The world outside was a symphony of panic. The tremor that had shaken the palace now rippled through the entire city. Overhead, the great bubble that protected Fish-Man Island flickered erratically, casting the streets in stuttering pulses of light and shadow. The air, usually filled with the cheerful din of the market, was now thick with the shouts of confused citizens and the distant, urgent blare of royal alarm conchs. Marya moved through it all like a ghost, a stream of grey mist that flowed against the current of frightened merfolk and fishmen, the stolen crystal a heavy, throbbing weight under her arm.
She didn't stop at the door of Henrick's forge; she streamed right through the gaps in the whalebone frame, reforming in the center of the apartment above in a coalescence of vapor. She was bent double, her chest heaving with ragged breaths she hadn't had time to take during her frantic flight.
Galit shot to his feet from where he'd been hunched over his tactical slate, his calculations forgotten. His emerald eyes took in her disheveled state, the faint sheen of sweat on her brow, and the massive, pulsating crystal she clutched. His long neck uncoiled in a gesture of pure astonishment.
"I take it," he said, his voice dry despite the circumstances, "you are the cause of the recent seismic activity. The meeting with the royal family was a… productive one, I see."
Marya straightened up, shooting him a glare that could have frozen lava. "We will discuss your role in that particular disaster later," she snapped, her voice sharp with spent adrenaline. "What's the plan for immediate extraction?"
Galit's smirk was instantaneous. "The sub is prepped and fueled. I anticipated a rapid departure, though perhaps not quite this rapid. What is our primary objective?" His eyes flicked to the crystal.
"This," Marya said, thrusting the heavy crystal into his arms. He grunted under its unexpected weight. "Take it. Go prep the sub for an emergency launch. We are leaving. Now."
Galit nodded, his mind already shifting to the new variables. "Understood. And Atlas?"
"I'm about to go and get him."
The apartment door burst open with a sound like splintering wood. Henrick stood there, his massive frame filling the doorway, his expression a storm cloud of betrayal and anger. Behind him, Fia's face was pale with confusion and fear. Jelly wobbled in between them, jiggling with anxious energy.
"Is it true?" Henrick's voice was a low, dangerous rumble, all traces of his earlier warmth gone. "The whole island is shaking. The alarms are sounding from the palace. They're saying… they're saying the Heart has been attacked." His furious gaze fell upon the crystal in Galit's arms, its familiar energy unmistakable. His eyes widened in horrified recognition. "We trusted you."
Fia pushed past him, her hands fluttering in a gesture of pleading disbelief. "But why? Marya, why would you do this?"
Galit opened his mouth, no doubt to launch into a tactical justification, but Marya cut him off. "There's no time for this. We must go."
Henrick took a step forward, his hands clenching into fists. "I can't let you do that. Not with that." The air in the small room grew thick with the promise of violence.
Marya raised a single, dismissive eyebrow. "You think you can stop us?"
It wasn't a question of arrogance, but of simple fact. Before Henrick could even form a reply, Marya dissolved. She didn't just turn to mist; she expanded, a sudden, silent fog that filled the room in an instant. Tendrils of grey vapor wrapped around Galit and Jelly.
Poof.
They vanished from the apartment, leaving Henrick and Fia staring at empty space.
They reappeared on the trembling street outside. Jelly gave a startled, excited bounce. "Adventure-bounce!"
Marya rematerialized, already turning to Galit. "You know what to do. I am right behind you." She didn't need to say more. Down the street, a squad of Royal Guards was mobilizing, their weapons drawn, shouting orders as they began to sweep the area.
Galit hefted the crystal, his expression grimly determined. "Understood." Without another word, he turned and sprinted toward the dock district, his long legs eating up the cobbled road.
Marya didn't watch him go. She turned her gaze in the opposite direction, toward the narrow, herbal-scented alley that led to Dr. Kelpo's office. The air around her shimmered once more, and then she was gone, a streak of desperate mist racing against the clock, leaving a wake of confusion and a kingdom teetering on the brink.
The air in the narrow, herbal-scented alley leading to Dr. Kelpo's office shimmered like a heat haze over desert stone. From the disturbance, Marya coalesced into solid form, her boots hitting the coral-tiled floor of the clinic's anteroom with a soft thud. The suddenness of her appearance made the barracuda nurse jolt, a stack of patient scrolls tumbling from her hands.
Without a word, Marya tossed a heavy, clinking pouch onto the reception desk. The drawstring loosened, spilling a small fortune in gold berries across the polished conch shell. "For your services," Marya stated, her voice a low, rushed thing. "Now, about those antibiotics."
The nurse stared, her mouth opening to form a protest, but Marya was already moving, striding past her toward the back rooms. "You can't—! He can't be moved yet! His fever hasn't broken!" the nurse called after her, her voice sharp with professional alarm.
Marya ignored her. She shoved open the door to the patient room. Atlas lay on the volcanic rock bed, his breathing still ragged, his rust-red fur dark with sweat. The IV bag, half-empty, dripped its clear, life-sustaining fluid into his arm. In one fluid motion, Marya snatched the bag from its hook and laid it carefully on his broad, unconscious chest.
She turned back to the nurse who had followed her, blocking the doorway. "Antibiotics. The rest of the dosage. Now."
A new presence filled the hall behind the nurse. Dr. Kelpo, his usually kind eyes narrowed to slits, his massive frame radiating a cold, disappointed fury. The low tremor that still occasionally shook the floor seemed to emanate from him as much as from the island itself.
"Are you the cause of all this?" the manatee fishman asked, his voice a gravelly accusation that vibrated in the small space.
Marya's golden eyes met his, unwavering. There was no apology in her gaze, only a fierce, unyielding necessity. "Antibiotics," she repeated, the word a final, sharp demand. "Now!"
A long, tense beat stretched between them. The only sounds were Atlas's labored breathing and the distant, rising wail of sirens from the city. The doctor's gaze flicked to his vulnerable patient, then back to the determined woman who held his fate in her hands. He saw the truth there; she would take what she needed, with or without his permission, and a fight in this room would only hurt the injured Mink.
Kelpo let out a grunt of pure frustration, a sound like grinding stones. He relented, turning to a locked cabinet. With a key from a chain around his neck, he opened it and pulled out two more full IV bags, cold and heavy with their crucial medicine. He thrust them at her.
"When that one empties, start another," he bit out, each word laced with a healer's anger at seeing his work threatened. "When they are all gone, you had best hope you have found that witch on Drum Island."
Marya gave a single, curt nod, taking the bags. She didn't offer thanks. It wasn't a transaction that warranted any. She placed a hand on Atlas's shoulder and another on the IV bag on his chest. Then, she dissolved, the mist that enveloped her swirling around the massive Mink. For a heartbeat, their forms blurred together into a single, chaotic cloud, and then they were gone, vanished from the room, racing against time.
On the other side of the island, chaos reigned. Galit sprinted through the panicked crowds, the stolen crystal a heavy, awkward burden in his arms. Jelly bounced alongside him, a wobbling blue shield deflecting the occasional stray fishman who tried to grab them.
"Halt! In the name of the king!" a guard shouted, leveling a harpoon.
Galit didn't break stride. With a flick of his wrist, one of his Vipera Whips snapped out, not to strike, but to tangly around the weapon's shaft, yanking it from the guard's grip and sending it clattering away. "No time for formalities!" he muttered, his mind already three steps ahead, calculating the fastest route to the docks.
They burst into the open area of the dockyard, the sleek, shark-like form of their submarine coming into view. Galit's heart sank. It was surrounded. A full squad of Royal Guards, armed with nets and tridents, had formed a cordon around the vessel.
He skidded to a halt, cursing under his breath. "A tactical bottleneck. Suboptimal."
Jelly bounced next to him, giggling. "I know! Bloop! I have an idea!"
Before Galit could ask what kind of idea a cheerful blob of jelly could possibly have, Jelly was already in motion. "Wheeeee!" he chirped, launching himself into the air. His form stretched, flattening and widening into a massive, shimmering, azure-blue sheet that descended over the entire squad of guards like a bizarre, giggling parachute.
The guards cried out in confusion, their world turning blue and wobbly. They stabbed and punched at the gelatinous prison, but their weapons just sank in and were stuck, and their blows only elicited more merry giggles from their captor.
"It tickles! Heehee!" Jelly's voice echoed from everywhere at once.
Galit stared for a split second, then shook his head in bewildered acceptance. "Whatever works." He didn't waste the opening. Darting past the squirming, Jelly-covered mound of frustrated guards, he scrambled up the hull of the sub and yanked the hatch open, sliding inside with the crystal to begin the frantic startup sequence. The escape was underway, powered by equal parts tactical genius and absurd, joyful chaos.
The hatch of the submarine slammed shut with a definitive, pressurized hiss, sealing them in a world of muted engine hum and cold, recycled air. Inside, the control room was a tight cocoon of polished brass, glowing dials, and the sharp scent of fumes from sparking relays. Galit's hands were a blur across the control panel, flipping switches and priming engines with a speed born of desperation and intense study.
"Jelly, get in!" Galit shouted over the rising whine of the turbines, not taking his eyes from the readouts. "We're disembarking!"
Outside, a cheerful "Okay-bloop!" was followed by a series of wet, smacking sounds and muffled cries of surprise. The massive, quivering blue sheet that was Jelly suddenly contracted, squeezing the entire squad of guards into a groaning, unconscious heap before releasing them. He then rebounded with elastic force, launching himself toward the sub. A gelatinous pseudopod stretched out, yanked the hatch open, and he oozed inside, reforming into his wobbly self just as the door sealed again.
"All squished!" Jelly announced proudly.
At that exact moment, the air in the center of the cramped control room shimmered. A cloud of grey mist streamed through the solid hull, defying physics, and coalesced into Marya, who was supporting the massive, unconscious form of Atlas. She staggered under his weight, laying him down as gently as she could on the cold metal decking. Her chest heaved, not from exhaustion, but from the adrenaline-fueled focus of her mad dash.
She didn't pause. Sliding into the co-pilot's seat beside Galit, she snapped, "Jelly! Hold him down! This might get bumpy!"
"Sticky-time!" Jelly chirped. He immediately dissolved, spreading himself over Atlas like a living, azure-blue restraint blanket, his body adhering to the Mink and the floor plates with a tenacious grip. Atlas was secured.
Marya's golden eyes scanned the viewport. The dark water of the dock was already churning with the sub's powerful thrusters. "Status?" she barked.
"Coordinates for Drum Island are locked," Galit reported, his voice tight. His long neck was coiled with tension, his emerald eyes reflecting the frantic dance of indicator lights. "Diving now."
He pulled back on the steering yoke. The submarine angled down sharply, its nose cutting into the deeper, darker waters beyond the dock. For a moment, it seemed they had made it. The colorful coral spires of Fish-Man Island began to shrink above them.
Then it happened.
A sudden, violent lurch seized the vessel. A sound of grinding metal screamed through the hull, and the sub shuddered to a near halt, held fast as if in the grip of a giant. The engine whined in protest, but they couldn't move forward.
Marya let out a short, frustrated sigh, her knuckles white where she gripped the console. Galit's brow furrowed as he checked the external sensors.
"It is not optimal," he stated, his voice laced with a rare strain. The tactical display showed a single, powerful form holding the stern of the sub. "But we are clear of the island's main structural bubble. We could initiate the Bubble Porter to escape the immediate threat."
Marya didn't hesitate. "Do it!"
Galit's hands flew across a separate panel, inputting a complex sequence. "Bubble Porter initiated! Brace for dimensional shear!"
Jelly, from his position glued to the floor, yelled, "Squishy time!" and tightened his grip on Atlas.
Outside, Jinbe held fast to the submarine's hull, the muscles in his arms corded with immense strain. Around him, a contingent of royal guards moved in to secure cables. His face was a mask of grim determination. He would bring them to justice. He would—
The submarine in his hands didn't just power away. It shimmered. The solid metal hull lost its substance, becoming translucent, then nearly invisible. For a heart-stopping second, it looked like a ghost ship made of soap bubbles and light. Then, with a silent, concussive pop that sent a shockwave through the water, it vanished completely.
Jinbe was left grasping empty sea. The force of the sudden disappearance sent him spinning backward in the water. He righted himself, staring at the void where the ship had been. The royal guards floated nearby, their expressions blank with shock.
A low, frustrated curse escaped the Knight of the Sea, the sound a stream of bubbles lost in the vast, empty blue. They were gone.
*****
The submarine groaned, a sound of protesting metal that vibrated through the deck plates. Outside the thick viewports, the world was a nightmare of churning water and shadow. A tendril, thick as an ancient tree trunk and studded with barnacles the size of shields, had wrapped itself around the hull with a grinding screech. The craft lurched violently, pulled deeper into the abyssal gloom where that single, monstrous eye stared up with ancient malice.
On the surface, the Revolutionary ship fared no better. Another tendril had seized it, halting its desperate flight, the wood of its hull creaking in protest.
Inside the sub, alarms blared. Red light washed over Aurélie's set face as her hands flew across the control panel. "Brace! It's trying to crush us!"
Just as the pressure seemed unbearable, a flash of light erupted from the Revolutionary ship's deck. Sabo, his figure silhouetted against the stormy sky, stood firm. His right hand was curled into that peculiar, claw-like shape, sheathed in the powerful, invisible energy of Armament Haki. With a roar lost to the distance, he drove his "Dragon Claw" fist down onto the slimy, ropy flesh of the tendril.
A shockwave of pure concussive force, amplified by Haki, traveled through the creature's limb. The tendril convulsed, its grip loosening for a critical second before recoiling back into the depths as if scalded. The sudden release sent the Revolutionary ship surging forward.
The effect was simultaneous. The tendril constricting their submarine shuddered in sympathetic pain, its grip slackening. Aurélie didn't hesitate. She slammed the throttle forward, and the sub shot ahead like a released arrow, finally free of the crushing embrace.
Both vessels fled the collapsing cove, leaving the waking horror behind. But their reprieve was short-lived. A shout came from the crow's nest of the Revolutionary ship, barely audible over the wind: "Navy! Starboard bow!"
A Marine warship, its sails full, had navigated the periphery of the chaos. Cannon ports swung open, and a moment later, the air shook with the thunder of a broadside. Iron shot screamed across the water, sending up geysers of spray around the fleeing Revolutionaries, who returned fire as they carved a desperate path away from the nightmare.
Once they were a mile clear of the immediate destruction, Aurélie brought the sub back to the surface. The craft bobbed in the turbulent, debris-choked water. Her compound eyes, sharper than any lens, scanned the flotsam.
"Any sign of her?" Charlie asked, his voice tight as he peered over her shoulder at the instrument panel, which showed only meaningless blips amidst the chaos.
Aurélie didn't answer immediately. Her gaze was fixed on a specific point in the water. Then, with a sudden, sharp movement, she jerked the steering yoke, angling the sub toward a large, splintered piece of wooden decking.
"I'll take that as a yes," Charlie muttered, grabbing a handhold as they changed course. "Her senses are, ahem, more acute than the equipment."
They breached beside the makeshift raft. On it, Bianca Clark knelt, gasping for air, her overalls soaked through. Beside her, Ember lay unconscious, pale and still, her pink hair plastered to her forehead.
Souta moved without being asked. "I'll retrieve them." He opened the top hatch, the wind and spray whipping inside. His tattoos shifted, ink flowing from his arms to form two sleek, shadowy serpents that slithered across the churning water. They coiled gently around the two women, and with a steady pull, Souta and a grateful Bianca hauled the unconscious Ember onto the sub's deck before helping Bianca herself inside.
Gunshots rang out. The Navy ship, having driven off the Revolutionaries, had turned its attention to the strange submersible. Musket balls pinged off the reinforced hull.
"Like, just great! Welcome party!" Bianca cursed, dragging Ember's limp form through the inner hatch and slamming it shut. "Don't stop for tea, Aurélie! Go, go, go!"
Aurélie didn't need the warning. Her hands were already flying across the console. "Bubble Porter initiating. Coordinates for Sabaody set. Hold on." She slammed her palm down on a large, glowing button.
A shimmering, soap-bubble-like film began to envelop the sub. But Bianca's engineer eyes, sharp even after near-drowning, caught a detail everyone else missed: a tiny, smoldering hole in the sealing mechanism where a stray musket ball had ricocheted. "Hey, wait! The primary seal is—"
It was too late. The Bubble Porter engaged with a wrenching, groaning shudder that was utterly wrong. The world outside the viewports stretched into nauseating streaks of color and light, then collapsed back into reality with a violent jolt that threw everyone against their harnesses. The hum of the engine died into an ominous silence. They were motionless, bobbing on calm, unfamiliar waters.
Bianca groaned, untangling herself from a heap with Charlie. "Like, where are we? That felt... way off."
Charlie pushed his cracked spectacles up his nose and peered at a navigation dial, its needle spinning lazily. He paled. "Ahem. It would appear... we are not at Sabaody Archipelago."
Outside the viewports, the sky was a strange, twilight hue, and the sea was preternaturally calm. The air, when Souta cracked a hatch to sample it, smelled of salt and something else—something old, and sweet, and utterly unknown. They had escaped the Navy and the entity, but their journey had been thrown violently off course, their destination a mystery swallowed by the sea.
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