The world was coming apart at the seams. The ferry, a sturdy tug built for hauling ore and misery, felt like a toy in a giant's angry bath. It didn't just rock; it bucked, its timbers groaning as if it was in pain. The deck tilted at a sickening angle, throwing everyone against the starboard rail. The grey sky and the heaving, receding sea swapped places in a nauseating blur.
Amira Kestrel Wevits braced her long legs against the deck, one arm wrapped around a steaming pipe, the other holding a squeaking Jelly Squish to her chest. Her eyes were wide, not with fear, but with a medic's frantic assessment of the collapsing environment. Charlie Wooley clung to her coat, his pith helmet lost, muttering about "cataclysmic plate tectonics" between gulps of acid-tinged air. Ember held onto a winch, her neon hair plastered to her face, a wild grin on her lips despite the chaos. Roco Vultion, a mountain of stability, planted himself at the wheel, his tiger-striped arms straining to keep the vessel from being dashed against the disintegrating dock.
Maki Nazigai Wicklock stood at the stern, her club driven into the deck for balance. She cupped her hands around her mouth, her resonant voice cutting through the geologic roar. "Hurry up! This whole place is ready to implode!"
As if summoned by her call, figures burst from the curtain of falling ash and shaking earth. First, a skittering, multi-limbed shadow—Juni Vexwell in his full spider form, moving with frantic, eight-legged grace across the quaking dock. Behind him, a streak of crackling white lightning—Noon Scort Reveil in his Raiju form. And riding on top of Juni, Aurélie Nakano Takeko, holding the limp form of Marya Zaleska in her arms.
Juni called back, his voice a high, stressed version of its usual theatrics. "Girl, I know all about it! The ground is giving me a terrible massage!"
Noon reached the dock's edge first. The lightning coalesced and shrank, reshaping into his Ogre form. He didn't stop. He ran the last few paces to where Juni skidded to a halt. With a gentleness that belied the panic in his eyes, Noon scooped Marya from Aurélie's grasp. The younger woman was a ragdoll, her head lolling, her torn leather jacket flapping. Juni's spider-form melted away in the same instant, revealing his flamboyant Ogre self, his usual grin replaced by a tight line of focus.
"Go, go, go!" Juni yelled, shoving Noon forward.
They moved as one battered unit. Noon, cradling Marya like precious cargo, leapt the narrowing gap between the dock and the wildly gyrating ferry. His feet hit the deck with a solid thud. Aurélie landed beside him in a flutter of wings and silver hair. Juni vaulted the rail last, tumbling onto the deck in a heap.
"Now, Roco!" Maki shouted.
Roco needed no urging. His hands, thick with scars and strength, spun the ship's wheel hard to port. The engine, fed by Amira's frantic work below, gave a deep, protesting bellow. The propeller churned the water from yellow to a furious brown, fighting against the unnatural suction pulling at the island.
The ferry shuddered, groaned, and began to turn. It pulled away from the dock, which was now splintering and collapsing into the frothing, receding water.
As they gained distance, the full, horrific panorama of Kamaten Island unveiled itself. The plateau was a cloud of dust and debris. The forest of rusted gears was flattening like straw. And in the center of the cataclysm, a new, terrible monument had been born.
There, on the highest point of the vanishing landmass, was the colossal, unmistakable silhouette of the Genbu. The Black Tortoise of myth. It sat in a perfect, tragic circle of relative calm, its impossible mass pressed down upon the Hitotsume's skull. It was not moving. It was holding. A living, breathing paperweight on a lid that was straining to blow. Cracks of angry orange light, like the veins of a waking god, pulsed around its edges, but the shell held firm.
The ferry cleared the violent pull of the sinking shore and hit the open, rising water of the tsunami that was now curling back. Roco pointed the bow straight into the coming mountain of water. "Brace!" he roared, the word a guttural command.
On the deck, Noon knelt, still holding Marya. Aurélie stood guard beside them, her blade drawn against a foe she could not fight. Maki placed a steadying hand on Roco's broad back. Amira emerged from below, joining Charlie and Ember at the rail, all eyes locked on the island, on the giant tortoise that was their jailer, their foe, and now, their only chance.
The last sight of Kamaten, the Sickle of Heaven, was not of an island, but of a myth made flesh, sacrificing its will to the storm, growing smaller and smaller against a wall of blue-black water that blotted out the grey sky.
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