The warehouse was more like an aquarium than a storage facility.
The floor was flooded with two feet of seawater, pumped in directly from the ocean below. Crates floated on pontoons. Catwalks rusted from the humidity hung overhead.
Julian, Lyra, and Isolde splashed inside, weapons raised.
"Spread out!" Julian ordered. "Watch the water!"
SPLASH.
A shape erupted from the murky water to their left. A Tide-Hunter—a man with gills slit into his neck and skin slick with protective oil—leaped onto a crate. He wielded a high-pressure water cutter.
HISSS-CUT.
A jet of water thin as a needle sliced through the air, shearing the top off a steel drum next to Lyra's head.
"They're fast!" Lyra ducked, returning fire. Her bullets struck the Hunter, but he just slid back into the water, vanishing beneath the surface.
"They're using the water as cover," Isolde shouted, firing a harpoon into a floating pallet. "They can pop up anywhere!"
Julian looked at the dark water swirling around his knees. He could feel the vibrations of bodies moving beneath the surface. Four... five... six of them.
"If they like the water so much," Julian said, charging his gauntlet, "let's make it uncomfortable."
He didn't aim for a person. He aimed for the water itself.
Focus: Cavitation.
He thrust his palm downward.
THWUMP.
He sent a massive sonic pulse into the liquid. The sound waves created thousands of microscopic vacuum bubbles that expanded and collapsed instantly.
CRACK-BOOM.
The water didn't just ripple; it detonated. The shockwave traveled instantly through the incompressible fluid.
Beneath the surface, the hiding Tide-Hunters were hammered by the pressure. They burst from the water, gasping and clutching their ears, their equilibrium shattered.
"Now!" Julian yelled.
Lyra and Isolde opened fire. The disoriented gangsters didn't stand a chance. They fell back into the water, the fight knocked out of them.
The Hammerhead
"Enough!" a deep, gargling voice boomed from the back of the warehouse.
A massive blast door rolled up.
Out stepped the leader. He was wearing a Class-4 Pressure Suit—a hulking monstrosity of brass and reinforced glass, designed for deep-sea welding. One arm ended in a massive hydraulic pincer; the other held a rivet gun.
The Hammerhead.
"You come for the turbines?" The Hammerhead's voice was amplified by a speaker. "You pay in blood."
He raised the rivet gun. THUNK.
A red-hot steel rivet the size of a finger shot across the room. It hit Julian's shoulder, glancing off his lead-lined coat but bruising the muscle underneath.
"Scatter!" Julian gritted his teeth, rolling behind a forklift.
The Hammerhead charged, splashing through the water like a tank. He swung his hydraulic pincer at Isolde, smashing a crate of fish into paste.
"My harpoon won't pierce that glass!" Isolde yelled, reloading. "That suit is rated for five thousand PSI!"
"It's rated for external pressure," Julian realized, watching the Hammerhead stomp toward Lyra. "It's designed to keep the ocean out. Not to keep sound out."
Julian stood up. "Hey! Bubbles!"
The Hammerhead turned, his pincer snapping. "Die, surface-rat!"
Julian raised his Resonance Gauntlet. He adjusted the frequency dial.
Target: Glass Resonance. Pitch: High.
He didn't fire a blast. He fired a Screech.
WHEEEEEEEEEEE.
The sound was agonizing. It bounced around the warehouse, but it focused on the dome of the Hammerhead's helmet.
The glass vibrated. The Hammerhead roared inside the suit, clutching his helmet. The sound was trapped inside with him, bouncing off the brass walls, amplifying.
"Stop!" the brute screamed, falling to his knees in the water. "My head!"
"Open the suit!" Julian commanded, maintaining the frequency.
"Okay! Okay!"
With a hiss of escaping air, the helmet seals unlocked. The Hammerhead threw the dome open, gasping for air, blood running from his nose.
Lyra was there instantly, her pistol pressed to his forehead.
"The turbines," Lyra said coldly. "Where are they?"
The Hammerhead pointed a shaking finger toward a sealed container in the corner.
"Take them," he wheezed. "Just turn off that noise."
The Prize
They cracked open the container. Inside sat the stolen Aether-Turbines—sleek, chrome engines built for underwater propulsion.
"That's the ticket," Isolde grinned, patting the metal. "With these, the Raven will swim like a shark."
But next to the turbines was another crate. It was marked with the Imperial seal and a warning: PROJECT: ABYSS.
"What's this?" Julian asked.
He pried the lid open.
Inside lay a suit of armor. But it wasn't like the Hammerhead's clunky brass suit. It was sleek, made of matte-black composite scales that mimicked the skin of the Titan. It had a helmet with a glowing blue visor and no neck seam.
"An Abyssal Exoskeleton," Skid's voice came over the comms (she had hacked into the warehouse feed). "Holy gear-box. That's Imperial Special Forces tech. Designed for the Silence units to operate underwater."
"The Tide-Hunters must have hijacked an Imperial shipment," Isolde realized. "No wonder they were hiding."
Julian ran his hand over the suit. It hummed. It felt... compatible.
"We need this," Julian said. "If I'm going out onto the Titan's hull five miles down... I can't do it in a wetsuit."
"It's heavy," Lyra noted, lifting a gauntlet. "And it's designed for a soldier."
"I'm not a soldier," Julian said, lifting the helmet. "But I'm learning."
The Transformation
They hauled the loot back to Barnacle Bill's dry-dock.
When Bill saw the turbines, he actually smiled—a terrifying sight involving yellow teeth and cigar ash.
"You crazy bastards actually did it," Bill laughed. "Alright. A deal's a deal."
For the next twelve hours, the dry-dock was a storm of sparks and welding arcs.
Bill and his crew, aided by Skid and Isolde, stripped the White Raven. The atmospheric thrusters were removed and replaced with the hydro-turbines. The wings were retracted and sealed. The hull was reinforced with extra plating.
Julian spent the time in the workshop, modifying the Abyssal Suit. He integrated his Resonance Gauntlet into the left arm of the suit, wiring it directly into the suit's power supply.
He tried it on.
The suit sealed with a hiss. It pressurized instantly. The HUD (Heads-Up Display) flickered to life, outlining the room in blue wireframe.
It felt like a second skin. Powerful. Silent.
"How do I look?" Julian asked, his voice synthesized by the helmet's speaker.
"Like a deep-sea nightmare," Lyra said, handing him his acoustic silver flute. "Perfect."
The Launch
Morning came, but in the Bilge, it was always twilight.
The White Raven hung suspended over the dark water of the internal harbor. It looked different now—sleeker, dangerous, more like a torpedo than a bird.
"All systems green," Skid reported from the cockpit. "Hydro-jets are primed. Oxygen scrubbers active. Sonar is online."
Julian, Lyra, and Isolde boarded. The ramp sealed with a heavy, watertight thud.
"Barnacle Bill says the hull is rated for the Trench," Isolde said, strapping into the pilot's seat. "Let's hope he's right."
She engaged the release clamps.
The ship dropped.
SPLASH.
The White Raven hit the water and submerged. The viewports turned from amber to bubbling green, then to dark blue as they sank beneath the floating city.
"Engaging turbines," Isolde pushed the throttle.
The ship surged forward, silent and smooth.
They passed under the massive, barnacle-encrusted hulls of the ships that made up Pontus. They saw the chains descending into the darkness, anchoring the city to the sea floor miles below.
"Depth: 500 feet," Skid called out. "Course set for the Abyssal Trench."
Julian stood at the viewport, wearing his Abyssal Suit (minus the helmet). He watched the light of the surface fade away until there was nothing but the abyss.
"Here we go," Julian whispered.
Suddenly, a ping on the sonar.
BEEP.
"Contact," Skid said, her voice tense. "Large biological signature. 3,000 yards and closing."
"A whale?" Lyra asked.
"Too fast," Skid shook her head. "And too many teeth."
Out of the gloom, a shadow emerged. It was a shark, but it was the size of a submarine. Its skin was plated with iron scales. Its eyes glowed red.
An Iron-Maw Leviathan.
And it wasn't alone.
"They're guarding the trench," Julian realized. "The Titan's antibodies."
"Battle stations," Isolde yelled, spinning the wheel. "Let's see if this bird can swim!"