The Lower Deck of the Leviathan
The inside of the Leviathan was not a ship; it was a floating industrial city encased in iron.
The Storm Chasers huddled in the oily shadows of a massive anchor winch, the size of a small house. The air here was suffocatingly hot, smelling of burning coal, ozone, and processed salt. Above them, metal walkways crisscrossed like a chaotic spiderweb, dripping with condensation. Below them, through the rusted grating of the floor, they could see the red, hellish glow of the massive furnaces powering the ship.
Amani wiped a smear of grease from his face. He checked his team. They were soaked from the swim, shivering despite the heat, but the adrenaline was keeping them sharp.
"We are ants in a beehive," Chacha whispered, his voice a low rumble in his chest. He tightened the leather straps of his Obsidian Shield, checking the titanium brace on his arm. "There are thousands of them. If we are spotted down here, there is nowhere to run. We die."
Bahari, the diver boy, was trembling. He stared wide-eyed at a passing patrol.
It was a squad of Drowned Sailors, marching with a synchronized, clanking rhythm of rusted joints. But leading them was something new—something that made the hair on the back of Amani's neck stand up.
It was a tall, slender machine, floating a few inches off the deck on silent magnetic repulsors. It had no arms, only a long, speaker-like fluted neck where a head should be.
It emitted a low, soothing hum—a melody that bypassed the ears and vibrated directly in the skull.
Bahari's eyes began to glaze over. He started to stand up, drawn to the sound.
"Don't listen," Imani hissed, slapping Bahari lightly on the cheek to snap him out of it. "It's a Siren. A sonic hypnotic unit. It keeps the crew obedient. It suppresses free will."
Sia had climbed up a stack of munitions crates to get a better vantage point. She peered over the edge, her amber goggles cutting through the steam.
"The stairs to the upper deck are blocked," Sia reported, dropping back down soundlessly. "Three heavy turrets and a checkpoint. We can't fight through."
"There has to be another way up," Upepo whispered.
Sia pointed to the far wall.
"There is a cargo lift," she said. "It's moving heavy munitions up to the Flight Deck."
"Flight Deck?" Upepo's ears perked up. "This thing has planes?"
"The Ornithopters," Sia said grimly. "I saw them being fueled. They are loading bombs."
The Cargo Lift
They waited for the Siren patrol to turn the corner.
"Move! Low and fast!" Amani signaled.
The team sprinted across the open metal floor, dodging between stacks of coal and barrels of green fluid. They slid under the closing gate of the massive industrial elevator just as the Siren turned its speaker-head back toward them.
They hid behind crates marked EXPLOSIVE: PLASMA CELLS - TYPE Z.
The lift groaned, the gears engaging with a sound like a dying whale. It began to rise.
"If this goes to the Flight Deck," Amani whispered, pressing his back against the cold crate, "we will be exposed. There is no cover up there. It's an open runway."
"We need a distraction," Chacha said, eyeing the crates of explosives. "A big one. I could throw one of these down the shaft."
"No," Amani stopped him, his hand firm on Chacha's arm. "If we blow the lift, we alert the Admiral before we find the core. We need to be ghosts until we are in position."
The lift rattled upward, passing level after level of barracks and factories. Finally, the air grew cooler. The smell of oil was replaced by the smell of the sea breeze.
The lift stopped with a metallic CLANG.
Sunlight—or what passed for it in the delta fog—flooded the compartment.
They were on the Flight Deck.
The Sky Harbors
The top of the Leviathan was awe-inspiring. It was a flat, asphalt runway stretching for three hundred yards, suspended fifty feet above the water.
But it was crowded.
Dozens of Ornithopters were parked in neat rows, their wings folded back like resting insects.
They were beautiful, terrifying machines. They had four wings made of reinforced canvas and aluminum that flapped like a dragonfly's. Their bodies were armored fuselages, sleek and aerodynamic, painted matte black. Under their bellies hung racks of incendiary bombs glowing with green light.
Mechanics (Drowned Sailors hooked into fuel lines) were tending to them, pumping volatile green fuel into their tanks.
Upepo stared at them. His mouth hung open. To a Wind Mage who had spent his life dreaming of flight, this was the ultimate treasure.
"They… they look like dragonflies," Upepo whispered, a smile spreading across his face. "They are magnificent."
"They are bombers," Sia corrected coldly, nocking an arrow. "They are meant to burn villages. They are death."
"We have to disable them," Chacha said, shifting his weight. "If these launch, the coast is doomed. They are faster than any ship."
"We can't disable fifty planes," Amani said, his mind racing through tactical options. "Not without explosives we don't have. But maybe… we can steal one."
"Steal one?" Bahari asked, looking at Amani like he was insane. "Do you know how to fly?"
Amani looked at his brother.
Upepo was already creeping toward the nearest Ornithopter. It was a command unit, painted with a red stripe and the symbol of a Shark on the nose.
"It's wind magic and gears," Upepo grinned, touching the canvas wing reverently. "I speak wind. I can fly a brick if I have to."
The Admiral Revealed
Suddenly, a klaxon blared across the deck—a sound so loud it vibrated in their teeth.
"ATTENTION DECK CREW."
The voice was deep, cultured, and utterly cold. It boomed from the massive Command Tower that rose from the center of the ship like a fortress keep.
"PREPARE FOR LAUNCH. TARGET: ZANZIBAR."
The Admiral walked out onto the observation balcony of the Command Tower, looking down at his fleet.
He was not a robot. He was a man.
He was tall, wearing an immaculate white naval uniform with gold epaulets that contrasted sharply with the rust and grime of his ship. But his humanity ended at his neck. Half of his face was covered by a brass breathing mask that hissed rhythmically. His right hand was a mechanical claw made of polished scrimshaw bone and steel.
He held a telescope to his human eye.
"The winds are favorable," the Admiral commanded, his voice amplified. "Launch the First Wave. Bring me the Sultan's head. Burn the refugee camps."
The propellers on the Ornithopters began to spin. WHIRRRRR. The canvas wings snapped open and began to beat. THWAP-THWAP-THWAP.
"Zanzibar?" Bahari gasped, gripping his spear. "That is the capital of the refugees! There are thousands of people there! Women, children… they have no defenses against air attacks!"
"We have to stop the launch," Amani said. The plan for stealth was gone. Millions of lives were at stake. "Upepo, get in that plane!"
The Battle of the Flight Deck
"Hey!" a mechanic shouted, pointing a welding torch. He had spotted Chacha's massive silhouette behind the crate. "Intruders on deck!"
"Plan B!" Chacha roared.
He stood up, grabbed the crate of plasma cells they had been hiding behind, and kicked it toward the mechanic.
Sia fired a single fire-arrow.
BOOM.
The crate exploded, vaporizing the mechanic and blowing a ten-foot hole in the deck. The explosion sent three parked Ornithopters tumbling off the edge of the ship and into the sea.
Chaos erupted.
"Secure the deck!" the Admiral shouted from the tower, not looking panicked, merely annoyed. "Marines! Attack!"
From the armored hatches, Iron Marines poured out. These were the elite shock troops of the fleet. They were heavily armored in waterproof diving suits, wielding buzzing chain-swords and riot shields made of translucent blast-glass.
"Imani, Bahari, get to the plane!" Chacha ordered, stepping into the open. "I will hold them back!"
Chacha planted his Obsidian Shield. He became a wall.
A Marine charged him, swinging a chain-sword.
CLANG.
The sword sparked against the obsidian. Chacha didn't flinch. He punched the Marine with his titanium-braced fist. The force of the blow crumpled the Marine's helmet like a tin can.
"Get in!" Upepo yelled, jumping into the cockpit of the stolen Ornithopter. He began flipping switches frantically. "Come on, come on, wake up!"
It was a two-seater, but they squeezed in. Bahari jammed into the rear gunner's seat. Imani squeezed in behind Upepo.
Sia grabbed the landing strut. "I'm not fitting in there!"
"Hang on!" Upepo yelled.
"Amani! Chacha!" Upepo looked back. The engine was sputtering to life. "Get in!"
"We can't leave you!" Amani shouted, deflecting a hail of bullets with a gravity shield.
"We aren't leaving!" Chacha yelled, bashing another Marine off the deck with his shield. "We are going to the Tower! We have to kill the Admiral!"
Amani looked at the Tower. That was the mission. Kill the head, and the body dies.
"Upepo!" Amani shouted over the roar of the engines and the gunfire. "Take to the sky! Draw their fire! Keep the bombers busy! If they bomb Zanzibar, we lose! Chacha and I will take the Tower!"
"Don't die!" Upepo screamed, tears in his eyes.
He released the brakes.
The stolen Ornithopter shot forward. It wobbled, dipped, and the wings beat furiously.
THWAP-THWAP-THWAP.
Caught by Upepo's wind magic, the heavy machine defied gravity. It soared off the end of the runway and climbed into the fog.
The Sky Battle Begins
Upepo pulled the stick back. The machine groaned but climbed.
"Woohoo!" Upepo yelled, the wind whipping his face. "I'm flying! I'm actually flying!"
"They're shooting at us!" Bahari screamed from the back, struggling to aim the rear machine gun.
Three enemy Ornithopters had launched and were chasing them, their nose-guns blazing. Green tracers zipped past their wings.
"Sia! Can you shoot from there?" Upepo called out.
Sia was clinging to the landing strut, five hundred feet in the air, wind tearing at her clothes. She locked her legs around the metal bar. She drew her bow.
"Just fly steady!" Sia yelled, narrowing her golden eyes.
She fired. Her arrow flew through the chaotic air. It hit the pilot of the lead pursuer right in the neck. The enemy plane spiraled down and crashed into the deck of the Leviathan, exploding in a ball of fire.
The Tower Run
On the burning deck below, Amani and Chacha were alone against an army.
"To the Tower!" Amani commanded.
He clapped his hands. His eyes turned a deep, crushing grey.
"Gravity Well: Path!"
He focused his gravity magic into a narrow corridor. He increased the gravity on either side of the path, crushing the Marines to the floor, while leaving the center normal.
Chacha charged through the gap, his shield acting as a battering ram, knocking aside anyone who tried to stand.
They reached the heavy steel door at the base of the Command Tower. It was locked, reinforced with magnetic seals.
"Stand back," Chacha growled.
He didn't use his shield. He used his new strength. He jammed his fingers into the seam of the blast door. The titanium brace Daudi had built for him whirred, the servos engaging.
With a roar that shook his bones, Chacha ripped the steel door off its hinges and threw it aside.
They stepped into the darkness of the Tower.
"The Admiral is upstairs," Amani said, looking up the spiral staircase. He could sense the heavy, cold gravity of the man waiting for them. "And he knows we are coming."
Up in the sky, Upepo dogfought with the squadron to save a city.
Down in the Tower, Amani and Chacha climbed to face the master of the fleet.
The Battle for the Ocean had truly begun.