The silver-braided tether didn't just vibrate; it shrieked. It was a high-tension, metallic scream that traveled up from the lightless depths and vibrated through the iron winch, shaking the very stones of the Port Meridian pier. I gripped the railing, my knuckles white and the obsidian pattern on my arm glowing with a frantic, rhythmic heat. Through the leash, the sensation was a sickening jumble of sensory data—the crushing, freezing weight of two miles of water, the abrasive scrape of obsidian against Star-Iron, and a sudden, sharp spike of absolute, cold-blooded hunger.
"The winch is slipping!" Gareth roared, slamming his shoulder against the manual lock. The massive gears groaned, sparks flying as the Star-Iron teeth struggled to hold against the force pulling from below. "Whatever has a hold of the construct, it's not a fish, Armand! It's heavy enough to drag the whole pier into the sea!"
