What an unholy sound that was!
Not only had it rendered their ship's great cannons all but useless, but it had detonated the depth charges before their time—turning their own weapons against them with terrible precision.
Such careful and ample preparations, containing the unimaginable power of divine grace within millions of shells, had been breached by the monster in a single stroke. All that stored might had been unleashed upon the sea in one devastating moment!
The fishing net lay in ruins!
What else might restrain this creature of the depths? Would it not move freely now, going wherever its dark purpose demanded? Moreover, now that the fleet had lost its greatest—indeed, its only—hope of victory, would this monster truly slip away as they prayed... or would it finish what it had begun?
All eyes turned toward the sea monster's last known position.
Only piles of fish and sea-creature corpses were visible upon the churning waters—not even the shadow of a tentacle remained above the surface. The beast had vanished completely into the seabed's embrace, like some kraken of legend returning to its lair.
Only the battle map could still track the monster's movements through the dark depths.
And still it moved!
The Graceful Light continued dropping her orange-red depth charges in a steady rain of death, while the sea monster's icon crept slowly behind, occasionally clearing away a few of the deadly spheres with contemptuous ease.
What else could be done?
The ship's cannons held no power against a foe dozens of fathoms beneath the waves. Should they approach closer and continue dropping depth charges? Such a course would surely see their warships lost without hope of return, unable to hinder that abomination in the slightest.
In short, the Graceful Light sailed toward certain doom.
The Security Bureau, monitoring every moment with hawks' eyes, saw this truth most clearly of all.
In that moment, death-like silence filled the new surveillance hall of King's Landing.
Security guards stared at their screens with nervous, blank expressions, knowing not how to act in the face of such catastrophe. Their superiors could offer only vague commands to "maintain strict watch and let no useful intelligence escape!"
But what, exactly, constituted "useful" intelligence? None could say.
Alyn Lantell remained alone in the highest surveillance chamber, deeply concerned for the distant battlefield of the Shield Islands, yet equally powerless to affect its outcome. He could only find solace in knowing that the king aboard the Graceful Light was not His Grace's true body.
No matter how dire the situation became, at least His Grace's safety remained assured—a blessing amid this unfolding disaster.
Still, it grieved him to think of this precious fleet's fate.
Alyn could not help but mourn for these warships and the brave souls who crewed them. According to all intelligence they possessed of the sea monster, once the ship's cannons and Kingsguard proved insufficient, the mighty fleet would become naught but living targets upon the water.
In matters of speed, the sea monster was surely master of all the seas. If no means could be found to bring the creature to heel, the entire western coast of Westeros would suffer—and perhaps far more besides.
The only service Alyn could render in this dark hour was to record with precision and care the sea monster's location and actions, reporting faithfully to His Grace while keeping their maps current and true.
And to make what plans he could to preserve what forces might be saved when all hope was lost.
Alas...
Through the screen's cold glow, Alyn stared at the sea monster's position. Suddenly, he felt as though those golden eyes gazed back at him—indifferent and ruthless, majestic and terrible—sending ice through his very soul.
Snap!
Alyn immediately closed the screen with trembling fingers.
After a long while, that strange and terrible sensation slowly faded.
Only then did Alyn draw a shuddering breath of relief.
Truly it was a monster—a creature that had no place in the mortal world. Like Divine Grace itself... he thought, then quickly shook his head to banish such meaningless reflections. Instead, he offered his sincere greetings and concerns to His Grace aboard the Graceful Light.
Joffrey's reply came swift and terse: "Rest assured and do your duty."
Reality demanded his full attention—he had no time to lose himself in the virtual world's embrace. No moment to spare for further courtesies.
Joffrey focused entirely on the crisis at hand.
He still stood at the ship's prow, unmoved as stone. The Graceful Light had not seized the chance to turn about, but continued sailing backward through the dark waters. Before him lay the deep sea where the monster lurked, patient as death itself.
He gazed down into the depths.
The sea's surface rolled and churned without cease, white-capped waves surging in endless succession. With the natural rhythm of the ocean itself, combined with the disturbance of their ship's passage, such turbulent waters should surprise no one.
The assumption held true only if one remained ignorant of the monster below.
Once you knew of its presence, you could see it was the true architect of every wave.
Each time the sea monster surged forward, the waves built power in its wake. Each time it paused, heavy swells caught up with the Graceful Light, soaking the already drenched deck anew with salt spray.
Lesser vessels would have foundered already from such assault.
By this alone, the sea monster had earned its place among legendary leviathans, to be revered and sung of by the world.
It was the waves and storms made flesh.
In this manner, the crew needed no battle map to judge their foe's position—they had only to feel the strength of each approaching wave to know how close death swam beneath them.
The knowledge brought infinite pressure to bear upon their souls.
The atmosphere grew thick with dread, and every man fell prey to panic's cold touch.
Theon Greyjoy scurried about like a rat in a flooded hold, seeming dissatisfied with every arrangement, constantly shouting for men to strengthen their preparations.
The warlocks shifted materials about and labored to optimize the warship's mystical defenses, yet nothing they accomplished satisfied them.
The soldiers ran back and forth with grim purpose. Though little remained for them to do aboard ship, they kept themselves busy as if a thousand urgent tasks awaited completion—anything to grant some small comfort and help them forget the terror that approached step by step through the dark waters.
Only Joffrey remained at leisure, calm as a man watching a mummer's play.
He simply stood at the prow without word or movement, gazing quietly toward the monster's approach as though victory was assured.
For most, such a king actually brought greater comfort than one who showed fear. All knew that Divine Grace was shared by their sovereign with the world—perhaps the king's own power exceeded what mortal minds could fathom?
Everyone clung to that hope.
It was precisely this expectation that allowed the Graceful Light to continue operating with steady purpose, rather than collapse into chaos and despair.
Men dared steal glances at the battle map.
The sea monster drew ever closer.
Scarce two kilometers separated them now, and that distance shrank with each passing moment.
It would reach them within half an hour at most.
All aboard realized the truth: whatever end awaited them would be revealed in that final half-hour.
The last half-hour of peace they might ever know.
It seemed so brief, yet in truth the sea monster should have overtaken the Graceful Light long since, given its size and terrible abilities. A single jet of water from such a creature could cover several kilometers in the space of a heartbeat.
Only the depth charges dropped in their wake had slowed its advance, forcing the beast to spend precious time dodging or dispelling each deadly sphere with that eerie song.
That unholy sound...
Though mysteries remained, Joffrey had already deduced why the sea monster could trigger the bombs at will.
Information runes!
In so short a time, the creature had learned to wield the information rune's mirror image he had gifted it with such devastating effect!
Its intelligence was staggering.
The beast had somehow woven magic into its very voice, using sound to disrupt the information magic binding each shell's fuse—causing premature detonation and rendering their weapons useless.
Exceedingly clever application. Joffrey had never witnessed its like.
But how could the sea monster accomplish such feats? Moreover, he had only just granted it the rune's mirror image—how had it instantly gained such vast magical power? And how had it broken free from his control as the rune's creator?
Joffrey stared deeply into the waters, his gaze piercing through waves and foam to meet the monster below.
Its eyes blazed with golden light, deep and indifferent. Though it pursued their ship with relentless purpose, it showed neither anger nor bloodlust. How could such a thing be called mere beast?
The sea monster had abandoned Euron Crow's Eye to his fate.
But in this moment, it had surely accepted another's guidance.
A higher will than any mortal man's.