Chapter 28
Rain and Fire Part 4
The ship was already receding from his view. Below him waited the infinite blackness of the ocean.
The officer didn't just let himself fall. He twisted his body in the air, forcing a full rotation as the wind whipped him violently.
During the spin, he concentrated his energy. Green light crackled around his arms once more, and within seconds the translucent gauntlets reformed, fitting over his hands up to his elbows. The geometric fragments assembled like pieces of living crystal, shining even against the ocean's darkness.
As he completed the turn, he was facing the void, now in free fall.
It was then that he saw it.
His eyes widened, and for a moment, he almost forgot he was still falling.
"It really looks like a nightmare..." he thought, incredulous.
What unfolded before him was the exact scenario Laios's nephew had described: a blackened sea, furious waves constantly battering the ship's hull, with dozens of monstrous, four-limbed fish. Piercing, tearing, and cutting through the hull and forcing their way inside. A vision that didn't belong in the real world, but a delirium coming to life before his eyes.
His heart hammered against his chest furiously, as if trying to warn him that such a thing should not exist. And yet, there it was.
His expression cracked at such a cruel joke.
The officer turned his gaze towards the ship's hull and stretched out his left arm mid-fall, reaching for the ship's side.
KRANG!
The tips of the gauntlet's fingers dug into the metal hull with a sharp sound that vibrated through his bones. The momentum of the fall dragged him with such force that the energy-claws didn't sink in immediately, but instead ripped through the steel like blades.
The metallic screech echoed along the hull as he descended, leaving behind an irregular groove, green sparks, and fragments of iron scattering into the void.
The pain in his shoulder was immediate, as if his arm were being torn from the socket, but he didn't let go. He gritted his teeth and continued tearing through the ship with every meter.
The friction gradually slowed him down. At first, he barely noticed it, the air still roared in his ears, but as the gauntlet bit deeper, his speed began to decrease. Every second was a precarious balance between breaking through the hull and saving his own life.
---
As he continued descending, with the gauntlet tearing metal and reducing his speed, something moved below.
His eyes caught it amidst the sparks and vapor: a four-limbed sea monster, identical to the dozens forcing their way into the ship, was lodged against the hull. Its open maw was grinding the steel as if it were wet bark, tearing pieces from the ship to force its way inside.
The officer's expression changed instantly. Bewilderment and tension hardened into a grimace of resolve.
He twisted his arm and body until his legs were braced against the hull, using the friction as support, and delivered a sharp stomp against the metal surface. The impact propelled him just enough to pull the gauntlet's fingers free; they screeched as they detached from the wall like ripped-out hooks.
For a second, he was in free fall again.
But this time, with a clear direction.
His right arm pulled back, aligning the gauntlet like a spear. The green geometry crackled with a lethal gleam, concentrating force at the sharp tip.
His eyes remained fixed on the monster. He was falling straight towards it.
KRSHHT!
The officer's arm descended like a spear, and the geometric tip of the gauntlet pierced straight through the fish-monster's head. The skull split with a wet crunch, flesh tearing around the green energy as a dark jet spurted into the air.
The creature's body convulsed, still clinging to the hull by pure inertia. The officer didn't waste a moment: he planted both boots on the being's skull, using it as a platform.
He drew a sharp breath and forcefully extended his legs.
The force of the kick was definitive. The monster lost its grip on the hull and detached, letting go with a choked roar.
The officer, in contrast, used that same momentum to propel himself slightly upward, separating from the creature. He shoved it downward violently, throwing it into the raging ocean that roared below like an infinite chasm.
He even knocked into a couple of others like it as they fell, throwing them into the ocean too.
Splashh!
The water closed over the beasts instantly, but not before being stained a dark red. Blood gushed from the pierced head wound of the first one, spreading in swirls among the waves.
The officer hung in the air for a second, still breathing heavily, his bloodied arm extended.
The officer didn't let the fall drag him away.
In a slight turn, he extended his left arm and, with a twist of his shoulder, drove the fingers of the gauntlet back into the hull.
KRANG!
The metal yielded with a sharp screech, sending sparks into the air as the green energy bit into the steel.
With a firm grip, he moved his legs with precision. He placed his boots with extreme care on the irregular edge left by the monster when it had torn the hull moments before.
Each step was a dangerous balance. The surface was twisted, shredded as if scratched by colossal claws, but he used them as improvised steps. Storm water ran down the metal walls, slippery.
The officer adjusted his posture, tensed the muscles in his legs and his supporting arm, and held on. Now he was attached to the hull again, hanging midway into the abyss, but with much firmer control than during his initial fall.
The officer didn't waste time.
The green light crackled again, also coating his right arm until it transformed into another solid, geometric gauntlet. With both arms armed, he crouched as best he could in the cramped space, his body wedged against the hull.
He pressed his right gauntlet against one of the irregular edges of the tear. The metal was twisted, with fragments as sharp as blades, but the green energy cushioned the risk. Still, every movement had to be calculated: one mistake, and the sharp edges could slice his skin beneath the armor.
He gritted his teeth and pushed.
Grrrk—KRANG!
The hull groaned under the pressure, resisting at first, until it finally gave way with a metallic clamor. The plates bent outward, widening the newly opened hole. Twisted fragments broke off, bouncing and getting lost in the sea.
He wasn't satisfied with that. He used the same gauntlet to twist the sharper sections of the edge, bending them inward and outward until they were no longer threatening blades. The result was a wider access point, and above all, safer for him.
The warm air escaping from inside hit him immediately.
The hole was now wide enough.
When the hole was wide enough, the officer leaned over it. He firmly drove his right gauntlet into the twisted metal, securing his weight. Then he released the left one and, with a calculated movement, crouched further to fit his body into the opening.
First, he put one leg in, feeling around with his boot in the dark interior. The metal scraped under the sole, and after making sure, he slid in the second leg. He ended up sitting on the edge, dangling over the void that opened inside the hull.
The heat emanating from the inside hit him with force. So warm it felt strange.
Around him, the storm roared, but inside everything was a heavy silence.
He clenched his jaw. Finally released the grip of his right hand, leaving the hull behind, and let himself fall into the interior.
---
[In a hallway on an unknown deck]
The officer landed with a dull thud. Bending both knees, he cushioned the fall until he was almost kneeling. The impact shot up his legs like a whip, but he resisted, letting out only a contained grunt.
Then he let himself fall sideways, sitting fully on the wooden floor. His body felt heavy as lead, muscles still trembling from the effort and accumulated blows.
He leaned his back against the wall, letting the cold, damp surface support him for a moment. The wood creaked under his weight, saturated with the smell of smoke and salt. The air here was different – warm but with a slight nauseating odor coming from the hallways, but without the roar of the storm. Except for what came in through the hole.
For the first time in a long while, he was under a roof… albeit in an unknown part of the ship.
The silence of the hallway surrounded him, broken only by his rough breathing.
—Haaahhh… —he exhaled forcefully, letting out the air he'd held for too long. His head fell back and gently hit the wall, resting there.
The cold contact of the wood kept him conscious, reminding him he was still alive.
Then he noticed it: the dripping.
Through the hole he had just opened, rainwater entered in thin streams, sliding down to the floor, forming small puddles that slowly spread along the hallway. The drops fell with an irregular rhythm, mixing with the smell of dampness.
The officer closed his eyes for a second, letting that sound envelop him, before opening them again, his jaw clenched.
He lowered his head, still breathing roughly, and then he saw it: a closed door, intact, in the middle of that blackened hallway. In front of him.
The officer placed a hand on the floor to push himself up. His muscles protested, but he managed to rise little by little until he was upright. The echo of the drops falling through the hole accompanied his every movement.
He advanced with firm steps towards the door. Despite the weariness, his silhouette remained straight, the green gauntlets dissolving into the air.
Once in front of it, he extended his right hand and took the cold handle. He turned it decisively and pulled towards himself.
Nothing.
The door didn't budge.
He frowned, this time pushing forward with force, his shoulder following the movement.
Again, nothing.
The wood didn't creak, didn't yield. As if it were sealed from the inside.
The officer took a step back, his gaze fixed on that intact surface that seemed to mock him.
The officer released the handle with a sharp gesture. His tired gaze hardened.
Calmly, he opened his shirt just enough to reach the object hidden against his torso. His fingers brushed against the hard, cold surface of the black claw, still imbued with the viscous trace of the monster from which he had torn it. He extracted it with a swift and silent movement.
Without wasting time, he raised it and directed it towards the lock.
Clang!
The edge pierced the metal easily, splitting the internal mechanism like warm butter. The vibration ran through the entire door, and the metallic echo resonated through the hallway.
Then, with a slow, controlled push, he forced the door open. The wood complained with a low creak as it yielded, revealing the gloom within.
He entered step by step, the claw ready in his hand, and the first thing he saw disconcerted him:
A disordered room. Several high bunk beds, three beds each, occupied the space like a forest of twisted wood. Overturned mattresses, ripped-off sheets, and objects scattered across the floor painted a scene of abandonment and haste.
The officer advanced into the interior with heavy steps, each one marked by the hollow echo of the wooden floor. His breathing was deep, irregular, his body demanding a respite after so much strain.
Upon reaching a spot between the bunks, he stopped.
With a slow gesture, he began to remove his uniform. The fabric was soaked, charred in several places, and torn in others. As he tugged, the fabric crackled, sticky with sweat and dried blood. Finally, he let it go and it fell to the floor, landing with a wet thud.
Then, without hesitation, he did the same with the shirt he still wore underneath. The garment, wet and blackened by smoke, slid off his torso to land next to the uniform.
The warm air inside hit his bare skin. On his body, the marks of battle were drawn: superficial cuts, reddish burns, and bruises beginning to spread beneath the skin.
For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to feel the real weight of each wound.
After stripping off the shredded clothes, the officer bent down towards a mattress lying on the floor, to the side of a toppled bunk.
He lifted it with both hands. The weight was uneven: soaked, dirty, with dark stains that couldn't be distinguished between blood or old moisture.
With a brusque gesture, he slapped it with his left hand, again and again, trying to shake off the grime. But the mattress barely responded: the rancid smell persisted, and the stains didn't disappear.
The officer frowned, snorting. It wasn't going to be possible to clean it.
So he changed his plan.
He grabbed the sheet and pulled forcefully on the mattress, ripping off the wet, tangled sheet until it was completely bare, exposed in its damp foam.
Then he carried it a few more steps and let it drop into the space of the bottom bunk in one of the still-sturdy bunks. The impact resonated with a dry "thump," wedging it into its improvised place.
He repeated the same process with a pillow that was lying a couple of meters away, dragged into the midst of the disorder. He picked it up with a tired movement, shook off the worst of the moisture and grime, then let it fall onto the bare mattress he had just prepared.
The improvised resting place now had shape. It was nothing more than battered remnants, but at that moment, in the middle of such disaster, it seemed like a luxury.
The officer stood for a moment in front of it, breathing heavily. Then he raised his right hand and passed it over his face, wiping away the warm water, now cooling, that still dripped from the storm.
The gesture continued to his head, pushing back the soaked strands stuck to his forehead and temples. He used the opportunity to tidy his hair as best he could, a reflexive act that seemed as banal as it was necessary.
Once beside the bunk, the officer turned and let himself fall, sitting on the bottom bed. The damp mattress creaked under his weight, and for an instant he felt the relief of no longer carrying his entire body.
He extended his left hand towards the pillow. He took it calmly, lifting it just a few centimeters. With his other hand, he arranged the black claw, sliding it underneath as if hiding a treasure… or an insurance policy.
Then he released the pillow on top, completely hiding the gleaming edge beneath the damp fabric.
Thus, it was within reach of his arm should he need it. And anyone bursting in wouldn't suspect he had it there.
The officer exhaled slowly, letting the weight of precaution mix with the weariness that was sinking into him.
He let himself fall sideways onto the improvised bed, sinking into the damp mattress. His entire body loosened upon contact, as if finally accepting the right to yield.
Bairon's face was exhausted, marked by dried tears, sweat, and ash stuck to his skin. He almost seemed extinguished, erased by the weight of all he had lived through… were it not for the slight movement of his chest that remained.
Rising and falling.
He was breathing.
A slow, rough, but constant rhythm, the only proof that he was still alive.
In that gloom laden with smoke and silence, the fragile line between rest and collapse enveloped him completely.
—"Wasn't it supposed to be a quiet trip?"— Bairon whispered, his voice barely a thread lost in the gloom—. —"Right… Laios… Hanz… Körper?"
The name of each comrade came out haltingly, laden with a weariness that weighed more than his wounds.
His eyelids trembled for a moment before yielding. And, finally, he closed his eyes.
His body relaxed on the bare mattress, and for the first time since he had set foot on the ship, he slept.
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[End of the 1st day of travel]
[Approximately 118 hours remaining]