Clink!
The sound of heavy metal slamming against cold stone resounded through the mausoleum as Adam's blade missed his shielded target.
His focus had been drawn away from Aaron and instead toward the terrified crab, which was doing everything in its power to dodge and weave his strikes that cracked the floor.
Should I help him or…
Standing near the center of the chamber, the blond-haired boy watched with a mix of awe and confusion at the strange scene.
Each of Mr. Crab's peg legs had ejected sharp blades that stuck into Adams' flesh, leaving him wounded; however, even with him bleeding profusely, he continued his fury-filled assault on the crustacean.
Aaron's thoughts were muddled as he scanned the room for where Eleanor lay before finally seeing her on the opposite side of the core.
As he began to run, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Adam had stopped chasing the fleeing crab and instead turned his gaze back to his prey.
"Your little pet was a neat trick, but it didn't even leave a scratch."
Blood trickled down his face as he spoke, causing him to slur his words slightly, causing Aaron to laugh inwardly at his blatant lie.
Not even a scratch, eh?
From the edge of the chamber, Mr. Crab had hidden himself behind a large piece of debris, seemingly hiding himself from both men, obviously feeling betrayed by his friend.
He clicked his claws twice before vanishing in a blur of particles that scattered into the air, seeping through the solid walls that sealed the mausoleum shut.
Aaron, who watched this while running, apologized to the crustacean once again internally before finally reaching the lifeless Eleanor, whose limp body was propped up against a rock.
I only have a moment to do this, so please work…
Thinking carefully, he recalled the battle with the hydra where his injuries had lessened by grafting them onto another space instead of himself.
Slowly, he brought his right index finger and placed it atop the girl's forehead, feeling the cold skin pale under the force.
Behind him, Adam was only a few meters away, almost close enough to swing his blade; however, Aaron's plan was something that the man could never account for.
Tap.
He tapped the surface of the silver ring with his hand, storing the Ghostship that resided on the surface inside the object.
Once again, he waited, timing his next move perfectly to the moment Adam swung his sword.
Any second…
The winged man raised his blade above his head, preparing to slash down on the kneeling boy.
Tap.
As the metal came down on Aaron's neck, instead of a bloody head, a light so bright that it could only be compared to the sun itself blinded the man before a force threw him against the wall, cracking the surface.
"What the hell!?"
His scream burst through the room, shaking the rocks that rested on the floor; however, the fifteen-year-old boy's plan had succeeded.
In the center of the mausoleum, a brigantine floated on the air itself.
Each sail glistened with majestic turquoise flames that illuminated the chamber to such a degree that Aaron shut his eyes in fear of permanent damage.
I-I didn't think it would work…
He let out a short chuckle before a strange feeling radiated from his chest.
T-That's a little…
His thoughts were cut off as he doubled over, clutching his chest in agonizing pain that threatened to rip away his very life at any moment.
B-Backlash?
Each of his arms tingled like a thousand needles were simultaneously digging into his body while blood dripped from every orifice on his face, pooling on the ground below him.
"Hrk…"
Aaron's throat constricted and warped in inhuman ways as he regurgitated thick clumps of a black substance that resembled tar.
Crushed against the edge of the room, Adam clawed his way bit by bit out of the rubble with bloodshot eyes, staring directly at the collapsed boy.
"What the hell are you?"
His words were slow and grainy; however, as he peeled himself from the rocks and looked closer at the absurd scene, he witnessed a unique phenomenon.
"The core is reacting with that ship? Interesting…"
Gradually, he began to hobble towards the crystalline object that held the Mausoleum of Dreams together, avoiding any contact with the turquoise ship and the child who summoned it.
Did he use a rune of summoning or perform a ritual? It should be impossible to cast such perfect magic instantaneously without preparation… Though the sails… They remind me of something Master said…
Shrugging off the faint memory, he placedtouched his hand against his neck only to see his warm, wet blood coating his palm.
"It's been a while since I've seen my own… Was it during one of my and Arianna's duels? Eh, no matter, let's see if I can complete the mission I was assigned, shall we?"
Underneath the Ghostship, Aaron's body was shaking rapidly as he convulsed again and again, each time with his constitution being altered slightly.
At one point, his arms grew fur that wrapped around his neck, choking him while another forced gills upon his throat, drowning him on land.
It was a fate worse than death, yet through this entire experience, Aaron never lost consciousness.
C-Can't pass out. N-Not yet.
He watched as Adam slowly approached the blinking core, reaching out one of his skeletal fingers towards it, caressing its border gently.
"Now, where was I?"
With those words, the man retracted both of his arms and then thrusted them through the border in the orb without hesitation.
"Let's reshape the world together now, shall we, boy?"
And with those words, he cast a look at the dying child who stared at him.
He wore a fierce look, one of determination that even Adam acknowledged.
"What a pity to die here… You are brave, but foolish.
…
Meanwhile, a storm siren blared in the distance as large waves crashed against the brick of the harbor with thousands of civilians screaming, crying, and praying for a savior to arrive.
In a short lighthouse that overlooked the bay, Clayton Reynolds was having a panic attack while attempting to contact anyone he could.
"P-Please pick up!"
In his hand was the telegram transponder that was reserved for priority calls directly to Lepaie Quinn in case of disaster.
He had been instructed to only use it when necessary or face extreme punishment upon the King's return; however, in the face of destruction, he had deemed this situation worthy.
"Dammit, now's not the time for your stupid conference! The whole city has gone to hell, and I'm not dying with it!"
His words were harsh as he slammed the transponder against the station in anger.
Breathing deeply, he calmed himself while wiping his face, standing up with a look of determination.
Reynolds gazed outside the window, observing the crowds of citizens relying on him to bring a savior to their aid, yet what could he do?
He was just a reserve member of the police force who lounged around at the dock all day doing the bare minimum to keep his job, so why should he be responsible for the fate of thousands?
Then a memory appeared inside his head, the face of his wife, his son, his mother, his father, each looking at him with a smile, waiting for him to speak up.
"Dammit, I should've quit this job long ago…"
Closing his eyes, he sighed and grabbed the microphone that rested on the edge of the antenna setup.
Outside on the dock, a deafening echo rang through the harbor, silencing the people instantly as a voice spewed out of each speaker.
"People of Sea Fallen. Disaster has struck the city, and our Lord is absent."
The man behind the microphone paused for a moment before speaking again.
"I'll be honest with you all, it's looking dire, but we cannot give up hope in this time of need."
Murmurs were heard through the crowd, yet no person spoke up in opposition to his words.
"Every one of us has faced hardship before, whether it was the war six years ago or what to eat for breakfast."
His poorly timed joke roused a few laughs; however, silence still engulfed the crowd.
"The soldiers we have raised and invested in since those terrible times in the past are now fighting whatever caused this disaster and…"
Without another word, the man's speech was cut off, with the mob of people below left confused and concerned.
However, what these citizens didn't realize is that less than fifty feet above them, one uninspiring dock worker was listening to the radio static he had prayed for.
"Please, please, please work!"
And to his surprise, his prayers were answered by a single gruff but stern voice relayed over the speaker to all the people who waited below.
"Sea King Lepaie Quinn. On the way."