The silence in the detention block was a heavy, shared weight. Through the shimmering blue haze of the forcefields, the six prisoners could only exchange wary glances, each mind racing to chart the impossible stars of their new reality. The low, constant hum of the platform's machinery was the only sound—until it was joined by a new, distant vibration that made the deck plates thrum underfoot.
Bianca, who had been tracing a finger over a smudge of engine grease on her overalls, froze. She flipped her wrist over as if checking a non-existent watch. "Like, that doesn't sound good," she muttered, her voice cutting through the somber quiet. "That's a harmonic resonance from, like, the main power conduits. They're pumping way more juice than for just lights."
The vibration grew into a shuddering rumble. On her bench, Ember stirred, her mismatched eyes fluttering open. She rubbed a fist into one eye, the charred plush rabbit, Mr. Cinders, slipping from her grip.
"Rise and shine, sleepy head," Souta said from his cell, his voice a dry monotone. He hadn't moved, but his eyes were wide open, sharply focused, missing nothing. "The local wildlife seems to be waking up."
---
In a cavernous laboratory bay deep within Haven-07, the submarine sat under the harsh glare of industrial lights, surrounded by a swarm of CUA engineers in grey coveralls. The air was thick with the smell of hot metal, fumes from overworked equipment, and the distinct, coppery scent of fear. Wires and sensor pads snaked over the sub's alien hull, connected to consoles where data scrolled too fast to read.
In a shadowy corner, partially hidden behind a stack of crates labeled 'HYDRAULIC FLUID - CLASSIFIED', a technician named Elrik held a communicator the size of his thumb to his lips. His voice was a hushed, frantic whisper.
"The asset is secure in the main lab. The tech… it's not just foreign, it's alive. The energy signature is unstable, reactive. They think it accidentally triggered the last Typhon event just by being here." He listened for a moment, his Adam's apple bobbing. "If the JFF could control this… it wouldn't just shift the balance. It would break the board entirely."
A gruff, filtered voice crackled back. "Maintain your position. You are too valuable an asset to risk. Extraction for both the vessel and your… guests… is already in motion. Just keep them distracted."
Elrik's head snapped around as a deafening CLANG echoed through the bay. Across the room, a young, overly eager engineer named Finn stared, wide-eyed, as a heavy spanner he'd been using to tap on the hull had slipped from his sweaty grip and crashed to the floor.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Finn stammered, his face flushing. But his embarrassment was quickly replaced by excitement as he pointed to a crystalline panel on the sub that had begun to glow with a soft, internal light. "Wait! Look! I think I've figured out the activation sequence for the auxiliary power coupling! See this dial here? The pattern matches our own phase-converters. If I just adjust this setting and then press this primary rune…"
"Finn, don't you dare!" shouted a senior engineer, dropping a data pad. "We have no idea what that does!"
But it was too late. Finn, driven by the reckless curiosity that defined the best and worst of CUA engineers, twisted the dial and slammed his palm onto the button.
For a heart-stopping second, nothing happened. Then, the submarine began to shiver, not from an external force, but from a deep, internal power. A low-frequency hum built into a deafening whine that threatened to shatter eardrums. The lights within the lab flickered violently.
"Get back! Clear the area!" someone screamed. Engineers scrambled over each other, diving under consoles and behind reinforced pillars.
Elrik fumbled with his communicator, bringing it back to his lips. "What's happening?" the voice on the other end demanded.
"They've activated something! There's a massive energy build-up! You need to hurry, time is—" Elrik's words were cut off as the submarine unleashed a visible wave of force, a silent, shimmering concussion of air that threw every person in the lab off their feet. Tools, consoles, and engineers were tossed backwards like leaves in a gale.
Before anyone could even groan from the impact, a new, more terrifying sound erupted: the blaring, undulating wail of the platform-wide hazard alarm. A synthesized voice boomed from the intercom, cold and urgent. "Alert. Multiple Typhon-class signatures detected. Three Class II entities on intercept vector. One Class III entity confirmed. All personnel to battle stations. This is not a drill."
The lab, moments ago a scene of scientific curiosity, erupted into pure chaos. Technicians ran for blast shelters, while the distant, heavy tromp of booted feet signaled pilots sprinting for their Armored Frames.
---
In his office, Commander Victor Keller was reviewing the frustratingly inconclusive interrogation reports when the first tremor hit. He was on his feet before the alarm even began. He stormed out into the command center, which was a maelstrom of shouting officers and flashing tactical holograms.
"Report!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the din.
A junior officer, her face pale, turned to him. "Four contacts, Commander! Emerging from the deep trench. It's an unprecedented convergence. Sensors indicate the energy pulse from the alien vessel was the catalyst."
Keller's knuckles turned white as he gripped the railing overlooking the command pit. Four Typhons. One of them a Class III, a city-killer. His mind raced, connecting the dots: the strange vessel, the energy signature, the immediate and overwhelming response. This was no coincidence; it was a beacon.
"The prisoners," he snarled, turning to a squad of guards by the door. "Double the guard on the detention center immediately! No one in or out without my direct authorization!" This was no longer just an interrogation. It was a containment mission. Whoever these people were, they had just turned his fortress into the bullseye.
---
Back in the cells, the blaring alarm was deafening. Red emergency lights strobed, painting their faces in alternating washes of normal light and hellish crimson.
Bianca pressed her hands over her ears. "Okay, that is, like, definitely worse!"
Ember was now fully awake, bouncing on the balls of her feet with a manic energy. "Ooh, a party! Is it a party, Josiah? It sounds loud!" she chirped to her rabbit.
Souta remained seated, but his gloved fingers were drumming a rapid, restless rhythm on his thigh. "It would seem our hosts have a pest problem," he observed, his voice laced with dark amusement. "And we, my dear Ember, are unfortunately in the nest."
Aurélie and Kuro, from their separate cells, locked eyes. The professional understanding from earlier had returned, deepened by a shared, grim calculation. The delicate game of secrets between their two teams was now secondary. The board had been flipped over, and the rules were written by monsters.
*****
The narrow wooden corridors of the galleon had become a chaotic obstacle course. With every thunderous impact from the battle raging outside, the entire ship would groan and tilt, sending unsecured barrels crashing and swinging lanterns casting frantic, jerking shadows. Atlas and Jannali moved through this bedlam like a force of nature. Atlas was a battering ram of rust-red fur and crackling Electro, his dual chui, Stormclaw and Thunderfang, leaving stunned Marines in his wake like fallen bowling pins. Jannali was a whirlwind beside him, her retractable spear, Anhur's Whisper, a blur of dark sea-stone as she used its butt to disarm and its tip to precisely target pressure points, her movements a fluid dance between the lurching walls.
"Left, big fella!" Jannali called out, her twang cutting through the noise. She didn't need to look; the Vivre Card in her hand was pulling like a hound on a scent. Atlas grunted in acknowledgment, shoulder-checking a heavy reinforced door off its hinges without breaking stride.
The narrow wooden door burst open violently, a deep groan echoing through the ship's frame as if a giant were trying to snap its spine. Atlas barely broke stride, his muscular form barreling forward, while Jannali adjusted her footing with a dancer's grace, the Vivre Card in her hand twitching like a captured hummingbird.
"Reckon the big boys are still playin' rough outside," Jannali quipped, her voice echoing in the confined space. A sudden blast of frigid air whistled through a crack in the hull, frosting the air, only to be followed a second later by a wave of dry heat that made the timber walls sweat.
"Let them," Atlas grunted, his sapphire-blue eyes fixed ahead. "Our fight is here." He rounded a corner and skidded to an abrupt halt, his claws scraping on the planking. Jannali pulled up beside him, her confident smirk faltering for a heartbeat.
The corridor opened into a wider storage hold, crates of munitions and dried goods stacked high. Waiting for them were three figures who embodied the World Government's bizarre and terrifying reach.
To the left, Saar "Thunder-Tusk" Mogambo stood with arms crossed, his massive frame seeming to fill the space. Tribal scars stood out against his dark skin, and the single cracked elephant tusk on his back seemed to thrum with latent energy. "The Mink and the mongrel," he growled, his voice like grinding stones. "Come to die in a metal box."
In the center, Mirror Marcellus preened, adjusting the cuff of his pristine white suit. His hair, a cascade of crystallized glass shards, tinkled softly with the ship's movements. "Oh, I do hope they put up a fight," he sighed, his kaleidoscope eyes reflecting the frightened faces of a dozen Marines cowering behind them. "It's so tedious when they just break immediately."
To the right, Tanis "The Sandscript" Al-Hakim stood silent and observant, her heterochromatic eyes—one amber, one lapis lazuli—darting between Atlas and Jannali, analyzing, calculating. Her fingers twitched, and a few grains of sand trickled from her fingertips, sketching faint, encrypted patterns on the floor.
"Crikey," Jannali whistled, recovering her bravado. "A walking trophy case, a shattered chandelier, and a silent type who's probably figuring out our grocery list. Quite the welcoming committee."
Marcellus's lips curled into a condescending smile. "Such vulgarity. But then, what can one expect from gutter trash chasing scraps?"
"While exchanging insults is a real hoot and all," Jannali said, tapping her foot impatiently, "we're on a bit of a tight schedule. So if you'd just scoot over…"
Tanis spoke for the first time, her voice a dry, rustling whisper. "The only schedule you need concern yourself with is the one your new masters in the Holy Land will impose upon you." Her sand-script swirled into a sharp, angular symbol.
Atlas cracked his knuckles, the sound like rocks grinding together. A spark of blue Electro danced between his furred fingers. "Sounds like a lot of talk," he rumbled, a feral grin splitting his face. "Sounds like… a waste of my time."
The fight exploded into motion.
Saar bellowed a challenge and charged, his fist pulled back for a Tekkai-enhanced blow that promised to reduce Atlas to paste. Atlas didn't dodge. He met the charge head-on, his own Electro-wreathed fist smashing into Saar's with a concussive BOOM that shook the entire hold. The air crackled with discharged energy, and both giants were thrown back a step.
"Not bad, fur-ball!" Saar roared, shaking his numbed hand.
"You hit like a government bureaucrat," Atlas taunted, already lunging again, his dual chui, Stormclaw and Thunderfang, appearing in his hands.
While the titans clashed, Marcellus focused on Jannali. "Let's see what secrets hide behind that common little bandana, shall we?" He flicked his wrist, and a shard of glass shot from his sleeve, elongating into a razor-sharp spear.
Jannali was already moving, her retractable spear, Anhur's Whisper, snapping to its full length. She deflected the glass projectile with a sharp clang, the force numbing her arm. "Bit personal, ain't it, mate?" She didn't wait for a reply, hurling one of her Echo Boomerangs. It whistled past Marcellus's head, but he didn't flinch, merely smirking as it curved back. At the last second, Jannali yanked a hidden wire, and the boomerang dropped, slicing the strap on a heavy crate above Marcellus. The crate teetered.
Marcellus glanced up, annoyed, and created a glass pillar to stop its fall. It was the distraction Jannali needed. She closed the distance, her spear a blur, forcing him on the defensive. "You're all flash and no fire!" she goaded.
"I am perfection made manifest!" he shrieked, his form beginning to glisten, transforming into a living statue of crystal-clear glass.
Meanwhile, Tanis had not engaged directly. She used Geppo to plant her feet on the wall, high above the fray, her robes flowing around her. She watched, her fingers constantly moving, sending streams of sand to coil around Atlas's ankles like snakes, trying to trip him mid-swing against Saar. The sand wasn't just entangling; it was forming complex patterns that seemed to subtly disorient, to misdirect.
The ship gave another tremendous lurch. This time, a sheet of ice suddenly burst through the starboard wall, freezing a stack of crates solid. A moment later, a wave of heat from the port side answered, causing the ice to steam and crack. The environment itself was becoming a volatile participant.
Saar, enraged by Atlas's relentless assault, unleashed his Mythical Zoan power. His body swelled, his skin thickening into a hide of storm-beast leather, fractalized tusks sprouting from his shoulders. He slammed his foot down, and a shockwave of electrostatic force, a crude Rokuogan, erupted outward.
Atlas crossed his chui, bracing himself, the impact sending him skidding backward across the now-icy and steaming floor. He grinned, blood trickling from a cut on his lip. "Now we're talking!"
Jannali, seeing an opening as Marcellus was momentarily distracted by the shaking, threw her second boomerang. This one, infused with a flicker of Armament Haki, didn't aim for him. It slammed into the glass pillar holding up the crate, shattering it. The heavy crate of iron cannonballs finally crashed down toward Marcellus.
With a cry of fury, Marcellus had to abandon his attack to shatter the falling debris into harmless glass dust. "You irritating insect!"
Tanis, from her perch, saw the tide turning. Her sand-script swirled into a new, aggressive pattern. It was no longer about observation. The sands around her began to coalesce into the form of a great, snarling sandstone sphinx, its maw opening to unleash a roar of grinding particulates.
The battle was reaching its crescendo, a chaotic ballet of lightning, glass, sand, and brute force, all set to the discordant symphony of a Admiral-level duel raging just outside the hull. The outcome balanced on a knife's edge, a testament to the unpredictable chaos that followed in Marya's wake.
The flagship had become a floating arena of pure bedlam. The very air was thick with conflicting energies—one moment a frigid gust screaming through a splintered hull panel, the next a wave of dry, furnace-like heat that made the wooden beams creak and sweat. The sounds of battle were a constant, discordant symphony: the thunderous impacts of Atlas's clash with Saar, the sharp ping and crunch of Jannali's boomerangs against Marcellus's glass, and the ever-present, earth-shaking roars from the elemental duel raging on the ice field beyond the hull.
Marya moved through the madness with a predator's grace, her boots making barely a sound on the groaning deck. Her golden eyes scanned the chaotic corridors, looking for a flash of rust-red fur or a head of proud afro hair. The mission was straightforward: regroup, find the girl, extract. But the Void, as it often did, had other plans.
A sudden, violent pang seized her chest, a sensation like a hook digging behind her sternum and yanking. She gasped, a sharp, involuntary intake of air that tasted of ice and ash. Stumbling, she gripped the front of her shirt, her knuckles white against the black leather of her jacket. "Not now," she muttered through gritted teeth, her calm facade cracking under the internal assault.
A panicked Marine, seeing her moment of weakness, lunged with a bayonet. Marya didn't even look at him. With a fluid, almost bored motion, she sidestepped the thrust and swung the sheathed Eternal Eclipse in a short, brutal arc. The heavy hilt connected with the man's temple with a sickening thud, sending him sprawling face-first into the deck, where he lay still.
She braced an arm against the wall, the wood vibrating with the ship's trauma. "This is not a good time!" she growled, not to the unconscious Marine, but to the presence gnawing at her mind.
'I sense it!' The voice was not a sound, but a pressure, an ancient, hungry echo in the caverns of her consciousness. 'Go to it!'
"What are you talking about?" Marya hissed, pushing off the wall. Another sailor charged, and a blue blur intercepted him. Jelly, with a determined "Bloop!", bounced off the ceiling and wrapped himself around the man's head like a living, suffocating helmet, sending him careening blindly into a bulkhead.
'The Seed! The heart of the great silence!' the Void insisted, its excitement feeling like a swarm of insects under her skin. 'It is here, you must find it. It calls to me!'
Marya's jaw flexed, a muscle ticking under her skin. She wanted to argue, to scream at the entity that this was a spectacularly inconvenient moment for a treasure hunt. But then her head snapped up, her eyes losing focus on the chaotic corridor. A vision flooded her mind, overwhelming her senses: a sphere of dark, petrified wood, small enough to fit in her palm, its surface etched with spiraling patterns that pulsed with a soft, ancient light. The Uroboros Kernel. The image was seared into her mind, accompanied by a pull so strong it felt like a physical rope tied around her soul.
'Find it!' the Void echoed, its voice a triumphant, deafening roar in the silence of her skull. 'It is close! It is here!'
Marya blinked, and the real world snapped back into focus, but it was altered. The corridor was the same, but overlaid upon it was a path only she could see—a faint, shimmering trail of ethereal light, like heat haze on a summer road, winding away from her and deeper into the bowels of the ship. It was a path of resonance, a breadcrumb trail left by the Kernel's dormant power, calling out to the Void within her.
She swallowed hard, the taste of copper and inevitability on her tongue. Atlas and Jannali were capable; they would have to hold their own. The mission had just been rewritten. With a final, frustrated shake of her head at the sheer, cosmic nonsense of it all, she turned her back on the search for her crewmates and began to follow the ghostly trail, each step taking her closer to an artifact that held the key to a conflict spanning eight centuries.