The silence that had fallen between Aurélie and Kuro was broken by a deep, resonant groan that seemed to come from the very bones of Haven-07. It was followed by a sound that defied easy description—a chittering, screeching roar that vibrated through the metal deck plates and set teeth on edge. Out on the storm-wracked sea, the waves parted as the first of the Typhon-class entities rose.
It was a Class II, designated a "Ripper" by CUA taxonomy. Its form was a nightmare of evolutionary aggression, a thing of deep-sea darkness thrust into the bruised light of day. Longer than three galleons, its body was a segmented horror of chitinous plates the color of old blood, slick with a viscous, slime-like coating. A dozen articulated legs, each ending in a scythe-like claw, churned the water, propelling it forward with terrifying speed. Its head was a wedge of bone and muscle, dominated by a gaping maw lined with rows of rotating, crystalline teeth that ground together with the sound of shattering glass. Along its flanks, pulsating sacs of luminescent fluid glowed with a sickly yellow light, and its most terrifying feature—a massive, single eye the color of molten amber—fixed on the platform with ancient, mindless hunger.
A second Ripper surfaced beside the first, and then a third. But it was the fourth shape that stole the breath from every watching soldier. A Class III, a "Behemoth," began to rise from the depths. It was slower, more massive, a living mountain of flesh and armor. Its back was a jagged landscape of spined plates, and as it broke the surface, tentacles as thick as ancient trees, covered in barbed suckers, whipped through the air, dripping a corrosive fluid that hissed and smoked where it struck the water.
Josiah Manos didn't run; he moved with a focused, explosive purpose. He burst onto the gantry of the main launch bay, his eyes scanning the organized chaos. Pilots were sprinting to their Frames, the air filled with the shouted prayers of mechanics and the guttural roar of reactors coming online. His own machine, the RGM-79S "Sentinel," stood waiting. It was a testament to CUA design philosophy: twenty meters of functional, deadly grace. Its armor was the standard grey-white Lunar-Ceramite, but scuffed and scored from countless engagements. On its left shoulder, a stylized badger—the insignia of his squad—was painted in fading crimson. The head, with its single, green optic sensor and twin communication antennae, gave it a stern, hawk-like appearance.
He climbed the access ladder and swung into the cockpit, the familiar scent of cooled electronics and stale sweat filling his nostrils. As the hatch sealed above him with a pressurized hiss, the world outside was replaced by the soft glow of holographic displays. He slipped on the neuro-helmet, a wave of initial disorientation passing as the Psycho-Resonance Neural Interface synced with his mind. The Sentinel's massive frame no longer felt like a machine; it felt like a second skin. He gripped the control yokes, and the Frame's hands mimicked the motion perfectly.
"Manos online," he said, his voice calm in the relative quiet of the cockpit. The comms crackled to life in his ear.
"Vulture-Two, standing by!" a young, eager voice called out.
"Vulture-Three, locked and loaded!" a more grizzled tone followed.
"Vulture-Four, systems green."
"Solid copy, Vulture squadron," Josiah replied, his Sentinel taking a heavy step forward on the gantry. "Formation Delta. Priority is the Behemoth. The Rippers will try to flank. Watch for the corrosive spray and those tentacles. No heroics today, people. We just have to hold the line." Below, the massive bay doors began to grind open, revealing the raging sea and the approaching monsters. With a burst from its backpack thrusters, the Sentinel launched into the storm.
The battle was immediate and brutal. Josiah's Sentinel soared over the waves, its beam rifle barking, sending lances of incandescent energy into the Behemoth's thick hide. The shots scorched and blackened the armor, but the creature seemed to barely notice. One of the Rippers, moving with shocking agility, scuttled up the side of the platform, its scythe-claws digging into the metal. Vulture-Two and Three engaged it, their beam sabers flashing as they hacked at its legs. The sound was a horrific mix of screeching metal and a high-pitched, alien shriek from the creature.
Josiah banked hard as a massive tentacle, dripping with sizzling goo, whipped toward him. He fired his thrusters, dodging the blow, and the tentacle smashed into the platform's outer hull with a deafening boom, leaving a dented, melting scar. He returned fire, severing the tip of the tentacle. The Behemoth roared in pain and rage, the sound a physical pressure wave that rattled his cockpit.
"It's not enough!" Vulture-Three yelled over the comms, his Frame barely dodging a spray of corrosive fluid from a Ripper that melted a whole gun emplacement behind him into slag. "We're just making it angry!"
They were a swarm of wasps stinging a bear. They could hurt it, but they couldn't stop it. Josiah's Sentinel landed on the Behemoth's back, anchoring itself with magnetic clamps. He drew his beam halberd, driving the superheated point deep between the creature's plates. Iridescent, phosphorescent blood—Typhon ichor—gushed out, but the beast simply rolled, trying to crush him against its own body. He was forced to disengage, leaping clear as another tentacle slammed down where he'd been standing. They were fighting a holding action, and they were losing.
In the command center, Commander Victor Keller was a whirlwind of shouted orders. "Redirect power to the dorsal cannons! I want a concentrated fire on that Class III's primary eye! Where are the reinforcements from Haven-06?!"
A communications officer turned, his face ashen. "Commander! Long-range scanners are picking up a JFF signature! A small fleet, moving fast. ETA, ten minutes!"
Keller's face went from flushed to a dangerous, mottled purple. He slammed a fist on the console. "Of course! This confirms it! This was their plan all along!" He whirled to a subordinate. "Lock down the detention level! I want those prisoners sealed in their cells, and I want a team guarding that alien vessel with their lives! This is a grab, and I'll be damned if I let those scavengers—"
His words were cut off as the entire platform lurched violently. A shuddering impact, far greater than any before, threw everyone to the floor. Alarms Klaxons wailed a new, more urgent tone. The main viewscreen showed the Behemoth, having shrugged off the cannon fire, had slammed its full weight against one of the platform's massive support pontoons. The metal screamed in protest.
In their cells, the six prisoners were thrown sideways as the world tipped. Aurélie and Kuro hit the wall with practiced rolls, but Bianca and Charlie landed in a heap of limbs. Ember giggled as she tumbled from her bench.
"Like, what the hell was that?" Bianca yelled, pushing herself up.
As she spoke, the strobbing red lights flickered, died for a terrifying second, and then sputtered back to life at half-strength. More importantly, the persistent hum of the forcefields vanished with a fading sizzle. The shimmering blue walls containing them were gone.
They were free.
Souta was on his feet in an instant, his eyes darting to the single, startled guard who was struggling to regain his footing at the end of the hall. Ember scrambled to grab Mr. Cinders, a wide, unnerving smile splitting her face. Charlie looked at the empty doorway of his cell with academic astonishment.
Aurélie and Kuro once again locked eyes. The calculation was now complete. The monsters were at the gate, their jailers were distracted, and the cage was open. The rules of the game had not just been rewritten; the game board was on fire.
"Interesting," Kuro murmured, a genuine, sharp smile finally touching his lips.
Aurélie said nothing, but her hand went instinctively to her hip, where the weight of Anathema was a ghostly, painful absence. The path forward was chaos. And in chaos, there was always an opportunity.
*****
The air in the storage hold crackled, thick with the scent of ozone from Saar's lightning, the sharp tang of broken glass, and the dry, gritty taste of Tanis's sand. The battle was a storm contained within wooden walls.
"Enough of this dance!" Saar bellowed, his body swelling further with the power of his Ngoubou form. He stomped a massive, elephantine foot, and a shockwave of electrostatic force, a crude but devastating Rokuogan, erupted towards Atlas.
Atlas didn't retreat. He grinned, a flash of white in his rust-red fur. "My turn." He crossed his chui, Stormclaw and Thunderfang, and met the shockwave head-on. Blue Electro surged from his body, not to block, but to absorb. The concussive force slammed into him, but he channeled it, his muscles bulging, his boots grinding deep into the deck. For a second, he glowed like a lightning rod, and with a roar, he unleashed the stored energy back, amplified by his own, in a blinding, concussive blast that threw Saar backward into a stack of crates, splintering them to kindling.
While the titans clashed, Jannali was a whirlwind against Marcellus. He had created a dozen glass duplicates, each reflecting her own frustrated snarl. "Which one is the real you, you flashy git?" she yelled, deflecting a shard with her spear, Anhur's Whisper.
"All are real! All are perfect!" the copies chorused, their voices tinkling like breaking crystal.
Jannali's eyes darted, not to the copies, but to the floor. She saw it—the faint, real shadow cast by the swinging lantern, a shadow only one of the Marcelli possessed. "Gotcha!" She hurled an Echo Boomerang not at the copies, but at the lantern chain above the real Marcellus. It struck true, and the heavy lantern fell, forcing him to shatter it with a wave of his hand, the glass raining down around him and breaking his concentration. The duplicates flickered and vanished.
This was the opening Tanis had been waiting for. From her perch high on the wall, she gestured, and the sand around Jannali's feet erupted, not in a snare, but in a blinding, swirling cloud—a Sandscript Mirage designed to disorient and suffocate.
Jannali coughed, blinded. But Atlas was already moving. "Jannali, down!" he roared.
She dropped without question. Atlas swung Thunderfang in a wide arc, not aiming for Tanis, but for the ship's hull beside her. The seastone-core mace, fueled by his immense strength, smashed through the wooden planks, creating a gaping hole. The outside world screamed in—a torrent of freezing wind and spray from the glacial field, a direct result of Aokiji's power.
The gust ripped through the hold, scattering Tanis's meticulous sand-scripts into meaningless dust and forcing her to shield her heterochromatic eyes. The sudden, intense cold also made Marcellus's glass body groan with stress, fine cracks appearing on his surface.
"Time to go!" Atlas yelled, grabbing a disoriented Jannali by the arm.
"Right behind you, you big lug!" she choked out, scrambling to her feet.
They didn't look back. They burst out of the hold and into the corridor, the sounds of their furious opponents swallowed by the groaning of the wounded ship. The Vivre Card in Jannali's hand was practically leaping, pulling them down a series of increasingly opulent corridors—away from the storerooms and towards the officers' quarters.
They rounded a final corner to find a heavy oak door guarded by two Marines who looked more nervous than imposing. They barely had time to raise their rifles before Atlas was on them, a blur of red fur and efficient motion. Two quick, precise chops to their necks, and they slumped to the floor. Atlas didn't break stride, kicking the door in with a splintering crash.
The room was a lavish cabin, but curled in the farthest corner, shackled at the wrists and ankles, was a petite girl with long silver hair. Eliane. She was weeping softly, her face buried in her knees.
"Eliane!" Jannali called out, her voice cutting through the girl's sobs.
Eliane flinched, then slowly looked up. Her large, blue eyes were red-rimmed and swimming with tears. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling. When her vision cleared and settled on Jannali, she gasped. "J-Jannali?"
Her eyes then darted to the massive, intimidating Mink in the doorway, his fur still crackling with residual Electro. She shrank back, confused and frightened.
Jannali stepped forward, hands up in a calming gesture. "Easy there, little chef. This grumpy-looking furball is Atlas. Don't let the scowling fool ya, he's a real softie. Mostly." She winked. "He's with me."
Eliane looked uncertainly between them. "But… how?"
"Are you ready to get out of this awful place?" Jannali asked, her tone softening.
Eliane nodded vigorously, fresh tears welling up, but these were of relief. "Yes, please! This is awful!" She lifted her shackled wrists. "But I am…"
Atlas strode over, his presence filling the small room. He knelt, his sapphire eyes studying the locks. "This may tickle," he grunted. He placed a single, clawed finger on the metal. A tiny, controlled spark of blue Electro jumped from his claw to the lock mechanism. There was a faint click, and the shackles fell away, clattering to the floor.
Eliane jumped to her feet, a sob of relief escaping her, and ran straight into Jannali's waiting arms. Jannali scooped her up in a fierce hug. "I didn't think anyone would come for me," Eliane whispered into her shoulder.
Jannali mock-fussed, patting her back. "Now you know your granddad wasn't going to have any of that, did you? Letting his favorite little chef get pinched by the Navy?"
Eliane pulled back, sniffling but now grinning through her tears. "Really?"
Jannali nodded, her expression turning serious for a moment. "Who do you think sent us?"
Atlas, who had been standing back with his arms crossed, assessing the interaction, cocked his head. "You two seem to know each other well for 'old family friends'." His tone was laced with suspicion.
Eliane opened her mouth to explain, but Jannali smoothly interjected. "Like I said. Old family friends. Very old. Very friendly." She shot Atlas a look that said drop it.
Atlas's eyes narrowed, but before he could press further, the entire ship jolted violently sideways as a tremendous explosion echoed from outside—another exchange between Aokiji and Alejandro. The deck tilted precariously.
"Well, if you two are done with the family reunion," Atlas said, steadying himself against the doorframe, "I think that's our cue to go. Unless you fancy a swim in an ice bath."
Jannali nodded, looking down at Eliane. "What d'you say, kid? Ready to get out of here?"
Eliane nodded, a determined look replacing her fear. "Yes."
"Good. Then hold tight," Jannali said, shifting Eliane onto her back. "This might get a bit bumpy." They charged out of the cabin, back towards the sub, and hopefully, a clean escape.
---
The ghostly trail led Marya deeper into the ship's belly, away from the thunderous chaos of the main battles. The path only she could see shimmered like a heat haze, winding through corridors that grew quieter, more opulent, hinting at officers' quarters and important chambers. Jelly bounced along beside her, a cheerful blue blob in the tense silence.
Their progress was a study in casual domination. A pair of Marines rounded a corner, rifles raised. Before they could speak, Marya flicked her wrist. A tendril of mist shot out, wrapping around their ankles and yanking their feet from under them. They hit the deck with synchronized grunts. Jelly, seizing the opportunity, promptly molded himself into the shape of a whoopee cushion and landed on the face of one with a definitive pffft sound. Marya didn't even break stride, stepping over them as Jelly reformed and bounced back to her side.
"Their dignity didn't stand a chance," she muttered, a faint smirk playing on her lips.
The path terminated at a massive, vault-like door made of reinforced steel and polished dark wood. It looked utterly out of place on a warship, more befitting a treasure vault in Mary Geoise. Marya's brow furrowed. What on a Vice Admiral's flagship warranted this?
The ship suddenly jolted violently sideways, throwing her against the bulkhead. A tremendous CRUMPH from outside signaled another exchange of titanic forces between Aokiji and Alejandro. Annoyance flared in Marya's eyes. Patience for puzzles was a luxury she didn't have.
"Fine. The direct approach," she sighed, reaching for Eternal Eclipse.
But the Void within her surged, impatient and hungry. As her fingers touched the hilt, a wave of power, black and silent, flowed down her arm and into the blade. She swung, but it wasn't a cut. It was an erasure. The vault door didn't break; it evaporated into a cloud of fine, glittering dust that hung in the air for a moment before settling. The concussion of the event was silent but physical, a wave of force that rocked the ship on its keel and made the very air pressure drop.
Marya's eye twitched. She glared at the now-empty doorway. "Don't you think that was a little overkill?" she hissed internally.
'Find it,' the Void commanded, its satisfaction a cold stone in her gut.
Shaking her head, she looked down to tell Jelly to stay close. But he was gone. Her head swiveled, a flicker of genuine concern breaking through her stoicism. Then she saw him. He was plastered flat against the opposite wall, his gelatinous body spread out like a starfish, his features comically distorted.
"Bloop!" he squeaked, his voice muffled. "I think I saw my own... squishiness!"
Marya couldn't help it; a short, genuine giggle escaped her. "Come on. You're not a wall decoration." With a sound like tape peeling, Jelly popped off the wall, wobbled mid-air, and bounced back to her side, shaking himself back into shape.
They stepped through the void where the door had been. The room was small, circular, and dark, save for a single beam of light from a guarded porthole illuminating a round table. On it sat a single, unadorned iron-banded chest.
Marya approached, her curiosity piqued. She reached for the lid, but the moment her fingers brushed the metal, a wave of weakness washed over her. She jerked her hand back as if burned. "Seastone," she scowled. Of course.
Her hand went to the kogatana necklace around her throat. Unslinging it, she unsheathed the small, razor-sharp dagger. The blade glimmered as she coated it with a wafer-thin layer of Armament Haki. With surgical precision, she inserted the tip into the simple lock. A twist, a click, and the lid bounced open.
Inside, nestled on velvet, was the Uroboros Kernel. The dark, petrified-wood sphere seemed to absorb the light, its spiraling etchings pulsing with a faint, rhythmic, ember-like glow. A deep, resonant hum of satisfaction vibrated through her soul, the Void purring like a contented cat.
As her fingers closed around the Kernel, a surge of power, ancient and vast, shot up her arm. It was in that exact moment a voice, sharp and commanding, boomed from the doorway.
"Put that back!"
Marya didn't startle. She slowly turned, a glint in her golden eyes. Vice Admiral Gion stood there, "Pink Rabbit," her expression a thundercloud, her hand on the hilt of her named blade. Marya smirked, deliberately placing the Kernel into an inner pocket of her leather jacket. She shrugged, the picture of nonchalance.
"No," she said, her voice calm and clear. "I don't think I will."
Gion's eyes narrowed. "You dare?"
Marya cocked a hip, a gesture of pure, unadulterated sass. "Oh, you're going to try and make me?"
Jelly, sensing the rising tension, launched himself from the floor with a battle cry of "Bloop! Bad bunny!" aiming to entangle Gion's legs. But Marya's hand shot out, snatching him from the air mid-bounce. She tucked the wriggling blue blob firmly into her jacket pocket.
"Need you to sit this one out," she said softly, patting the pocket. "I don't know how to fix jelly." Jelly's single eye peeked out from her collar, wobbling nervously.
Gion's composure cracked. "I know who you are, Dracule's shadow."
Marya cocked a sassy eyebrow. "Oh? So do I. It's a real conversation-starter."
"I'm going to cut that grin off your face!" Gion snarled, her patience shattering.
She lunged, her blade clearing its sheath in a silver flash. But Marya was already gone, her body dissolving into a cloud of thick, grey mist that swirled where she'd stood. Gion's sword cut through empty air.
The mist coalesced instantly by the vaporized doorway. Marya stood with her hands in her pockets, looking utterly bored. "I'm on a bit of a time crunch," she said. "So maybe next time? I'll bring a carrot."
Before Gion could roar another threat, Marya dissolved again, the mist flowing out into the corridor and disappearing from view. The Vice Admiral stood alone in the vault, staring at the empty chest, her knuckles white on her sword hilt. A low, furious growl escaped her.
"Oh no you don't," she whispered, and charged after the phantom, the chase now personal.