Location: Mid-Atlantic Ocean - 200 Miles East of the Azores
Depth: 400 Feet
Nameor, Sub-Mariner and sovereign of the seas, had seen many battles in his long life. He had fought surface dwellers and sea creatures alike, had commanded armies and faced gods. But he had never seen anything quite like what was happening before him now.
Jeff was losing.
This in itself was remarkable. Jeff—a bull shark of considerable size and remarkable intelligence—had been Namor's occasional companion for the better part of three years. The shark was fast, cunning, and possessed of a greed that Namor found simultaneously irritating and endearing. Jeff feared nothing in these waters, save perhaps Namor himself.
And yet, here he was, bleeding from multiple lacerations, struggling to keep pace with something that moved through the water like a living torpedo.
The creature was roughly Jeff's size—perhaps eight feet long—but its design was fundamentally different from any shark Namor had encountered. Its body was streamlined to the point of absurdity, covered in dark blue and gray coloring with a yellow star-shaped marking on its snout. The most striking feature was its head: angular, pointed, almost mechanical in appearance, like the bow of a warship designed by someone who understood hydrodynamics at an instinctive level.
And it was fast. Faster than Jeff. Possibly faster than Namor himself at full speed.
Nameor had been surveying the deep trenches when he'd heard the commotion—the distinctive vibrations of combat carrying through the water for miles. He'd arrived to find Jeff in the middle of what was clearly a losing fight.
The shark-like creature darted in, bit Jeff's flank with teeth that looked more like blades than organic material, and was gone before Jeff could retaliate. Then it came from another angle, raking Jeff's side with fins that seemed sharp enough to cut steel.
Jeff was powerful. Jeff was experienced. Jeff was, by all accounts, one of the apex predators in these waters.
But he was being systematically destroyed by something that moved like water given teeth and purpose.
Then Namor saw them.
The children.
Smaller versions of the larger creature—perhaps two feet long each—circled at a distance, watching the fight with obvious interest. There were five of them, their bodies colored in shades of red and gray, their faces bearing the same angular, aggressive design as their presumed mother.
But "children" was perhaps too innocent a term. As Namor watched, one of the smaller creatures darted forward and bit a passing tuna with shocking ferocity. The fish was nearly as large as the small predator, but the bite severed it cleanly in half.
These were not helpless young. These were hunters in training.
Nameor's tactical assessment was immediate: Jeff had attacked the young. The larger creature—the mother—was defending them. And she was winning.
Jeff made a desperate lunge, trying to use his bulk to his advantage. The mother creature simply accelerated, her torpedo-like body cutting through the water at speeds that should have created devastating turbulence. She rammed Jeff's side with her pointed snout, and Namor heard the distinctive sound of a rib cracking even through the water.
Jeff tumbled backward, stunned.
The mother positioned herself between Jeff and her young, her body language clear: Leave. Now. Or die.
But Jeff, greedy and stubborn Jeff, was already circling for another attempt.
"Enough," Namor said, his voice carrying through the water with the authority of the ocean itself. He swam forward, placing himself between the two combatants.
The mother creature's eyes—dark red, intelligent, furious—locked onto him immediately. She didn't retreat. If anything, she moved forward, putting herself directly in his path.
A warning. A challenge.
You will not touch my children.
Nameor raised both hands, palms outward, in the universal gesture of peace. "I am not here to harm you or your young," he said.
The creature tilted her head slightly, studying him. Her fins flared—a threat display—and Namor heard a sound that was part growl, part sonar, part something else entirely. The five smaller creatures immediately responded, moving to positions behind their mother, forming a defensive formation.
Intelligence. Pack tactics. Maternal protection.
Nameor glanced back at Jeff, who was watching from a distance, still bleeding. "You tried to eat them, didn't you, my friend?"
Jeff, to his credit, looked vaguely embarrassed. As much as a shark could, anyway.
"Of course you did," Namor sighed. "You see something small and assume it's prey. A reasonable assumption for a shark. Unfortunately, you picked a fight with something that is very much not prey."
He turned back to the mother creature. She hadn't moved, still positioned protectively between Namor and her young. But he could see the calculations happening behind those intelligent eyes. Friend or foe? Threat or neutral party?
Nameor made his decision.
He descended slowly, deliberately, until he was below her eye-level—a submissive posture in the language of ocean predators. Not surrender, but respect. Acknowledgment.
"I am Namor," he said, knowing she couldn't understand his words but hoping she might understand intent. "Sovereign of these seas. Your children are safe from me. And from him." He gestured at Jeff, who wisely backed up further.
The mother watched him carefully. Her fins relaxed slightly—not much, but enough to show she was listening.
Nameor continued, maintaining his lower position. "You are not from these waters. I would know. You are... new. Like the others."
He had heard reports. Surface dwellers were panicking about strange creatures appearing across the world. Namor's own scouts had mentioned unusual beings in the shallower waters near coastlines. But this was the first he'd encountered personally in his domain.
The creature made another sound—softer this time, more questioning than threatening. One of the smaller ones—braver than its siblings—swam forward slightly, curious.
The mother immediately blocked its path with her body, but she was no longer displaying aggression. She was... considering.
Nameor slowly extended one hand, palm up. An offer. "You are strong. Fast. A worthy predator. These waters are vast, and there is room for all who respect the hunt."
The mother creature drifted closer, just slightly. Close enough that Namor could see the intricate patterns on her body, the way her skin seemed to have a rough, sandpaper-like texture. Close enough to strike, if she chose.
Instead, she did something unexpected.
She opened her mouth, showing rows of razor-sharp teeth, and made a sound that vibrated through Namor's chest: "Sharpedo."
A name. Her name, or her species. Like the creature on Stark's footage had said "Squirtle." Like the pattern the surface dwellers were reporting.
"Sharpedo," Namor repeated, committing it to memory. "A fitting name for one so formidable."
Sharpedo's eyes narrowed, as if trying to assess whether this was mockery or genuine respect. Namor held her gaze steadily, and after a long moment, she made a different sound—not aggressive, but not friendly either. Acknowledgment.
One of the smaller creatures swam forward again, and this time, the mother allowed it. The young one—barely larger than Namor's arm—circled him once, its dark eyes studying him with obvious intelligence.
"Carvanha," it said, its voice higher-pitched than its mother's but no less confident.
Nameor couldn't help but smile. "Fast learner. Like your mother."
The young Carvanha darted back to its siblings, who were now all watching with varying degrees of curiosity. The mother—Sharpedo—positioned herself so she could see both Namor and her children, still cautious but no longer hostile.
Behind them, Jeff made a low rumbling sound—the shark equivalent of a grumble.
Nameor turned to his longtime companion. "You brought this upon yourself, my friend. You do not steal another predator's young. That is the law of the sea."
Jeff's body language suggested he understood but didn't appreciate the lecture.
"Go," Namor commanded. "Return to the shallows and heal. And Jeff?" The shark paused. "No more hunting these waters for a time. Sharpedo has claimed this territory, and I will respect that claim."
Jeff hesitated, then slowly swam away, his movements stiff from injury but his pride intact. Greedy, stubborn, but ultimately loyal.
Nameor turned back to Sharpedo and her young. The family was still watching him, still wary, but the immediate danger had passed.
"I do not know how you came to be here," Namor said, knowing she couldn't understand but feeling the need to speak anyway. "But you have chosen good waters. The hunting is plentiful. The depths are deep. And I..." he gestured to himself, then swept his hand across the surrounding ocean, "...will ensure your safety, as I ensure the safety of all who live in my domain."
Sharpedo watched him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded—a very deliberate, very human gesture that suggested far more intelligence than any ordinary predator possessed.
She turned, made a clicking sound to her young, and began to swim away. The five Carvanha fell into formation around her, moving as a coordinated unit. They were practiced. Disciplined. A family of predators who had clearly survived many challenges together.
Nameor watched them disappear into the deeper blue, their streamlined bodies cutting through the water with that impossible speed.
He hung there in the water, processing what he'd just witnessed.
A new species. Intelligent. Powerful. And clearly part of the same phenomenon the surface dwellers were reporting.
Nameor had lived for over a century. He had seen many strange things in his time, many impossible creatures, many challenges to his understanding of the natural order.
But this felt different.
This felt like the beginning of something vast.
He activated the communication device he wore—a concession to working with surface dwellers, though he'd never admit he found it useful. "This is Namor. I need to speak with Xavier. And Stark. And whoever else is investigating the new arrivals."
A pause. Then: "Understood, Prince Namor. Establishing connection now."
As Namor waited, he looked out at the endless blue of his kingdom. Somewhere out there, Sharpedo was teaching her young to hunt. Somewhere out there, more creatures like her were probably crossing over from wherever they originated.
And Namor, who had spent most of his life fighting to keep surface dwellers out of his ocean, was going to have to decide: were these new arrivals invaders? Refugees? Predators?
Or simply new citizens of his vast and complex kingdom?
The water current shifted around him, carrying the scent of blood—Jeff's blood—away into the depths. A reminder that even in his domain, even with all his power, there were still things that could surprise him.
Still things that could challenge him.
Still things that could change everything.
"Connection established, Prince Namor."
Nameor took a breath of water, gathering his thoughts. This conversation was going to be interesting.
Very interesting indeed.