her expression one of grim, blue-collar finality.
Jannali's blood ran cold. "Crikey," she breathed.
Galit's hands went to the hilts of his Vipera Whips, his body coiling into a fluid, ready stance. His elongated neck held perfectly still, every muscle taut.
Benn Roland let out a long-suffering sigh, his goggles glinting. "Alright, listen. The easy way: you come with us, no one gets extra dents. The boss lady wants a word." His tone was that of a man negotiating a tedious repair job.
Jannali's fear hardened into defiance. Her fingers tightened around Anhur's Whisper. "Are you daft? Why in the world would we do that?"
Polly shrugged, the motion causing the heavy links of her broken-chain collar to clank. "Just bein' polite. But I prefer the hard way myself." A grim smile touched her lips. "More fun for us."
Benn shot her a sidelong glance. "You prefer it. I don't. I prefer not having my wiring rattled. Just come on so we can get back to calibrating turbines."
"Not a chance!" Atlas snarled. He shoved himself forward, placing his body between his friends and the Ogres. Ignoring the blaze of pain in his chest, he raised a clawed hand. Blue-white electricity, the signature Electro of the Mink Tribe, crackled to life around his fist. The air hummed, smelling of hot fur and storm.
He roared, channeling his fury and pain into a single, desperate blast—a jagged spear of lightning meant to split the ground between them.
The lightning lanced out—and sputtered. It died in the air mere feet from him, fizzling into nothing with a pathetic pop. The drain was too much. Atlas's eyes went wide, then squeezed shut as a white-hot agony tore through his midsection. He stumbled, a guttural gasp escaping him. He threw an arm out, bracing himself against the cold rock of the cave entrance to keep from falling.
Polly watched the failed display, unimpressed. "Nice light show," she remarked, her voice flat. "You done?"
Atlas panted, each breath a shallow, burning scrape. Sweat beaded on his fur. He was a pillar of pride, but the pillar was cracking.
Galit's heart hammered against his ribs. "Just stay out of the way, fur ball!" he snapped, the fear for his crewmate sharpening his words into a blade. He couldn't protect Atlas and fight at the same time. A plan, reckless and necessary, formed in his tactical mind.
He moved. A blur of teal fabric and coiling motion, he charged Benn Roland. His whips, Current's Deception, unfurled from his wrists with a sound like hissing serpents, their tips coated in a venom that promised disorienting vertigo.
Jannali was a half-step behind him, her own resolve solidifying. She didn't hesitate. She thrust the humming crystal device into Atlas's trembling, free hand. "We'll deal with them!" she yelled, her eyes locking with his pained, furious ones. "You get the crystals! That's the mission!"
Atlas's gaze burned into hers—a storm of humiliation, rage, and helplessness. He was a warrior who lived to be the strongest on the field, and here he was being relegated to a fetch quest, told to hide. His jaw worked, but no protest came out, only another pained grunt as his body betrayed him.
He watched for a heartbeat—saw Galit engage Benn, the whips tangling around the Ogre's insulated rod in a flash of sparks and clever parries. Saw Jannali level her spear at Polly, the sea-stone tip a tiny, defiant threat against the overseer's monumental frame.
Reluctance, thick and bitter, choked him. With a final, frustrated growl that was more pain than anger, Atlas turned his back on the fight. He clutched the glowing device to his chest, and with the slow, heavy steps of a defeated king, he vanished into the deep, whispering darkness of the cave. The ancient voices of Mount Kyosei swallowed him whole, leaving his friends to face the storm outside.
If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider giving Dracule Marya Zaleska a Power Stone! It helps the novel climb the rankings and get more eyes on our story!
Thank you for sailing with us! 🏴☠️ Your support means so much!
Want to see the Dreadnought Thalassa blueprints? Or unlock the true power of Goddess Achlys?
Join the Dracule Marya Zaleska crew on Patreon to get exclusive concept art, deep-dive lore notes, and access to our private Discord community! You make the New World adventure possible.
Become a Crewmate and Unlock the Lore:
https://patreon.com/An1m3N3rd?utm_medium=unknown&utm_source=join_link&utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink
Thanks so much for your support and loving this story as much as I do!