The short siren sounded three times.
Not a panic alarm. An old code. A local one.
It meant the sea had started acting wrong.
The hangar doors began to open slowly.
Two-meter-thick steel slid aside, grinding like the teeth of some massive beast. The dusk light rushed in, reflecting off the battle-ready body of Garuda Inferno.
Outside, Cenderawasih Bay looked wide and calm. The water was deep blue—too flat. No breaking waves. No seabirds.
Empty.
Too empty.
"Manual launch," the operations commander's voice came through the cockpit. "Rails are ready. Current is stable… for now."
Tomy didn't answer. His hands were already locked on the controls. He held his breath—not out of fear, but habit.
If Garuda went down, he went down with it.
The launch rails vibrated.
Garuda Inferno began to move. One step. Two.
Each footfall sent a dull tremor through the hangar floor. The wall lights shut off one by one, leaving only red emergency glow behind.
The moment Garuda exited the hangar, sea wind slammed into its metal frame. The smell of salt, rot, and seabed mud flooded the sensors. Temperature spiked slightly. Normal, the system said.
But Tomy felt it.
Something wasn't normal.
Garuda stopped at the edge of the rail.
Below it—
the sea.
"Push," the commander said.
No countdown. The release system triggered.
Garuda Inferno dropped.
Not a free fall—more like being thrown. The ocean exploded outward as thousands of tons of metal smashed into the surface.
Massive waves tore through the surrounding coral.
Garuda's feet hit the shallow seabed. Water reached up to its waist. Stable.
"Unit active. Depth safe," the system reported.
Tomy was just about to breathe—
The sonar screamed.
—WOOOOOM.
The vibration rose from beneath the sea. Slow. Heavy.
Like something enormous was waking up.
"Contact!"
"Object moving from the east!"
"Not a ship—repeat, not a ship!"
The water ahead of Garuda began to churn. It spiraled, darkened, then lifted—not rising upward, but forcing the sea itself apart.
Then it surfaced.
Not a head.
Not a full body.
A back.
Dark green-black, rough, covered in jagged protrusions like living coral. Longer than Garuda itself. Water poured from the gaps in its flesh, reeking of rot—like a dead whale mixed with rusted iron.
"…It's huge," the operator's voice nearly broke.
The creature shifted slightly. The water around it boiled—not from heat, but pressure. From beneath the surface, two faint lights opened.
Not red.
Not yellow.
Pale blue.
Dead eyes.
Garuda Inferno locked on automatically. The right arm lifted. Weapons ready.
Tomy stopped it.
"It hasn't attacked," he muttered.
As if it heard him.
The creature released a low, drawn-out sound. Not a roar. More like a call. The vibration punched through the cockpit, rattling Tomy's teeth.
The sea behind the creature began to move.
Not one.
Tomy clenched his fist.
"Visual contact confirmed," he said at last.
"This isn't a territorial guardian."
He pulled the weapons lever.
"This is an invasion."
Tomy pulled the weapon lever.
Garuda Inferno reacted instantly. Its right arm rotated, steel panels slid open, and a heated barrel emerged from within. The sound was low, steady. Not a panicked weapon. This was a weapon built for dirty work.
"Weapon unit ready," the system said. Flat.
The creature stopped moving.
Not out of fear.
More like… sizing him up.
The water around it suddenly dropped several centimeters, as if something was sucking pressure from below. Its blackish-green back rose slightly, revealing folds of hard flesh like natural steel plates. Between the gaps, pale blue light leaked—not energy, but a pulsing living organ.
"It's adaptive," shouted the sonar analyst. "Its body structure is changing!"
Before the sentence was finished—
The creature charged.
Seawater exploded. Not a wave, but a wall of water. Garuda Inferno was thrown backward, its left leg dragging across the seabed, leaving a long trench in the sand and coral.
"Stability down!"
"Extreme pressure!"
Tomy forced Garuda to stand. Leg servos roared. Steel groaned.
The creature surfaced again in front, closer now. From below the surface, something whipped upward—a tentacle, thick, rough, its tip barbed like a stingray's spine.
CRASH.
The tentacle slammed into Garuda Inferno's chest. Sparks flew. Sensors partially damaged.
"Enough," Tomy growled.
He pulled the trigger.
Garuda's weapon fired. Not a single shot, but a short burst. Superheated projectiles pierced the water, leaving trails of steam. The first round hit the creature's back—and ricocheted. The second tore into the flesh between its natural steel plates.
Dark fluid gushed out. Not red blood. Thicker. Foul-smelling.
The creature roared.
Not a sound of anger.
This was a sound of pain.
The sea around it vibrated. From the distance, sonar picked up other answering calls. Deeper. More of them.
"Tomy…" the commander's voice dropped an octave. "Additional contacts detected."
Tomy glanced at the data. New dots appeared on the radar. Three. Four. Five.
The creature in front of him retreated slowly, backing into deeper water. But its eyes still burned, fixed on Garuda Inferno.
This wasn't a retreat from defeat.
It was a signal.
Garuda Inferno stood in waist-deep water, its weapon still hot, its steel paint peeling in places. Beneath the waters of Cenderawasih Bay, something even bigger began to move.
Tomy took a deep breath.
"Log it," he said quietly.
"First contact complete."
He tightened his grip on the controls.
"The war has just begun."