Victory was a cold, suffocating thing at the bottom of the ocean. The triumphant glow of their success was immediately extinguished by the crushing reality of their situation. The water was black, the pressure immense, and the silence absolute, broken only by the sound of their own ragged breathing inside their comms.
Kikoru, floating inside the now-dead husk of the brain-organism, felt the strain on her suit. With the main threat gone, its emergency power had kicked in, but the integrity readouts were dropping steadily. It wasn't designed for this depth, not without Kafka's shield.
"Suit pressure failing," she reported, her voice tight with controlled urgency. "Life support estimates… twelve minutes."
Kafka was in worse shape. The exertion of maintaining the shield and ramming it into the target had left him drained. He was just a man in a tactical suit now, and the abyss was a patient, merciless enemy. "Mine's already in the red," he gasped. "Maybe seven minutes."
They both turned to Jin-Woo. He floated in the darkness, the bioluminescent blue of his Kaiju-markings providing the only light. He was the only one who seemed unaffected by the environment, a true creature of the abyss. But even he couldn't teleport them through miles of solid water. A shadow gate required a stable, known exit point, and the surface was a chaotic, moving target.
"My legion can't carry us fast enough," Jin-Woo stated, his mind already cycling through a dozen impossible scenarios. "The water resistance is too great. We won't make it."
The cold, hard finality in his voice was more terrifying than any monster. They had saved the world, only to die alone in the dark.
"No," Kafka said, his voice surprisingly firm. He pushed himself away from the dead brain, his movements clumsy. "There's… another way."
He looked at Jin-Woo, and a silent, profound understanding passed between them through their resonant bond. The Progenitor. The planetary immune system. They were at the bottom of the ocean, a place teeming with the Earth's raw, geothermal power.
"You don't have the strength to control it," Jin-Woo argued, immediately understanding Kafka's insane idea. "A full manifestation of that power, untethered… it could kill you."
"And doing nothing will kill all of us," Kafka shot back. He looked at Kikoru, her golden armor flickering in the dark, and a new, steely resolve entered his eyes. He had been the key, the shield, the one who needed protecting. Not anymore.
"Let me be the sword, just this once," he said to Jin-Woo.
Before Jin-Woo could protest further, Kafka closed his eyes and reached out, not to the remnant of the Progenitor within him, but to the world itself. He opened his consciousness to the immense, dormant power of the planet, using his core as a conduit.
He was asking the ocean for help. And the ocean answered.
The water around them began to glow with a soft, blue light. The deep-sea vents on the ocean floor, which had been dormant, began to hiss and glow with renewed energy. The very water began to churn, not with chaotic currents, but with a single, focused purpose.
A massive, swirling vortex of super-heated water and steam formed below them. It was a controlled, upward-drafting whirlpool, a geothermal elevator powered by the planet's own core.
"It's a thermal vent!" Kikoru exclaimed, her scientific mind recognizing the phenomenon, even as she couldn't comprehend the scale.
"Hold on!" Kafka grunted, his body trembling with the strain. Veins of blue light pulsed under his skin. He was wrestling with a power meant for gods.
The vortex enveloped them, and they began to ascend. The speed was terrifying, far faster than any submarine could manage. They were a bullet being shot toward the surface.
Jin-Woo immediately moved to the center of the trio, grabbing both Kafka and Kikoru. "Brace yourselves! The change in pressure will be instantaneous at the top!"
He wrapped his own body around them, his Kaiju-armor manifesting as a thick, protective shell. He became a living shield, using his own body to absorb the kinetic and thermal shock of their ascent.
Kikoru, pressed against his chest, her face buried in his shoulder, could feel the immense, steady power radiating from him. She felt the vibrations of the raging water around them, but inside his embrace, she was safe. It was the second time he had shielded her from certain death. The debt she owed him was becoming immeasurable.
Kafka screamed, the power he was channeling threatening to tear him apart. He felt Jin-Woo's own energy flowing into him through their bond, a cold, disciplined current that helped him maintain control, giving him the strength to hold on for just a few moments more.
They burst through the surface of the ocean in a colossal geyser of steam and water that shot a thousand feet into the air.
For a moment, they were suspended between the sea and the sky, surrounded by a rainbow of mist in the light of the rising sun. The battle was over. The Crimson Tide had receded. The ocean was blue again.
Then gravity took hold, and they began to fall.
Jin-Woo's draconic wings snapped open, catching the air and slowing their descent. He held the other two securely, gliding gently down toward the waiting silhouette of the Izanagi on the horizon.
Kafka had gone limp, his consciousness finally giving out, his part in the miracle complete. Kikoru was conscious, but weak, her suit finally giving up the ghost with a series of pathetic clicks and whines. She was leaning against Jin-Woo, her helmet retracted, her cheek resting against the cool, smooth surface of his Kaiju-armor. She could hear the slow, powerful, dual-toned beat of his heart.
She looked up at his face. His expression was one of intense focus, his jaw set, his eyes fixed on their destination. But she saw something else in their glowing depths. A profound exhaustion. Not physical, but spiritual. The weight of it all. The weight of her life, of Kafka's life, of the entire world, resting squarely on his shoulders.
In that moment, he was not a god. He was not a monster. He was just a man, holding on to the last two people in the universe who could even begin to understand his burden.
"We did it," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind.
Jin-Woo looked down at her, his expression softening for a fraction of a second.
"We did it," he corrected her, the simple word a profound acknowledgment of their partnership.
They landed on the flight deck of the Izanagi to the thunderous, cheering roar of the entire crew. They were heroes. They had descended into hell and returned, bringing the world back from the brink.
But as the medics rushed them away, and the celebrations began, the three of them knew the truth. This was not the end. They had not won the war. They had only survived the battle. And they had done it by becoming something more than human, something bound together by shared power and the scars of a battle fought in the darkest, deepest corner of the world.