Chapter 40: The Storm Reaver
The Middle-Earth Sea churned under a darkened sky. A massive storm rolled across the waters, lightning splitting the sky as waves slammed against a weathered three-masted sailboat. The vessel, more relic than ship, groaned as it fought the tempest, yet it held its course like a ghost defying time and everything.
Aboard the deck, black-cloaked soldiers moved with eerie precision. Each bore a metallic mask and wind-etched spear, gusts spiralling faintly around their weapons. The embroidery on their cloaks shimmered with silver storms—clouds and lightning bolts twisting in motion.
"We're still short on the Phantom Mutated Sharks," one murmured, steady despite the sea's rage.
A sudden burst of blue essence cracked the air behind them.
In an instant, every soldier turned, spears raised toward the source. A hooded man stood near the mast, clad in navy-blue robes, face hidden save for his glowing azure eyes. From beneath his cloak, twin curved blades gleamed as they appeared outward — fluid and sharp like fangs forged of water.
One soldier whispered, trembling, "Sea King ... "
The names echoed silently among them. King of the Storms. Emperor of the Ocean. Ogin Family's Phantom Blade.
The Sea King moved.
His swords danced in a blur, forming spiralling vortexes of slashing water. Soldiers surged forward like machines, unflinching even as their ranks and powers were torn apart. Plasma bolts hissed from spears but were deflected or drowned in whirling water shields.
A soldier lunged, slicing the hood free.
Sky-blue hair spilt into view, sharp and clean as ocean foam. For a moment, silence fell as if the time had slowed down.
Then—an azure beam flashed.
Another soldier dropped without knowing what had struck him. After that, everyone fell down on the deck, and only corpses remained scattered across the deck.
Inside one of the rooms of the cabin, a man in a pointed helm and brown cloak worked frantically at a control panel. Before him, a pod hissed open. Inside, a small red-haired girl sat, eyes wide—glowing crimson with fear. Her tiny hands pressed uncertainly against the seatbelt.
The man handed a leather satchel to her and hesitated.
Meanwhile, the door of the cabin shattered.
A monstrous shark, sculpted of illusory water, burst into the room. Behind it came the Sea King with his glowing blades and silent steps.
Soldiers formed a wall, serpent-crested shields locking into place and with each other. They knew that they never stood a chance, but they were still persistent.
With a flash, the navy-blue cloaked man twisted through them like a living storm. Swords spun, and blood sprayed. Then—he became the water shark itself, crashing through their line and into the chamber.
The brown-cloaked man slammed down a lever quickly.
The pod sealed itself, and the girl pressed her tiny hands against the transparent glass.
The red-haired girl looked up and struck the glass once—twice—but it was too late. A blast of force sent it, shooting through a hidden chute, hurling her into the stormy sea.
The last thing she saw was the watery beast breaching into the room.
Blood trailed down the wall as the brown-cloaked man collapsed, coughing crimson. The Sea King, undistracted, turned toward a pile of sealed crates. One by one, he opened them.
Empty. He found all of them empty.
His eyes narrowed.
Water formed in his hand, solidifying into a sword once more. He swings it diagonally backwards.
Behind him, a sharp clang echoed.
Floating in mid-air, half-shrouded in smoke, was a black cloaked figure. Shoulder-length black hair veiled one eye. His legs faded into black mist. A twin-sting scorpion insignia glowed faintly on the back of his cloak.
The man licked his lips with a long, serpentine tongue. "You really came, Sea King. He said you would. Hudaifah of the Ogin Family—how I've longed for this."
Without a reply, Hudaifah summoned his second blade.
The room exploded in chaos.
Lightning laced the storm outside, while within, shadows flickered, and water slashed like blades of light. The brown-cloaked man couldn't follow their movements. A battle between forces far beyond his sight able to perceive.
Suddenly, the whole room became silent.
The black-cloaked intruder hovered near the dying man. His right arm was mangled, charred with lightning burns and deep cuts. Hudaifah stood farther off, drenched in sweat but untouched, chest heaving without sound.
"You ... you're all the same ... traitors ..." The briwn cloaked man rasped.
The scorpion-marked warrior glanced sideways, voice cold. "It's not treachery. It's business."
He grinned. "I only needed a moment of distraction. You sent the girl off in panic. You shouldn't have. Nevertheless, I'll find her anyway."
The dying man clenched his teeth and hurled a lantern weakly.
The enemy easily dodged—until he noticed where it landed. But it was too late.
The device where the lantern had fell exploded.
The ancient ship vanished in a blinding bloom of fire and water. The Middle-Earth Sea trembled as the remains of the vessel scattered across the storm in molten wood and steel. For miles, the shockwave travelled.
And somewhere beneath those waves, the pod with crimson eyes drifted—alone and adrift in the eye of a vanishing storm.