The night air above the endless ocean was thick with the salty scent of the sea and the tension of battle. On the stern of the AW-03, one of the massive Arkworld ships that cruised between floating cities, the sound of metal boots thundering on steel decks mixed with gunshots and the clash of fists. Floodlights illuminated the chaotic scene in harsh white, cutting through the mist that swirled around the ship's rear.
Gaiard and Tiama stood back-to-back, their chests rising and falling in rhythm, sweat glistening under the cold lights. Before them were dozens upon dozens of Edward's subordinates — bodyguards, mercenaries, and hired thugs loyal to the spoiled heir of one of the upper-deck nobles. Their jeering voices filled the air like a buzzing swarm, but Gaiard and Tiama did not flinch. They had been through worse than this.
"They just keep coming," Tiama muttered, flicking a strand of sweat-damp hair from her face as her eyes scanned the approaching line of enemies.
"They think numbers make up for skill," Gaiard replied, rolling his shoulders, the joints cracking audibly. "Let's prove them wrong."
The first wave came screaming forward, armed with steel pipes, batons, and shock prods. Gaiard stepped in, his movement swift and brutal. A pirate swung a club at his head — Gaiard ducked, pivoted, and drove his knee upward in a Muay Thai strike that cracked ribs. The man collapsed backward, breathless. Gaiard spun, elbow slicing through the air in a Silat move that connected with another opponent's jaw, dropping him instantly.
Tiama moved like a whirlwind beside him. Her Taekwondo kicks lashed out in high arcs, knocking opponents back like rag dolls, while her Karate punches targeted pressure points with precise force. Her heel crashed into one man's temple, sending him sprawling, then she dropped low to sweep the legs of two more before slamming her palm into the face of another attacker.
In terms of strength, the fight was easy. Neither of them had to tap deeply into their latent powers to deal with Edward's underlings. The difficulty lay in the sheer number of them. The stern of AW-03 was a confined space, with railings hemming them in and containers stacked on either side. As more enemies poured in from the access corridors, Gaiard and Tiama found themselves slowly pushed backward toward the railing, their movements increasingly restricted.
"They're herding us," Tiama hissed between breaths, landing a roundhouse kick that sent a thug tumbling over a crate.
"I noticed," Gaiard growled, catching a fist, twisting the attacker's arm, and hurling him into two others. "We need to break through before we're boxed in."
Before they could act on that thought, a voice cut through the noise.
"Well, well," it drawled, nasal and cruel. "Look at the two lovebirds dancing so desperately."
Edward stepped forward from behind his lines, flanked by two burly guards. His once-chubby face was now swollen and smeared with blood from Gaiard's earlier punch, a vivid bruise already forming around his left eye. His silk vest was torn, his hair disheveled, but his arrogance was untouched. In his hand was a sleek pistol, its barrel gleaming under the floodlights.
"EDWARD!" Tiama spat the name like poison.
"Still standing, I see," Edward sneered. "I must admit, you're tougher than the usual gutter trash I toy with. But this ends now."
He raised the gun and fired.
The shot echoed like thunder. Gaiard reacted instinctively, shoving Tiama aside, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid it entirely. The bullet tore through his right elbow, and he let out a guttural snarl as pain exploded through his arm. He staggered back, clutching the wound, blood seeping through his fingers.
"GAIARD!" Tiama shouted, catching him before he could fall.
Edward laughed, a wheezing, hateful sound. "Oh, don't worry, dear Tiama. He's not dead… yet." He wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand. "I'm feeling generous. If you agree to be my 33rd wife — right here, right now — maybe I'll let him live. Maybe."
The deck went eerily silent for a moment. Even the subordinates paused, watching the cruel drama unfold. Tiama's eyes widened, then narrowed in disgust.
"You're disgusting," she said coldly.
Edward shrugged. "Disgusting, maybe. Powerful, definitely. Think carefully, Tiama. I hold your friend's life in my hands. One word from you, and the bleeding stops. One refusal, and…" He pressed the gun's barrel against Gaiard, smiling a crooked smile.
Gaiard didn't move. He stood, breathing heavily, blood dripping down his arm, but his eyes burned with defiance. Slowly, deliberately, he began channeling his elemental essence inward. Beneath his skin, faint lines of crystal blue light began to shimmer around the wound. His breathing steadied. The power of Crystal — one of the fragments of Earthquake's elemental domain that had bonded to him — flowed into the torn flesh, beginning to mend the shattered tissue and bone.
Tiama glanced at him, and in that brief moment, their eyes met. No words were needed. He gave her a slight nod — a signal to hold her ground, not to give in.
Edward noticed that and scowled. "Oh no, you don't—"
But Gaiard wasn't listening to him anymore.
The pain, the blood, the voices around him — all faded into the background. In their place, something else rose: a memory.
Not just any memory, but one buried deep in his soul.
It came like a sudden tremor beneath his feet, a familiar sensation that he had not felt in years. The wind howling through shattered canyons. The ground cracking beneath his fists. A sky lit by thunder.
His vision blurred, the deck of AW-03 melting away like a mirage. The shouting men, the stench of gunpowder, the salty sea air — they vanished. And in their place, he stood at the edge of something vast and ancient.
His heart pounded. His breath caught. He knew this sensation.
It was the day everything began.
The day he, as Earthquake, had awakened.
He saw flashes — not clear images, but fragments. A stormy sky swirling with impossible colors. A boy standing before him, hand outstretched, eyes burning with courage and kindness. Beside that boy were two other elemental forms, familiar yet distant: Thunderstorm and Cyclone.
The sound of thunder roared in the distance. The ground trembled beneath him. A feeling of raw, unbridled power welled up inside his chest, just like it had all those years ago.
He remembered the voice that had called out to him, awakening the ancient essence that lay dormant within stone and soil. He remembered the feeling of connection — to the elements, to others, to something far greater than himself.
The memory wasn't fully formed yet. It was like standing on the threshold of a doorway, about to step through.
But he was there. He was remembering.
And as he stood there, on the stern of the ship, blood drying on his arm, Tiama still at his side and Edward's threats echoing faintly, Gaiard let the pull of that memory wash over him completely.
Everything else faded away.
And he remembered the day he awakened.