Chapter 10
The Beginning of a Nightmare
[20 hours after leaving port]
The sun was beginning to tilt toward the cycle of dusk.
—Laiosssss… —said a tired voice.
The man turned in the direction of the call.
—What is it? —he asked.
A blond boy, who looked about eighteen, was staring at him with a hint of impatience.
—How long will the trip take? —he asked.
—Four days —Laios replied.
—One hundred and sixty hours? —the young man exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise—. That's incredibly fast!
—That's right. If we went through the intercontinental bridge toward Inter-Gate, it would take twice as long, maybe even three times —said the uncle calmly.
The boy's face was marked with genuine astonishment.
At that moment, a voice called him from the deck.
The boy bid farewell to Laios with a quick gesture, and the two exchanged a brief salute.
As soon as he left, another uniformed man approached the uncle.
—Has your nephew already handed you his sword? —the officer asked.
Laios frowned and nodded with a grimace.
—Yes… but I don't even remember letting it go. In fact, I could swear I never took it off my waist.
The officer smiled faintly, like someone hiding a secret.
—On the last trip to Inter-Gate, your nephew learned a new combat style. Perfect for stealth moves. It leaves no trace, you don't even notice when the weapon disappears.
As he spoke, his gestures conveyed the pride and excitement he felt for that achievement.
—Eh… —Laios murmured, raising a brow—. And what style is that?
The officer answered firmly, almost solemnly:
—The "Roaring Star" style.
---
[Present]
—That's a lot of information, uncle —said Eilor, narrowing his eyes.
—Sorry… —Laios replied, lowering his voice a little—. I wanted to mention that style because it really caught my attention.
Eilor leaned his elbow on the table and stared at him intently.
—"Roaring Star," huh? Sounds grandiose.
—It is… —Laios paused for a moment, as if weighing each word—. It's a style that's hard to detect. And that makes it dangerous—even for the one using it.
Eilor raised a brow, intrigued.
—Are you saying it could become a risk to myself?
—Exactly —Laios nodded—. A sword that disappears without you noticing when you handed it over… that's too much for someone still learning to control his strength.
Silence stretched for a few seconds, heavy with tension.
Outside, the wind battered insistently against the walls.
Eilor smiled with a gesture that didn't fit the unease of the atmosphere.
—So… you're saying this could be the beginning of my own nightmare?
Laios didn't answer immediately.
He only stared at him, serious, as if warnings he had never wanted to say aloud were echoing in his memory.
---
[32 hours after leaving port]
—Laios! —someone shouted, while the uncle gripped a rope with both hands, the line jerking violently from the waves.
—What's happening? —he asked without letting go.
—Your nephew… he's very weak against the tide. He fainted from seasickness —said a burly man, approaching amid the rocking of the deck.
Laios's eyes widened with concern.
—Is he alright?
—Yes. An alchemist tended to him. He said a young man, Eilor, according to a letter he carried, was resting in his cabin after fainting.
—Oh, and he gave him a potion that will help him for a while against the nausea.
For an instant, Laios's jaw tightened in shock.
—A potion? —he repeated under his breath.
The man nodded.
—That will leave him in financial ruin —Laios murmured, rubbing his hands as if praying for a miracle—. Hopefully that alchemist will be kind enough to let it slide for free…
The burly man watched as the rope Laios had released snapped back with a crack in the stormy night, tearing apart and flying into the sea.
Three others noticed it too: the pistol girl, Körper, and another crew member.
The five of them fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the roar of the wind and the groaning wood.
Laios was about to say something, lips barely parting, but stopped.
He turned halfway, ready to leave, when the burly man stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.
—Where are you going? —he asked seriously.
Laios turned slowly, searching for words.
But before he could respond, the fifth member of the group spoke, interrupting with a nervous tone:
—…Do you hear that? —he said with a trembling voice—. Those whispers…
What went unnoticed by Laios, the burly man, and the pistol girl, struck Körper immediately, making him frown.
—What whispers are you talking about? —he managed to say.
But the question was left hanging.
His words died in his throat when he saw, just inches away, the man's face begin to deform.
Skin stretched and tore with a wet, revolting sound, while bones cracked and shifted beneath the flesh.
The entire body grew taller, human features erased to give way to something unspeakable.
Körper found himself face to face, trapped: he watched that human grimace turn into the visage of a triton cryptid, a monstrous hybrid of fish and man.
A memory that, he knew in that instant, would haunt him in endless nightmares.
The others were slower to notice.
First the burly man, then Laios, and finally the pistol girl.
And yet Körper's body reacted before his mind could even process it.
His training kept him standing.
A light flared beneath his uniform, at his left shoulder, and in a single motion he unsheathed his sword with one hand, while with the other he condensed the rain into a sharp cylinder of water, a liquid stinger that sparked under the storm.
The girl responded instantly: she drew one of her pistols with one hand and a short sword with the other.
Laios, with a fluid motion, unsheathed his sword, using the very act of drawing it as an immediate strike, seeking to take advantage of surprise.
The burly man drove his foot into the deck, making the wood tremble, and in a single bound leapt while spinning, preparing a devastating kick.
The monster, now unrecognizable, opened its mouth: a guttural shriek, not of this world, mingled with the thunder of the storm.
The cryptid didn't get to complete its transformation.
A moment before, it was cut into three parts:
The central section took the brunt of the burly man's kick and flew several meters, crashing against the deck with a dull thud.
The upper part was pierced midair: two pistol bullets and Körper's water needle struck almost simultaneously, tearing it apart.
The lower part, still writhing, was split in two by a second slash from Laios, who, upon finishing the motion, was already sheathing his sword again.
The silence lasted barely a heartbeat.
The four fighters regrouped immediately, back to back, instinctively forming a defensive circle.
Then they saw it.
They hadn't defeated an isolated monster.
The rest of the men present—the majority of the crew—were also twisting, convulsing under the rain.
Skin tearing, bones cracking, faces stretching until all humanity was gone.
What was clear was terrifying:
It wasn't just a few who were corrupted… it was nearly all of them.
The air filled with a chorus of wet, guttural screams, mixed with the pounding storm.
Among the transformed were most of the ship's crew and some soldiers, though fewer in number, barely one or two.
It wasn't the moment to process it, but one of the four fighters couldn't help twisting his face in disgust at the spectacle.
A faint light began to shine beneath their uniforms, as if responding to the horror.
The girl sheathed the short sword and drew her second pistol.
Gunfire.
With the echo of the first shot, Laios, Körper, and the burly man hurled themselves straight at the monsters.
One quick glance made it clear: it was five against fourteen.
A brutal disadvantage.
While the three held back the advance of several cryptids, the fifth soldier—one of the few who hadn't transformed—was sent flying near Laios, smashing into a wall and crashing through it with a splintering roar of wood.
Laios turned in the opposite direction of the crash just after blocking a cryptid's claw strike.
What he saw froze him: a much larger monster, with six limbs, the two extra ones grotesquely protruding from the base of its thighs.
Its silhouette carried more mass and an instinctive aggression.
The cryptid had noticed him too.
It crouched, planting four of its six limbs, and launched itself like a projectile, a living cannonball that shattered other cryptids in its path, unstoppable.
Laios set his sword firmly between himself and the charge.
But Laios's instinct screamed "Mistake!" even before his mind understood—it began moving him.
He took a long step to the right, almost a leap, turning the sword as he planted his right foot.
With the left he pivoted, starting a wide horizontal slash, ready to channel all his strength into a single cut.
The monster collided fully with the blade.
The steel sank into its viscous skin, but then a strange crack sounded.
Laios looked down and saw it: the hilt, too long, was bending like butter.
His left hand's grip loosened.
With only one hand he couldn't sustain the force of the swing.
His right gave way, and the sword flew from his hands.
It spun through the air in a full arc, striking Laios in the back with the flat of the blade, hurling him to the ground.
The cryptid braked with all six limbs, tearing up splinters and debris.
It turned toward the fallen man.
Laios saw it… but he also saw the sword, bent, a few meters away.
He lunged for it at the same time the monster tensed its muscles to pounce.
Both man and monster ran toward the same point.
Man to sword, and monster to man.