In The Deep Mazarine (IC | VIRANOS ONLY)

[Tzonaxiqal]

Somewhere Southwest of the Wayawa Archipelago, Mazarine Ocean
May 13th, 2018

Zuma xo'Hita Etzli leaned out over the railing of the Dava xo'Zuhua, watching the waves as the Tzonaqi frigate cut through the clear blue water of the Mazarine. The young sailor was bored out of his mind; he always was on his patrol rotations. Being crammed aboard a ship with a hundred other men, with virtually nothing to do, for weeks or months on end, was probably Etzli's own personal hell. It wasn't that he hated sailing, it was just that he hated sailing. Of course, he didn't know that until he was already beyond the event horizon, but, well, it was the elusive twenty-fourth Hell.

"You okay over there, xo'Hita?" Somebody called over. Mico, probably. Smug fucker. "Not sick, are ya'?" Mico suppressed a chuckle, earning a snicker from his two companions.

"Bite me, xo'Sikya!" Etzli turned around to face his comrades, who were sitting just a few meters away. "None of you can tell me you're not bored as shit right now."

"What, you want the Istervani to attack Ilaza?" Mico spat. "Count your blessings, xo'Hita. We could be digging people out of rubble back on the islands right now."

"The tsunami wasn't that bad." One of the others, the one on the left exclaimed.

"Nobody even died." The other on the left confirmed. "But they did say the Northerners were increasing patrols around Wayawa..."

"It was a hypothetical, moron! No news is good news, ya know?"

Etzli sighed and leered past Mico at the horizon. The jackass was right. Still, that didn't mean Etzli couldn't be bored. Speaking of boring...

"Why do you think we didn't see the tsunami?" Etzli asked nobody in particular. "I thought it was going to be really cool, like we were gonna have to brace for a bigass wave. Like, you'd think we'd have seen something - what was the earthquake, like magnitude 7?"

"Tsunamis don't...they don't work like that." Lefty stammered, raising an eyebrow. "Do you even know how the fuck waves work, xo'Hita?"

"I am not a clever man." Etzli conceded.

"A credit to His Majesty's Navy." Mico snickered derisively.

"Well, there's a reason they're called harbor-waves." Righty began to explain. "They don't get dangerous until they get into shallow water. See, because the water is so deep out at sea, the energy of the tsunami gets spread out-"

"Hells, I already don't care!" Etzli cried out, spinning back around to look over the railing.

"Ever think you chose the wrong line of work, man?" Lefty asked.

"Yeah, but I got two more years so..." Etzli trailed off.

"I hear that xa'Chuya has a cavy hidden away somewhere." Mico said. "We should go see if we can pet it."

"How'd she sneak a fucking living cavy past xo'Llaksa? Righty asked incredulously.

Etzli started to tune the trio out, peering down at the clear azure water, trying to pick out the larger fish that were getting thrown aside by the frigate's massive hull. He squinted at a particularly large shape. A school of fish? Some enormous shark?

The young sailor didn't have long to ponder this. With a furious blast, the entire frigate rocked violently, sending Etzli careening overboard with a panicked shriek. Mico and company braced themselves against the railing where he once stood, looking around frantically as alarms blared and sailors rushed below deck to their stations.

"Northern fucks!" Mico shouted, seconds before the entire frigate bucked again and his lungs filled with water.

---

Sozan, Federal District
Fourteen Hours Later

It wasn't long before news of the disappearance of the Dava xo'Zuhua was reverberating throughout the ancient halls of Sazutzonakxel. Whispers passed between ministers and officers alike as they awaited the verdict of the emperor. Word of the frigate’s sudden vanishing was being kept under wraps for now, but the circumstances demanded swift action: the final transmissions of its tracking system had been very suddenly silenced with no prior warning. Current theories ranged from a new Istervani anti-ship missile, to some sort of catastrophic failure of the Dava’s engines, to a collision with some uncharted islet that surfaced with the recent earthquake. Others entertained more unsavory, unorthodox ideas.

However, the Dawn Council feared another conflict over the Wayawa archipelago, long split between Istervan and Tzonaxiqal, was rapidly approaching, and that the potential destruction of the Dava was simply a test of the Tzonaqi response. The waters around the islands were constantly full of both naval and mercantile traffic; the question was not whether or not Istervani ships were in a position to attack, but if the Federation was brazen enough.

The Dava xo’Zuhua would be announced to the public as officially missing, with heavy implications from state sources of Istervani involvement. Not only were search-and-rescue efforts to begin immediately, but Tzonaqi naval presence in Wayawa was to be dramatically increased. The Imperial Confederation refused to be caught off guard, and there was a place in each of the twenty three hells for those who would cross the Red Throne of Sazutzonakxel.

[Istervan]

May 13th, 2018
Southwest of the Comona Islands
The FSN Vitoze

"Sottomarino"

Sonarman First Class Leo Pilottik adjusted a knob on his console as he continued to monitor the strange contact. Behind him, the division officer stood, scrutinizing the display.

Pilottik rubbed his forehead as he mused out loud. “I don’t get it. It’s too big to be anything but an SSN or SSBN. It’s definitely not Zonnie. None of its noise signatures resemble anything they’ve ever built. And the sounds its propulsion system is putting out is unlike anything I’ve ever heard.”

“Could be some other country’s sub poking around. Then again, you’d think we would have been briefed if someone built a sub that huge. Or that weird, for that matter. And the way it sounds-- it can’t not have been built weird.

“It ain’t trying to hide at all, too. The thing’s digging bubbles and making noise like it’s going out of style. Dammit, this makes no sense!”

The Vitoze had been on regular patrol south of the Comona Islands, stalking Tzonaqi submarines and surface combatants in an endless game of naval cat-and-mouse. For a cruise through an area brimming with tension, it had been a surprisingly mundane voyage for the Lumen-class attack submarine. That had changed fifteen minutes ago when Pilottik had picked up on the anomalous contact a few miles away. The Vitoze was now trailing it at the relatively sedate pace of six knots.

At that moment, Commander Kolton walked up to where the two men were stationed, mug of coffee in hand.

“Pilo, Tomas.” He nodded at the two men. “Anything changed?”

Pilottik began to respond, “The contact’s continued on course, skipper. Nothing yet. Hold on--- Hot damn! It’s starting to haul ass!”

“Bearing?”

“Bearing zero three five. Damn, it’s making a beeline for that Zonnie frigate we pinged earlier!”

The three men gaped at the sonar readout as the blob representing the mystery contact accelerated, then engulfed the smaller one that was the Tzonaqi frigate the Vitoze had been tailing earlier.

Pilottik tore off his headphones as a sudden barrage of underwater noise assaulted his ears.

“Sonuvabitch, my eardrums! That’s a collision, all right!”

"Did it just--"

Kolton frowned deeply. “We’re going to call this into Silvat right now. Helm, put some distance between us and that contact, then get us up to periscope depth once we’re at least twenty-five klicks away. Pilo, Tomas. Keep watching the scene.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Draining his mug, Kolton quickly walked away, preparing to draft his message.

***
R1181086628
TOP SECRET

FM: FSN VITOZE
TO: COMSUBMAZ

1. REPORT HIGHLY ANOMALOUS SONAR CONTACT ABOUT 049087F 13MAY. CONTACT EVALUATED AS LARGE SSN/SSBN UNKNOWN AFFILIATION. COURSE NORTHEAST SPEED TWELVE DEPTH UNKNOWN.

2. CONTACT BELIEVED TO HAVE SUNK REPEAT SUNK TZOFLEET FRIGATE IN LIKELY RAMMING ATTACK ABOUT 049001D 1432 HRS 13MAY. CONTACT ACOUSTICAL SIGNATURE REMAINED UNCHANGED FOLLOWING COLLISION.

3. CONTACT EVIDENCED EXTREME UNUSUAL REPEAT EXTREME UNUSUAL ACOUSTICAL CHARACTERISTICS. SIGNATURE UNLIKE ANY KNOWN TZOFLEET SUBMARINE. SIGNATURE UNLIKE ANY OTHER KNOWN SSN/SSBN.

REQUEST PERMISSION TO PURSUE AND INVESTIGATE. BELIEVE EXCELLENT PROBABILITY CAN LOCATE.

***

Silvat, Istervan
Central Fleet Communications
COMSUBMAZ Operations

Vice Admiral Wincenty Galieri stared at the transmission from the Vitoze, hand on his chin. Shit. This mystery sub had the potential to be the proverbial match tossed into the powder keg that was the Comona Island chain.

He picked up the phone on his desk. There were several calls to be made.

***

R1181086628
TOP SECRET

FM: COMSUBMAZ
TO: FSN VITOZE

1. REQUEST REF FSN VITOZE R1181086628 GRANTED.
2. AREAS WHISKEY GOLF HOTEL ASSIGNED FOR UNRESTRICTED OPS. REPORT AS NECESSARY. ADDITIONAL ASSETS WILL BE ASSIGNED FOR INVESTIGATION. VADM GALIERI SENDS.

[Free Islands and Atolls]

May 14, 20th year of the 26th Period.

The Mazarine Ocean was quiet and still. No breeze disturbed it. Not a single wave rippled on its surface. Not even a seagull was around, nor a dolphin or a whale. An idyllic view.

There was one thing, though. At about five or six meters above the sea level, it looked like a cropped pyramid one meter at the base. But if a curious diver would like to check what lies at the base of that thing, he would regret that decision very soon ─ as soon as he would have dived at ten or fifteen meters. For 20 meters below the surface was a submarine. Its lack cigar silhouette was broken by large sail and several tailplanes smoothly emerging from the hull. And the reason why would that diver regret his decision was that he would be sucked into one of the two multi-bladed screws.

This was the Islander submarine, Ikamate. One could ask, what did Islanders forgot in the Mazarine ocean, themselves being on the other side of it. Well, the reason wasn't obvious even to its officers.

The control room on the third deck of fourth compartment was arranged quite typically in a square manner. At the center, fore of the ladder leading to the sail bridge and out, stood a rotating armchair with three screens and a control panel with keyboard. Near it stood a large, bulky man in beige shirt and black sulu.

The watertight door in the rear bulkhead opened slowly.

─ Captain on the bridge!
─ Stay at ease.

The captain, who just entered the bridge and sat on his rotating armchair, wasn't quite giving the impression of a captain. Indeed, he was quite the opposite of a typical Islander sea wolf ─ he looked small and girly comparing to everyone else. Him looking like a student, having oval face, shoulder-length hair ─ an egregious case! ─ and rectangular glasses looking like snake eyes didn't help at all. On the right chest of his black shirt was his rank insignia ─ one anchor at the golden rectangle ─ and above it in golden letters was written "V.K. Konovalov".

He sat into the armchair at the center.

─ Sitrep, Maraiwai. ─ His voice obviously didn't help him much either.
─ We have just finished the contact session with Holonga. No changes in operational orders ─ but they did warn that we're on our own now.
─ Good. Anything else noteworthy?
─ A Tzonaqi frigate had disappeared near Wayawa archipelago yesterday.

Konovalov turned around and looked at his Executive Officer, frowning.

─ Repeat.
─ A Tzonaqi frigate had disappeared near Wayawa archipelago yesterday.

Captain turned around again and looked at the left screen with current plotted course. At its closest point it was 15 standard nautical miles to the west of the archipelago, then passing in the most daring manner between it and the mainland of Tzonaxiqal before going NE. Then he looked at the right screen, showing warheads to throw on marine opposition ─ and 40 torpedoes ready to be fired could as well be one of the meanings of the word "confidence".

─ Hm? Did they decide to go all-out to solve their petty dispute?
─ Or maybe just an accident...

Konovalov turned around the last time and stood up.

─ Ikamate will proceed as planned. Set depth: 300. Maintain current course and speed.
─ Aye, Ratu.

The captain left quietly as the submarine started its steep, quiet slide in the depths.

The Mazarine Ocean was quiet and still.

[Altaiire]

Captain Kokakis stared over the calm blue waters of the Mazarine Ocean and smiled. A good meal was in his belly and the scent of the ocean filled the air. His scratched idly at his unkempt beard as he watched his crew from the bridge of his fishing boat, the KKSS Jolly Green Giant.

The Giant was a Kapstak fishing vessel sailing under a Kapstak flag, at least at first glance. In truth, it was an Altarian spy vessel, intended to survey the waters of foreign nations to keep track of ship movements and be aware of any other strange happenings. Their cover was watertight. They had a multilingual crew and even official documentation, courtesy, he had heard, of the followers of Iotaine. As far as jobs went, it was a pretty good deal. Their fishing business paid a fair wage, but best of all it was nice to get away from Altair. And, since communications to... whomever, they reported to- were strictly on a “only if necessary” basis, they were almost entirely free to live their lives as they pleased.

Over the 10 years he had crewed this ship, nothing of particular note had happened, and today seemed like it would be another one of those days. Little did he know yet how wrong he was.

“Hey Kaki, what’s that on the horizon, off the port bow?” His first mate asked him.

Taking out his binoculars, he peered across the waves to find a mystifying sight.

“Looks like a Father-damn huge pile of flotsam,” He replied. “Could be an accident, we oughta take a look.”

The helmsman adjusted the ship's course, and time passed as they drew near to the anomaly. As they drifted into the field of debris, it quickly became apparent that something catastrophic had taken place. The members of the crew gathered on the side of the deck, muttering concernedly about what might have happened.

“It’s all broken up into pieces, bits of deck and cargo everywhere. Whatever happened, it wasn’t just takin’ on a leak…” Kokakis muttered to himself.

“Captain! Look, over there! There’s someone in the water!”

“Eh? Oi! Quick, someone get a raft and fetch him ‘fore he brines up!”

--------------------------

Darkness.

That was all he saw. Darkness.

In the absence of light, memories appeared before him. The haunting faces of people he had known many lifetimes ago, whose names he had forgotten. Their disappointed faces looked upon him in contempt. He felt the anguish and scorn of those who had the highest hopes for him fill his heart with sadness. Most of all, he felt the crushing burden of a nation who had betrayed itself, a nation he had never even known, and yet whose original sin he bore all the same. The sum total of these sentiments amounted to an iron weight of guilt upon his heart, pulling him ever deeper into the black abyss. He did not resist its pull. There was a bittersweet relief to being consumed, that the oblivion would absolve his soul of the chains binding it, and that he would finally find peace.

And so, he continued to sink into the darkness, eternal.

Unexpectedly, a beacon of light began to appear in the depths of the darkness.

He knew what it meant. A cruel reminder of a world beyond the one within him. He wished only to turn away from it, to wrap himself in the silence and emptiness once more. But knowing in his heart that things in this world mattered beyond his comfort, he exhaled and drifted towards the light, its painful radiance ever growing in his eyes.

With a crash, his body crested the surface of the water, spraying foam across the massive chamber he rested in. He made a gesture and the water bent to his will, lifting him upright and slowly transporting him to the pool’s edge. Beads of water ran off the smooth, dull gray surface of his armor like rain as he clambered up the steps of the pool. Reaching behind his helmet, he pulled out the umbilical cord that had been supplying him with oxygen, throwing it to the ground. Before him stood a young boy dressed in fine clothing, who, with a few swipes on his touch pad, shut the tanks off before any more air was wasted. Despite the boy’s age, the way he carried himself gave off the air of a professional servant many times his senior.

“Go.” He asked of the boy, curtly, but devoid of genuine hostility.

“Master.” The ward bowed. “The KKSS Jolly Green Giant, a reconnaissance vessel stationed in the Mazarine, has urgently requested the oversight of an Ascendant. Do you wish to accept?”

“For what purpose?”

“They did not explicitly mention it, Master.”

He crossed his arms and sighed. His rest had been disrupted for this? A lack of justification meant whoever sent out the request didn’t have confidence that what they had found was actually important. If it wasn’t certainly important, then it was certainly unimportant. No self-respecting Ascendant would waste their time on something so ambiguously trivial. Luckily for the captain of the Giant, this was Ieivon Rochores, a Segmentum where not a single self-respecting Ascendant could be found.

“I suppose I’ll humor them, seeing as my meditation has already been interrupted. How long have I been under?”

“As of now… One-point-two-seven-three-one-one… eight megaseconds, Master.”

Over two weeks. Not nearly long enough, he thought to himself, looking back to the now still surface of the water. He may be standing here and now, but his soul still felt as if it was trapped in the depths below.

“Ensure a jet is prepared for me on the Geisslerlied within two hours and dispatch an Acolyte to brief me on what happened during my rest. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, my Master.”

With that exchange, he and his ward departed from the meditation chamber.

--------------------------------------------

On the bridge of the Jolly Green, Captain Korakis had been glancing at the clock nonstop since the alert had gone out hours ago. In the meanwhile, he had managed to chew through his right thumbnail and most of his left one. Why didn’t they equip these worthless boats with teleportation circles? He thought to himself.

“Kaki, we’ve got incoming aircraft!” yelled the first mate.

“Ahh, finally! You’ve got the bridge, I’ll go out to get them!” the Captain yelled back.

Scrambling off the bridge, he ran down flights of stairs to the edge of the deck and pulled out his binoculars. Looking into the sky, he saw the unmistakable silhouette of a fighter jet pulling closer to his ship. It slowed down as it drew closer, until its roaring VTOL jets were all that held it aloft, upon which the cockpit opened. A figure leapt from it and descended by magic to the ship below, while the jet’s cockpit closed and the planes engines fired up again. Lightly landing on the deck, the Ascendant made some gestures to a PDA on his arm, and the plane departed as fast as it had come.

Rushing over to the Ascendant who had arrived, he took note of their Marks. The symbols and bleached turquoise colors defined the Ascendant as one of Nuryx’s. That was a relief, since he had heard they were a lot nicer and a lot less crazier than the others. This was the first time he had ever met one in person. They were a lot... taller than he had envisioned.

Prostrating himself on the ground before the Ascendant, he cried out, “My Lord, my name’s Kokakis, I’m the Captain of this vess-“

However, the Ascendant ignored the venerations and merely walked by him. As they passed, they harshly said, “Don’t waste my time with formalities. Tell me why I’m here.”

Stunned for a moment, he failed to answer the command. As if he didn’t exist, the Ascendant paid no mind to the unfulfilled order and continued walking. Recovering, he got up and ran over to the Ascendant, who was now opening a door to the inside of the ship.

“Ah, well, you see, we recovered a sailor, a Tzonaqi sailor while we were out on patrol, and, uh, I think he was from a boat that was shipwrecked-“

“I know as much from the ocean of debris I saw on the flight in. Get to the point.”

“Ah, yes, sorry. He was saying some interesting things regarding what happened, but I’m not sure if it’s just delirium or actually the truth, but he mentioned a sea monster, which seemed like a big deal, so I thought I’d phone it in-“

The Ascendant continued to ignore him. Now in the ship’s medical bay, he approached the lone figure lying on the bed. The doctor supervising him took note of the Ascendant’s presence, and with a quick bow, moved out of the way.

The towering, empty stare of the Ascendant looked down on the sickly man, and offered these words in perfect Tzoqxi'tan:

“I am Argyron, Ascendant of Nuryx. Tell me what happened.”

[Tzonaxiqal]

Somewhere near the Wayawa Islands,
May 14th, 2018...

The Mazarine was a busy place, chock-full of traffic both maritime and naval. Being a partially peninsular, partially island nation, the Imperial Confederation of Tzonaxiqal had more of a vested interest than most nations in keeping its territorial waters safe and secure. The nuclear attack submarine Xedasan was an integral part of that security. The Tektek-cass submarine was theoretically named after a god who was said to protect the coral reefs of Chaza, but in practice the name was another term for a rainbow, something that got the crew plenty of heckling - it certainly wasn't as intimidating a name as Skakor (a Slashwon death god) or Thaneshek (a god of swordsmanship and vengeance), but it was a name the crew wore with pride, as evidenced by the vibrant, multi-colored stripes featured on the ship's badge and the rainbow painted (albeit sloppily) onto the conning tower, slithering its way up and around from the base like an ecstatic serpent; the latter was technically against protocol, but none of the higher-ups had the heart or patience to order it repainted.

Aside from that particular quirk, however, the Xedasan was a mostly unremarkable ship. One of the earlier constructed subs in the Tektek-class, she had nonetheless been maintained well and her systems had been modernized since the '80s. She wasn't the newest, most advanced, or mightiest sub in the fleet, but the Xedasan was reliable. The same could be said of her crew - no accolades or particularly remarkable accomplishments; just a bunch of wholly average sailors who were competent enough to maintain and quietly guide her through training or wargames.

That was potentially about to change.

Commander Meznan xo'Asta Qora hunched over as he entered the control room, balancing a cup of lukewarm coffee in the crook of his arm while shuffling through some papers with his hands.

"Jai, how's our friend?" Meznan called out into the room, not bothering to look up or walk in any further, choosing to lean against the wall and attempt to correct the disastrous coffee-paper impasse he had been struggling with for well over five minutes. Huacha xo'Izel Jaisxa did not respond at first. The sonarman took simply stayed hunched over his console, fiddling with controls. "Jaisxa, sitrep on the sub!" A crewman noticed Meznan's distress and hurried over to hold his mug for him while he got the papers back into line. After urging the crewman to keep the now pointlessly cool coffee, Meznan crossed over to Huacha. "Well?"

"Still booking it in the same direction, sir. Toya and I have been listening for hours - it's definitely a sub. Starting and stopping." The man beside Huacha nodded rapidly. "None of our killers were supposed to be in the area - at least, not for a few days - so it's probably foreign."

"Spaghetti-eaters?" Meznan asked. Istervanii.

"No way of knowing for sure, but I can't imagine who else would be operating this close to Wayawa."

"Why do we think its moving so fast? Did something spook it?"

"No clue, sir. Toya thinks its chasing something, but wherever it's going, it's towards Wayawa. Fast."

Meznan stared at the sonarman's readings for a moment. "Same place, same time...I'd be surprised if it's not the same one that got the Dava." Everyone in the room ceased idle chatter and looked down at the mention of the sunken frigate. Word had come in that things were starting to get real bad, real quick. War was just around the corner. Meznan exhaled deeply from his nose, leaning heavily on Huacha's chair. He raised his voice to be heard throughout the control room, though it wasn't quite necessary. "If it's what we think it is, we can't afford to let it get away. For the Dava."

"For the Dava." The crew echoed.

Meznan lifted the ghost of his coffee mug to his lips. Realizing he no longer had it, he let his arm fall limply to his side and simply shoved it in his pants pocket as he began barking the necessary orders, although most of the crew were already taking the appropriate measures to pursue the other submarine. Turning to leave the room, he let out one final growl.

"Let's chase that rainbow."

---

Aboard the KKSS Jolly Green Giant...

Etzli stared up blankly at the hulking figure towering over the bed, like an axtuwa right out of an old medieval painting. It was just missing some extra arms and big, serrated, bloodstained blade. He didn't really understand what it told him, though it spoke his language practically like a native. Argyron. Nuryx. The words tumbled around in Etzli's head and may have spilled out of his mouth as well; he wasn't quite sure. Everything was a bit hazy; he was pretty sure he had broken some stuff and the doctor had him on some pretty heavy pain medication.

"What happened...?" He spoke this time, he was sure, but it was a question mostly posed to himself.

What did happen? He remembered chatting with some people on deck...who was it? Mico? Mikasi? Meena? No, no, it had been a man, definitely. Then it hit him like a completely thematically appropriate, metaphorical wave, exactly like literal wave he had been hit by. Or rather, the wave that Etzli had hit.

"I was on board the Dava xo'Zuhua." He began speaking slowly, his words slurred slightly. "It's a...it was a frigate. Imperial Navy. General, uh, general patrol. Things were normal. I had some rice for breakfast. I was standing on deck, on the boat, talking and then..." Etzli stopped and tilted his head a few times, scrunching up his face, as if it required physical effort to recall the memory. "And then there was no boat." He only continued at the unamused, exasperated insistence of the figure. "It flew up in the air and I fell off. And then I was in the water and-" ♫

The images came flooding back. His lungs filling with water as he flailed helplessly in panic, sinking beneath the surface. Something heavy hit him from above - or was it the side? He couldn't tell where up was. It was dark. Why was it dark in the middle of the day?! An enormous force blasted him aside and he was surrounded by debris and bodies, kicking and flailing exactly like him. His shipmates were bleeding, drowning, screaming underwater. Shapes flashed around him, too quick to register. Suddenly there was even more blood, a rapidly thickening cloud. Something brushed past him, and a second later another thing crashed into him, sending him spiraling in a random direction. Etzli could feel himself losing consciousness now, the awful burning, crushing feeling in his chest. He saw his life flash before his eyes, exactly how he heard it happened - all the pretty girls he never asked out, all the sqatxa games with the kids in his town, the long family dinners listening to his grandmothers' stories...

And then he saw it. ♫

An eye. A bright red iris surrounding a narrow slit of a black pupil, which pulsated oddly. Bigger than him. Impossibly massive. It simply stared at him for what felt like an eternity, watching him slowly sink further. Etzli felt something that he couldn't see. It reached out towards him, something of leviathan presence, frozen to the core; something radiating pure malevolence. He tried to scramble away but found he could no longer will his body to move. It grabbed a hold of him and he felt it...inside him; not physically, but violating some part of him he couldn't describe - his mind? His spirit? His soul? He felt the cold grasp tighten around a little flickering light deep inside him, all while helpless to do anything but stare into that awful, awesome, impossible eye. Etzli's mind was ablaze, barely comprehending what was happening to him, screaming for relief as something else, something much more overwhelming, screamed right back at him.

And then...nothing. He woke up being pulled out of the water.

Etzli refocused, from his unseeing thousand-yard stare into the opaque visor of the figure standing over him, to the faces of the crew around him, which all shared expressions of terror, confusion, and disbelief in various compositions. He realized that he had been articulating the entirety of the memory to them, though the coherence and descriptiveness of his rambling had fluctuated considerably throughout. Pressed for more details, he simply shook his head.

"That's all I remember." He said flatly. "The last thing - the screaming. It was a word.

End."

[Free Islands and Atolls]

Still 14:05:20:26...

The shift has just changed and the captain was asleep for three hours. The fate of the Ikamate, its mission and its crew was now in the hands of its first officer, S. T. Maraiwai, a stark contract to Konovalov in appearance. Bulky, tall ─ taller even for an Islander ─ and muscular, he was what could be expected from a sea wolf. And now he was sitting in the captain's chair, reading a book.

To his left were four sonarmen, each one being for the submarine its eyes and ears underwater, and the Chief Acoustician overseeing them. To his right was the fire control crew, those responsible for delivering coup de grace ─ although captain could fire torpedoes directly from his station, it was more of an emergency feature. To his front, past the displays, were the helmsman and the engineering watch ─ what they were seeing was also reflected at the captain's station.

God-damned computers!

─ Captain Maraiwai? ─ He looked left. The Chief Acoustician, Hatora. ─ Permission to engage the rear sonar array.
─ Permission granted. What's the status of those two contacts we were following?
─ Why don't you take a look?

The next minute two were staring at one the consoles.

─ Two submarines, chasing each other. I think it is a common practice for belligerents fighting a cold war. I was asking permission to deploy the rear array because we were following them for quite some time now.
─ Yes, just as Konovalov ordered. ─ First officer frowned and went back to his seat. ─ Watch them closely. Helm! Set depth: 50; ahead slow.

What is with that Konovalov's interest anyways? It's not our war. And this escapade is just an unnecessary risk, actually...

His book was a well-known work about great marine creatures and their influence on myths and legends. And while thinking over Konovalov's choice and the book as well, Maraiwai hadn't noticed a poor act of his Chief Acoustician.

─ Clarify their positions, Number 2. ─ Hatora ordered. ─ Ping them once.

[Altaiire]

Argyron listened carefully as the young Tzonaqi sailor recounted the more innocuous details of his tale. As soon as the subject turned to the incident at hand, the man broke down into an unintelligible terrified mess. Ascendants being as in tune with emotions as they were, however, the feeling of fear behind the disjointed fragments of sentences reached him with untarnished clarity. The sense of an entity of great malice, a psychic scarring left by a being of tremendous power. The passion behind the mania touched even his soul, and beneath his impassive steel exterior he felt his skin stand on edge. The doctor and Kokakis, despite understanding almost none of the ranting, nonetheless looked on at the Tzonaqi with grim expressions. Finally, the sailor regained a semblance of composure, and looked at Argyron with weary eyes.

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” Argyron asked.

“That’s all I remember. The last thing – the screaming. It was a word. End.”

Argyron gave no response to that statement.

Kokakis looked at Argyron quizzically. “Not that I could understand much of that, but he told you about it, right? The sea monster, I mean. What do you think about that? Is it important?”

"The sailor’s account is… interesting. But ultimately any information pertaining to a “sea monster” is useless.” Argyron crossed his arms. “While this human doesn’t suffer from hypernatremia, a registered trait of Tzonaqi are their fanciful beliefs in long departed gods. There’s no way to determine if this “explanation” is simply the human's mind attempting to reconcile a traumatic conventional event - by that, I mean attack - on his vessel. That isn't to say it’s impossible. Dubious archaeological evidence suggests a number of "Tyrant"-class animals have existed in the past. There are also a number of large native lifeforms on our planet that are capable of destroying ships, Sylvans, for example, but it's unlikely that they would be able to destroy the Dava. And of course, it could very well be a rampaging fallen god. But there’s no evidence to that effect beyond the human’s testimony.”

Kokakis shuddered and twitched nervously, scratching at his shoulder. “So basically… It’s really nothing? I… I’m sorry I wasted your time, my Lord. Please, I beg-"

“Silence.” Argyron commanded, and Kokakis shut up immediately.

“You won’t be reprimanded for this disturbance. Tales of sea monsters may be fanciful nonsense, but the fact a Tzonaqi military vessel was destroyed is of interest. Perhaps something useful can be culled from the Dava’s wreck if we can find it before any authorities do.“

“Ahh… right. Wait, he’s from a military vessel?”

You couldn’t tell from the uniform? Argyron thought, but didn’t say aloud. Ignoring the Captain's question, he said, “I have orders for you. Turn this vessel around immediately. Deploy your fishing nets and trawl as much debris as you can so that I can conduct a forensic analysis to determine the cause of sinking. I am going to contact the Giesslerlied.”

“Alright then, my Lord, I’m on it!” said Kokakis, looking rather relieved that he didn’t have to face any punishment. He bolted out of the medical room to go issue orders to his crew. The doctor, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, got up to resume checking up on the recovered sailor for a bit before returning to his desk.

Based on the human’s testimony, the destroyer must have been sunk around 24 hours ago. With the currents and our current location, it should be possible to pin down a good area to start searching for that ship, Argyron thought to himself. Using his touchpad to connect to the Giant’s communications infrastructure, he sent a message to the carrier Giesslerlied, filling them in on the situation. He instructed the carrier group to dispatch reconnaissance USVs and send a transport to retrieve him, as well as providing information necessary to pin down the Dava’s wreck.

As soon as he had finished his transmission, Kokakis returned to the medical wing. The captain ran up to him. “It’s all been taken care of, my Lord,” he said, slightly out of breath. “We’re turned around and off to pick up what’s left of that ship.”

"Excellent,” Argyron replied. “That should suffice for the time being." The Ascendant turned away from him. Kokakis had been a little nervous- no, really nervous- that this whole incident was going to get him and his crew punished. He was rather relieved everything had turned out all right- he might even get a nice bonus paycheck out of all this. He was so pleased with himself, he almost didn’t notice the faint glimmer of metal in Argyron’s right hand.

"Wait, what are you doing?!" He cried out. Kokakis scrambled around Argyron, placing himself awkwardly between the medical bed where the Tzonaqi sailor lay and the elegant dagger gripped in the Ascendant’s raised fist.

"I am killing this human," Argyron replied, in as blunt a manner as possible.

"EH?! Why?! After we saved his life?!"

Argyron lowered his grip, and turned directly to Kokakis. "His existence compromises the purpose of this vessel. He cannot be allowed to live. That should be obvious to you, Captain."

Kokakis winced. Argyron was somewhat right. They were a spy vessel, after all. If the Tzonaqi made it back to his country, he very easily could tell the authorities about the Giant’s true purpose. After that, it was only a matter of time before his crew was arrested- and likely executed.

"Gah...! Still, there has to be another way! He can serve on the crew with us!"

"And abandon you the first chance he gets when you dock at port? Whereupon he will convey the nature of your operations to anyone willing to listen?"

“You don’t know that for sure!”

“The mere possibility is enough reason. Get out of my way."

Kokakis said nothing, trembling with fear in his eyes, but stood his ground. Irritated, Argyron casually stepped forward and grabbed Kokakis by his coat, drawing the Captain’s face directly into his visor.

"It's his life, or your crew's. The exarchs may be inconvenienced replacing you, but as for me, I don't care what happens either way. What is your compassion worth to you?”

Kokakis didn’t resist the physical assault, but his willpower held. "But, I mean, he- can't you just take him back to Altair as a slave or something? Can you brainwash him? Anything?"

"If he wishes to abandon his country and family. But to me, it's far too much work for the sake of one insignificant human life. However!” Argyron exclaimed, as a slightly amused tone crept into his otherwise monotonous voice. “As ineloquent a conversationalist as you are, I admire your willingness to stand up to me for the sake of principle, Captain. I will humor your request." Argyron released his grip on Kokakis, who fell to his knees with a thousand yard stare, sweating. Argyron stepped past him to look down on the terrified Tzonaqi sailor lying on the bed.

“As you know this is an Altarian vessel, it is in our best interest to kill you. However, the Captain has requested I spare your life. Offer me one reason- a skill, a piece of knowledge- to justify retaining your life,” He asked in Tzoqxi'tan, politely- or at least, as politely as one could ask a death threat.

[Tzonaxiqal]

Aboard the Jolly Green Giant...

Etzli felt cold dread creep up his spine as the hulking form before him tossed the captain around like a child would a doll. Despite this, he felt a strange disconnect from the universally terrible situation he now found himself in. Maybe it was the medication, or maybe it was the low, droning hum that was now stuck in the back of his mind - he knew he was scared, he felt his heart pounding in his chest and every fiber of his being was telling him to run the hell away...but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to care. His hazy gaze struggled to focus on the Ascendant as it turned back to him. Something about it was...just awful. Not just the way it carried itself or how it spoke of Etzli's potential murder like a casual after-dinner game, but how it spoke of him - "this human" - as if it wasn't human itself, or mortal at all for that matter. Images flashed through his mind, of frescos on temple walls and drawings of foreboding tales from holy books.

"You're an axtuwa." Etzli breathed, narrowing his eyes and leering into the opaque visor. "An angry, hungry..." Gnashing teeth and bleeding eyes. flailing arms with a sword in each hand. "...sorry little ghost, throwing a tantrum 'cause it got punished." Decapitated gods and goblets of blood. "Acting like you're hot shit, when that's not really your power; you didn't earn it, you don't deserve it." He suddenly felt exhausted, and let himself plop back down onto the hard bed, letting out a long breath. "I dunno, man. I've never really been super scared to die. I like to think I'm an okay guy - worst case scenario, I come back as a dog, which doesn't sound too bad to be honest. Eat cold chicken and hump stuff all day, sleep all night..." He rolled his head to look at the ceiling. "You though, Agrogong or whatever...? You're gonna burn like you always end up doing. Can't run from Judgement."

---

Mawelxaq, Northwest Wayawa Archipelago

Mallka never expected another war. She had been but a little girl when the last one, and, truth be told, barely remembered it. There were vague memories of her mother frantically shoving her in the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink on more than one occasion; of the sounds of fireworks around the clock, of shouts and screams in the streets; suffocating dust and rubble that cut into her skin; her father leaving with some of the neighbors one day and simply never returning. It wasn't until she was a teenager that Mallka came to fully appreciate what all these images in her mind were. She didn't remember the war well, but its aftershocks had stuck with her - sometimes going days without eating, getting drenched in the rain beneath woeful canvas tents, the Tchenqalites waving their red banners and brandishing their guns calling for the masses to rise up.

Mallka had prayed to never see another war again. Of course, that was a naive wish, but so long as the war never came home again she could rest easy. There had even been a part of her that believed another war over Wayawa couldn't happen - the last one had been a disaster for both sides; surely nobody could be stupid enough to try again?

She often found herself impressed by the sheer stupidity of humans.

Today was no different, as she heard the telltale roar of jet engines somewhere overhead. Mallka sat by the window, watching the children stumble around in the yard trying to catch a glimpse of the military aircraft, though they were far too high to see well with the naked eye. Some of them directed their gaze towards the beach, as if hoping to see a sea monster breach. The wind picked up and began to whip furiously every now and then, announcing the arrival of black, foreboding clouds on the western horizon, ruining hair and billowing skirts.

"What did I tell you all about looking at the sun!" Her cousin broke the kids out of their stupor, smacking one of the older ones lightly on the back of the head for emphasis. "We're almost done with dinner, so hurry in and wash your hands."

These instructions did little to focus the children, who now sat glued to the television as images of warships and - for now - stock footage of missile launches flashed across the screen, accompanied by the droning of pundits trying to forecast history as if it were just a nasty typhoon. Mallka would never understand the fascination adolescents had with the military, or why some adults never seemed to outgrow it.

There was a dark, heavy pit in her stomach as the family prayed and ate dinner.

Afterwards, cleaning up after the meal, Mallka tried to block out the idle chatter of her relatives as they discussed current events while washing dishes or folding laundry. There were rumors circulating that she desperately wanted to ignore. Rumors of imperial warships hugging close to shore, circling around the island to the western side, which was the farthest west and very close to the largest of the Ivstervani islands, trying to avoid detection by the Istervanii. Nothing concrete, of course, but word traveled fast in the network of small communities that made up the island. All they had to go on were the tales of fishermen.

The children started screaming about some unfair game in the other room.

Mallka hoped they were just rumors.

[Altaiire]

"You're an axtuwa," the Tzonaqi spoke to him, staring upwards with scornful eyes. "An angry, hungry... sorry little ghost, throwing a tantrum 'cause it got punished. Acting like you're hot shit, when that's not really your power; you didn't earn it, you don't deserve it."

Argyron's eyes narrowed. Axtuwas. Mythological entities of the Tzonaqi culture, but like all myths, born of a kernel of truth. The relation between the Tzonaqi's concept of "axtuwa" and the Ascendant standing before him extended, perhaps, beyond mere allegory. But the Tzonaqi's insults were meaningless, as to Argyron, the blood of tens of thousands staining his hands were proof enough of his worth. What truly offended Argyron was that his genuine extension of mercy had been rebuffed with senseless rambling, and nothing irritated him more than having his time wasted.

Shaking his head, Argyron lunged forward, pinning the weakened Tzonaqi sailor, who had merely risen to take a breath, to the bed with the tremendous force of his left hand. Rather than fear or shock, there was a look of defeat in his eyes.

"I dunno, man. I've never really been super scared to die. I like to think I'm an okay guy - worst case scenario, I come back as a dog, which doesn't sound too bad to be honest. Eat cold chicken and hump stuff all day, sleep all night..."

If he had been a Kappaqori, those nihilistic sentiments would have been enough to kill the man right then and there. Instead, he held himself back to answer the words of the Captain behind him.

"What is he saying?!" Kokakis pleaded.

"Nothing useful." Argyron replied, bluntly as always. Kokakis looked away with a pained expression on his face. The Tzonaqi, still ranting, did nothing to resist as Argyron raised his knife for the fatal plunge.

The knife, however, never fell. The next event that occured, instead, was nothing more than aberration in the rocking of the boat upon the ocean waves.

To Argyron's keen mind, however, it had dire implications. Drowning out the screams of the sailor, he cast his eyes into the future.

Though no one could see them, his eyes burst wide open. In the next instant, he had disappeared from the room. Kokakis barely had time to register what happened when the world disappeared from his eyes and everything was plunged into a stygian blackness.

---

Argyron felt the characteristic pull on his body as he bent spacetime to deliver himself into the sky above the boat, and the blue waters of the Mazarine spread out before him. His reflexive teleportation, however, wasn't enough to protect him from what happened next.

He felt something impact against his back. Hard. So hard, in fact, it sent him spiraling even further into the air than he already was. With a crack! he felt his back explode, which, even with his stapled nociceptors, caused him to wince in pain. Reflexively, using what muscles he still had control over, he contorted his body to face his assailant and was confronted with a towering wall of scales. He thrust his fist forward through the air and a trio of beautiful silvery swords flew forth like bullets, each meaninglessly piercing into the creature's hide. He readied for another attack when he felt a malicious presence rap on the threshold of his mind. Thinking quickly, he recognized its similarity to what he had seen in the Tzonaqi sailor. If he had been unaware of it, the damage it could have caused was unthinkable, but his prior knowledge gave him the chance to defend himself. Drawing on pmneomic techniques, he plunged his consciousness into a labyrinth of his life's most meaningless memories, each scene forming a bulwark against foreign intrusion. Even this was hardly enough. His mind looked on in shock as past experiences shattered like glass as the foreign presence brute forced its way into his head. A dreadful scream full of contempt and bloodlust rang out within him. But leveraging his raw willpower, he roared as he fought back against the presence, forcing it out of his mind for good.

His mind was brought back to consciousness as he watched the beast dive beneath the waves with a mighty crash of water. Amongst him, the wreckage of the Jolly Green Giant, broken into infinitesimal pieces, rained from the sky. Also, his back was broken. Shit. And, he was falling out of the sky towards the water at high velocity. Double shit.

He moved both of his hands to his torso and a pulse of white light eminated from his hands as he worked as quickly as he could to magically stitch his severed muscles back together. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time. He switched to air magic to try to arrest his fall instead, but even that wasn't enough. Shifting his body as much as he could, he dove headfirst into the water, piercing the water's surface like a bullet. The tremendous impact only served to rip apart his temporary patchjob, and once again the sensation of pain crept up his spine as his heavy body slowly sunk beneath the waves. Moving his hands back to his torso, he once again attempted to heal his wounds. There's enough time before crush depth, he thought to himself, relieved that the ordeal he had just experienced was hopefully over. The situation was now within his control.

With a wiggle, he checked to make sure his muscles had healed enough. He still felt the tug of his armor weighing down on his body, indicating the wounds weren't fully healed, but he had already used quite a bit of magic and was going to need more if he didn't want to be squeezed out of his shell like toothpaste by water pressure. This would have to be enough. Switching to water magic, he began to adjust the pressure beneath him to slowly bring himself back to the water's surface, the evening sky filling the still-rippling waves with bloody light.

He crested the water's surface, taking a moment to get his bearings. Around him was what was left of the Giant. He sprung into action, locating a suitably large piece of driftwood from the ship's deck, and got to work attempting to locate survivors of the attack. After checking lifeless body after lifeless body, he finally came upon someone still alive - just barely, in spite of the massive piece of shrapnel piercing their abdomen. As he pushed through the expanding foam of blood, he thought carefully. Was there enough time to get this sailor back to the driftwood and heal him? Or should he triage and leave this man for dead, and try to find someone with better chances? Looking around at the debris surrounding him, if he wanted to maximize the number of survivors, he was going to need a helping hand. Carrying the sailor back to the driftwood, he threw the man and himself onboard. Acting quickly, he pinned the sailor to the boards with his foot. With one hand he began pulling out the twisted shard of metal, and with the other he applied his healing magic. The sailor, who had been unconscious, was aroused by a great sense of pain as jagged metal slid past his innards and let out a terrible scream. Although he instinctively struggled, Argyron's strength kept him in place as the metal was excruciatingly removed from him and new flesh was knitted behind it. After a great ordeal, the bloodstained metal was finally freed from his body. Argyron tossed it into the ocean waves behind him while the hole in the Altarian's back slowly disappeared. With his work done, he grabbed the breathless sailor and turned him onto his back. Argyron stared into his wretched, seafoam-spattered, tear-stricken, bloodsoaked face.

"Compose yourself. There are more survivors. I need your assistance."

Groggily, the sailor looked back up at him, confused and gasping for air, not grasping the meaning of the words through his shellshock.

Perhaps he had made a mistake. Not wasting any more time on the man, Argyron threw the sailor a life vest that he'd found floating in the water. After that, he carefully let himself off the driftwood and back into the water to begin searching for more survivors. Almost as soon as he had left, another sailor approached him, swimming through the water, probably drawn by the screaming, and apparently lucky enough to avoid injury as well as steely enough to keep his nerves.

"What the hell happened?!" The sailor shouted at him. Apparently he was rattled somewhat, as he hadn't attached an honorific to that question. Not that Argyron cared, of course.

"We were attacked." Argyron replied. "It's not relevant now. Help me find any survivors. If they're in good shape, tell them to search for others or gather emergency supplies. If they're wounded or unconscious get them back to that driftwood over there. And make sure they remember to get life jackets before they start handling people so they don't get themselves drowned!"

"Copy that, sir!" The sailor replied with determined spirit, and swam off. Argyron looked out onto the sprawling sea of detritus. He certainly hadn't been planning on using magic this much today. Just keeping himself afloat was draining him of strength- it would be more than embarrassing if he ended up killing himself from exhaustion if this little search and rescue went on too long. Spurred on by such thoughts, he began the arduous task of weeding through the flotsam for bodies. Of the creature that had nearly killed them all, he paid no thought.

[Istervan]

Silvat, Istervan
Central Fleet Communications
COMSUBMAZ Operations

“Janek! How’s the tropical weather treating you?”

Vice Admiral Galieri sipped at a large mug of coffee as he leaned back in his leather office chair. At the moment, he was in a secure call with one of his colleagues. Vice Admiral Janek Littoros was the man currently in charge of general fleet operations in area around the Comona Islands- an increasingly important post.

“Like a vengeful mistress, Vince. Thank the Razgriz for air conditioning.”

Littoros quickly cut through the small talk and to the point, which Galieri was infinitely grateful for.

“I’m sure you’ve been busy, if even half the data you sent me is true. So, what do you need of me?”

“Well, to put it simply, I’ll need to ask a favor of you. Have you got any surface assets that could help track our mystery machine? Kolton’s one of my better skippers, but I don’t want to leave the task up to just one boat.”

“...I’ll see what I can do.”

***

May 14th, 2018
Southwest of the Comona Islands
The FSN Vitoze

To Commander Girald Kolton’s slight annoyance, the mystery contact had been keeping up a brisk (and quite noisy) twenty-five knot pace for almost the entirety of the past day the Vitoze had spent following it. While its behavior made it simple to track, the Vitoze was obliged to maintain a similarly fast and noisy pace to keep up with its quarry.

Under speeds of twenty knots, San Loma class submarines were virtual ghosts. Above that, however, they were more vulnerable to detection; no amount of sound-absorbent hull coating could fully dampen the vibrations and bubbles created by their screws.

Kolton had thus decided to adopt a strategy of drifting several miles behind the contact, while making semi-regular thirty-plus knot dashes to close the distance gained. While his ship was still at increased risk of detection, it reduced the odds that the unknown sub would catch on to the fact that it had a tail. His sonarmen had indeed reported occasional suspicions of at least one Zonnie submarine a bit close for comfort (Kolton had his own suspicions that they were making bets on whether they were being tailed).

The Vitoze was in the midst of one of such dash when Kolton saw Pilottik suddenly jolt up in his seat. The sonarman hastily fiddled with his headphones as he turned towards the Commander and spoke up.

“Sir? We’ve been pinged by active sonar!”

“Sonofa--.” Kolton set his mug down on a nearby console. “Helm! Speed to seventeen knots. Depth 200. Did it come from our friend?”

“No, sir. It was another sub out west; bearing two-seven-four from our position.”

“Zonnie?”

“Didn’t sound like one of their sonars, sir.”

“And it was just the one ping?”

“Yessir.”

“...I see. It looks like we’ve picked up an admirer. Pilo, fire up our own set and return the favor. Give ‘em two pings. ”
“Aye-aye. Here we go. …There, hard return on--” Pilottik’s eyes widened. “--two, repeat two submarines! One’s the s.o.b. that pinged us. The other’s Zonnie. Caught red-handed and hitting the brakes right now!”

“Damn.” Deciding to ignore the few sonarmen exchanging wads of bills, Kolton collected his near-empty mug and grimaced. “It’s a real party down here. Helm, speed to ten knots. Bearing one-nine-zero and ten degrees down on the planes. Pilo, deploy the towed array. We’re gonna have to shake ‘em before we can pick up the chase again.”

“Sir, we might lose the mystery contact if we don’t follow it for too long.”

“Of course. We’ll have to make this a quick one. Failing that, the rest of the fleet will pick up the slack. But that won’t be necessary, will it, lads? Let’s show ‘em how the Sub Fleet does the dance!”

The men of the control room responded as one. “Aye-aye, cap’n!”

[Free Islands and Atolls]

14:05:20:26, SW of Wayawa Islands
Islander submarine Ikamate

─ Captain on the bridge!
─ Stay at ease. Sitrep, Maraiwai! ─ Konovalov swiftly passed to his station.

The original intention of the captain was to track two belligerents from the rear, approximately from bearing 210 of them. But constant changes of the speed of the followed, as well as no changes whatsoever from the follower, have found both of the followed being almost to the starboard of the Islander submarine. The design was fairly quiet ─ the liquid-metal-cooled reactor with electromagnetic pumps and two multi-bladed ducted screws contributed to that ─ but not entirely invisible, and no one was sure if they were ever found out until that moment.

They knew that there were no pings from anyone, though, so at least they were not of any interest.

─ We're still following both of the belligerent submarines, Ratu, and the distance to them is five miles, constant...
─ Captain, we've just been pinged twice! ─ Hatora suddenly interrupted the First Officer.

Konovalov quickly assessed the situation as it was fed to him, then just rolled his eyes and sighed.

─ Atama, turn 20 starboard. ─ He ordered to his Navigation officer, then turned to the Acousticians and stood up, ready to fire someone on sight. His face was still.
─ Hatora. ─ He started calmly, but the displeasure in his voice ascended quickly. ─ I've gone a long way from a simple spermatozoon and a simple ovum to the Admiral-Four^[1] of the Islander Navy. And I have seen a lot of blatant incompetence and...

His eyes accidentally fell on the screen of one of the sonarmen. He squinted, something attracting his attention, then looked back at Hatora.

─ You had something else to report. ─ Captain continued in his usual tone. ─ Hadn't you?

And the Chief Acoustician seized the moment to take the initiative and avoid a long rant and possible brig.

─ Aye, Ratu. ─ He quickly started. ─ There are three objects we were following, actually. Two of them are definitely submarines, but the third is something unidentified.

Konovalov appeared to the back of the sonarmen almost with the speed of a passing wind. Hatora and Maraiwai only heard him saying "And the situation is..." ─ then immediately picked up by them.

─ One submarine was following the other, who in turn followed the unidentified object. ─ The First Officer said, still leaning on handrails.
─ The noise of those subs made it hard to identify it, Ratu. ─ Added one of the sonarmen, a young boy no older than 25. ─ But I bet everything this is not the submarine for a-ah don't hear any screws and it's quite too noisy for a submarine as well.
─ Thank you, Sonar-2. And it was travelling at about 25 knots for all the past hours, Ratu. ─ Hatora concluded.

The captain frowned. What the hell was that?

He hadn't known any details of the sinking of Tzonaqi frigate. He had indeed imagined that there was a possibility for some more warmongering elements to blow the frigate themselves via a submarine. But now this thought had to go ─ that was no submarine.

─ I suppose it is a life form, Ratu. ─ Words of Maraiwai pierced his thoughts. ─ Something large enough to sustain such a speed and enduring...

A life form? It wasn't impossible for one to sink a frigate. But what kind of a life form it was that it rammed the frigate and sustained a constant 25-knot speed throughout the whole day?

─ Only Ikamate^[2] are known for such an endurance, right, Maraiwai?
─ But they can't sink a frigate. Even for them it's too much. And we're far from the...

Captain and the First Officer ended the sentence together.

─ ... Great Ocean.

Konovalov looked at Maraiwai with a genuine, sincere expression that could only be read one way ─ "Oh, crap!"

─ Battle stations! ─ The captain ordered while hastily passing to his seat. ─ Atama: speed 25, steady on course. Hatora: stay sharp for traffic, passive sonar only. Takai: prepare torpedos.

As the siren started to roar and while the rest of the crew rushed to their battle stations, Maraiwai asked:
─ Ratu Konovalov, are we indeed following the creature?

Konovalov glanced at him from below.
─ No, shit, Maraiwai, we're dancing haka^[3] to those two submarines! Go check compartments out!
─ Aye, Ratu.

---

[1] ─ "Admiral-4" or "Admiral 4th Rank" is approximately between the ranks of commodore and rear admiral.
[2] Ikamate (singular and plural) ─ an omnivore creature of the equatorial longitudes of the Great Ocean resembling a large shark. Also the eponymous Islander god of High Seas. And one of the main heroes of this story.
[3] Haka ─ a traditional challenge dance.