Arknights story · Stultifera Navis
SN-10 Ceremonial Plaza
Carmen and Kal'tsit, who arrive at the Eye of Iberia, see the hero who has fallen in battle. The Seaborn, having received an offering, spreads the Silence once more with its song. The fight seems to be slipping into the abyss of failure, and the decisive battle is imminent.
2 scenes, 755 lines
1. Before Operation
395 lines
......
The Eye of Iberia. It's been a long, long time since I last set foot here.
Countless soldiers from the Penal Battalion laid down their lives here. And when the Seaborn finally broke through our defense line, countless engineers died in vain inside the lighthouse.
Before our last ship was swallowed, we fled. For every ten men who left home, hardly one returned.
But now, behold.
Light!
Carmen's voice trembles for the first time in an eternity.
Kal'tsit stares silently out into the center of the distant reef. A massive lighthouse illuminates the entire sky, as bright as the day.
I don't see the ship.
That is a good sign. It proves they found what they were looking for.
Let's proceed. As long as this light is not extinguished, we will press forward.
(Slithers around the main door)
...Mon3tr.
(Screeches)
Clear the way. We're going in.
......
The heat of fire.
The Sea Terrors gather around the main door, wandering, spinning.
Carmen's eyes sweep into the distance. They follow a line of the charred corpses of these abominations the entire way, their remains vanishing with the wind.
The Sea Terrors do not feel fear.
But they do know how to seek advantage and avoid disadvantage. Their base instincts have taught them to hunt cautiously.
...They have been taught fear. These creatures may not know what a country is, let alone laws and morals.
But they have learned to fear the High Inquisitor. They have learned to fear everything we have built on top of civilization.
Dario!
......
Kal'tsit does not say anything.
She can see. She can see a strange ring on a patch of fluorescent ground.
Charred corpses are stacked high into a mountain. The deaths of tens of thousands of their kin had imprinted a new behavior upon the Sea Terrors—
—Do not approach the lighthouse.
A feeble flame still flickers. It was originally a great bonfire.
Before the Sea Terrors had perished in a tide of death, there was nothing flammable here at all.
At the heart of the flame stands a single man. He lifts his lantern and leans on his sword, just as he did when he learned to stand guard in his youth—motionless.
......
You've done well, Dario.
Be at peace now.
The lantern in Dario's hand seems to echo Carmen's farewell. In an instant, the fire swallows even more Sea Terrors before the raging flame then wraps around the silent High Inquisitor.
His already-clouded eyes are still gazing far into the distance.
Carmen remains silent for a long time before Dario's statue-like body.
Kal'tsit does not interrupt Carmen's mourning. She only takes in the scene with her eyes. There aren't many signs of the Hunters' activity here.
The High Inquisitor remained here alone, staving off the surging tides of Sea Terrors until his life was spent.
But even if the soldier's lifeforce had bled dry long ago, the Sea Terrors still feared him. Because his flame had not extinguished, because his light had not dimmed.
The Inquisitor had turned himself into a force of nature, a pledge to defend the sanctity of the Eye of Iberia even beyond death.
After a long time, Carmen lifts his head.
Only then does Kal'tsit see the signs of age in the old man in front of her. Though the Inquisition had used various methods to prolong his life, in this moment he could no longer hide the fatigue in his eyes.
He turns his head and looks towards Kal'tsit, then back to Dario, who was gradually disappearing into the flame.
He was my finest student, Kal'tsit.
We have three minutes to mourn the death of this soldier. Once the flames go out, nothing will stand between the Sea Terrors and their nest. They will swarm this place.
Also, I didn't see the girl. At least his disciple survived.
Are there no higher-level Seaborn here?
Doesn't seem so, for the time being.
Their numbers are nothing to be feared then.
'For the time being.'
We ought to find a more permanent solution. The Eye of Iberia was built by Breogan. It has the potential to become the hub for establishing a link with Ægir.
Assuming they were able to find the ship... Wait, hold on.
Who reactivated the Eye of Iberia? Neither the Ægir nor Dario should've had any experience with this.
...Look up there.
Ugh... Finally...
*pant*... *pant*... Th-The control panel is fine...
Phew, I'm totally worn out...
(Hums curiously)
Hwaaaaah—!
Y-You're—
...I must admit, you've surpassed my expectations.
You managed to re-light the Eye of Iberia by yourself, restoring at least thirty percent of its functionality.
You did this, alone. Under these conditions.
You... You're the one Mr. Elysium mentioned. Oh!
Wh-What about Mr. Inquisitor?! He's been fighting for his life down there this entire time and I, I didn't dare get close to him since I wouldn't be able to help anyway, so all I could do was keep an eye on the control panel here...
He made the ultimate sacrifice.
What...?
But by no means was it in vain. He sacrificed himself for his faith, and as such, will now live on forever.
He died heroically as an Inquisitor, as a vindicator of Iberia. His ideal self shall be forever enshrined on the coasts of Iberia.
And then there is you, Ægir. You have defended the purpose of his sacrifice. You have persisted all this time, and never given up.
You've done well.
I-I never got to talk to him much, but... he... *sob*...
Um... what about Gran Faro? What's going to happen to my home?
...I usually don't answer every question from the general public.
But for now, I don't intend to lie to you. Gran Faro will soon be under the management of the Penal Battalion. The citizens will all come under their unified control, and contribute to the construction of frontline checkpoints.
Also... Thiago died at the hands of heretics.
No!
H-How could this happen? Uncle Thiago, is he really—?!
He had long been aware of the Church of the Deep's cultists, yet turned a blind eye to them. His cover-up thwarted the plans of the Penal Battalion, and delayed our ability to send support here.
Even if he'd escaped death, he would not have escaped me, child.
......
Jordi collapses limply onto the ground.
He feels numb and exhausted. He feels like the single string supporting him through everything that happened, long worn thin, had suddenly snapped.
Uncle Thiago... Why?
...Mon3tr, guard the entrance.
(Obeys cheerfully)
Can you confirm where the Stultifera Navis was last seen?
......
Dame Kal'tsit.
Not that far. And the last signal came less than forty-eight hours ago.
What...?
She's still able to send signals?
Breogan helped the Iberian royal family construct lighthouses and fleets. Why, if not for restoring a connection to his homeland?
Be it the Eye of Iberia or some transponder hidden in a corner in the Stultifera Navis, they all use the Ægir's technology without reservation.
Of course, all of this assumes that the Seaborn haven't already destroyed the ship or turned it into their nest.
Carmen's eyes silently follow the direction of the light extending towards the horizon.
The Stultifera Navis cannot be seen by the naked eye. The ocean is too expansive, and what's not too far for a ship is still a cruel joke to those on land.
The weary saint once again shows his age. His lips quiver, as if innumerable thoughts are crossing through his mind.
Alfonso... Garcia... Touré... Julia...
Are you still out there?
No, we'd be better off waiting here. The waters are restless, and the Seaborns' scents swirl together. There's probably more than just one.
......
Did you hear something, Skadi?
What? No, I didn't.
I see.
What have you done to this place?!
You, Ægirs, how'd you get in here?
I was the only one with the key, and when the ol' deadbeat kicked the bucket, I threw it into the ocean! It's been fifty years already!
If this is the power source for the vessel, wouldn't locking it up mean giving up hope?
The ol' deadbeat was the last engineer we had. When he died, we had nobody left who could fix the ship.
To make matters worse, we were already tangled up in the Seaborn, and couldn't get away. Didn't need anyone rocking the boat on my watch.
But answer me! How'd you find this place?!
Breogan. The captain followed the clues he left, which led to Iberia, then here.
You people... you know the shipwright?
Nope, not at all. I've always been more into the arts anyway.
But it really shouldn't come as a surprise. To return to Ægir, we must follow the trail of the Ægir—
—What's this?
Ah, you've even gotten your hands dirty digging up some of Breogan's personal belongings... Hasn't Ægir ever heard of respecting people's privacy?
......
What does it say?
Breogan's experiences on land. A travel log, I guess?
Is this what the Captain's been looking for?
No clue. Why don't you ask her yourself?
...Just a small part of it.
Returning empty handed, eh?
It disappeared.
Furthermore, the reason we didn't chase any further is because there were signs of other Seaborn nearby.
They came here following distant scents and the calls of their kin.
Now, I don't mind skipping straight to the slaughter. But we should resolve the problem of this ship first.
You dare treat my Iberia as a prize to be taken?
This ship is the only way for us to return to Ægir. And only it can contact our cities.
As for the issue of repairs, perhaps I might be more qualified than a handful of backwards Iberians who know little of Breogan's technology.
I can't pass up this opportunity, even if we must resort to force.
......
......
Two against four, eh?
(Howls vigilantly) —
Three against three.
...Captain?!
...You never gave me a reason to give up on returning to Ægir.
I'm telling you, you don't know what it's like there now.
The Seaborn have never taken the initiative to attack our cities unless their nests and living spaces were threatened. Each act of slaughter, each act of destruction, has been fueled by the Ægir's degeneracy.
They thought we were dead. They lost contact with us. The blood of the Seaborn flow within us.
In all our long years of battling against these enemies, we finally have a prime opportunity.
And you think these few acts of 'degeneracy' have nothing to do with the scum we fight? Even if left alone, the Seaborn's living spaces will grow like a tumor until the entire ocean is devoured.
This and that are two separate issues.
Neither of which can be solved by heading home, rejoining the army, and marching forth once more.
Why don't we try thinking outside the box this time?
So you've chosen to listen to those lowly beasts, to walk with them, to understand them.
They call us their kin, but what do we know about them? Far too little.
I can hardly even understand what I've seen myself. Until we've obtained definite answers about their gods, everything we do is uselessly groping around in the dark.
What are you talking about, Captain?!
You... You and the Seaborn... How do we know you're still on our side? Why do you have to...
Every Hunter who thought they could get something out of the Seaborn has ended up disappearing.
Of course, you should understand that better than me.
Their whispers... resonate... They will invade your mind. Those are not your thoughts!
...Skadi.
That's... also a separate issue. I'll let Gladiia give you the specifics.
Ship captain, escort them away.
I was just thinking the same thing, Ægir.
...What a pity.
......
Stillness. Silence. Hunters long separated always seem to have the least pleasant of reunions.
Something squirms in the hearts of Skadi and Specter. The chief mate hesitates, its wounds still aching.
Swords are drawn, bowstrings stretched taut.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
Wait, how is this possible? The rushing of the waves, the howling of the wind, the creaking sounds of the hull being torn open by Seaborn—
They all become distant.
Hunters!
Th-The ship is sailing!
Nonsense, Old Iberian. Just how many years do you think—
No, I swear it's true! Something's pushing the ship, and... it might've been pushing the ship the whole time we were chasing after the Seaborn.
And... from the very beginning, um...
Our surroundings have been unusually quiet.
*Huff*...
Kin, gather. Take this cell, and go far away.
Follow... We will follow. We will find the end of the storm.
(Shakes head meekly)
The waves are fading.
Silence, is coming.
I don't hear anything at all. After so many years of the waves washing against us, why...?
Everything, is just like that day...
(Cowers in pain and suffering)
Garcia! Ugh... My hand, it's shaking... Damn it, if I didn't need it to hunt, I would've lopped this thing off a long time ago.
What's the meaning of this, Ægir?!
Gladiia does not answer.
She imperceptibly reaches for her neck. The scales, the part of her that do not belong to her, are resonating with something.
The scent of the Seaborn... The smell of the ocean, it's all gone. Look outside. It's way too peaceful.
How could this be?
Haah... What's going on? Why's it so quiet?
...Wait.
Did you hear that? What was that?
Was there something—
'The ocean sank into an unprecedented silence. Anomalies appeared across the shore, as violently ebbing tides and irregular waves heralded the coming of disaster.'
'All sounds were smothered. From waves crashing against the shore to the chiming of city clock towers, all noise faded away.'
Until the voices of the people all disappeared as well.
Until the wind was stilled.
The Profound Silence came without a sound.
Impossible, it's just like in the Inquisition's records. Are we facing... another Silence?!
......
Shark, where are you going?
Heading up to check things out.
I'll go with you.
Me too.
......
...Skadi.
Why?
Stay with Gladiia, and remember this one thing.
You will always be our Hunter.
Laurentina, let's go.
Specter lifts her head towards the sky.
The dark clouds know not when to dissipate, but she, who has lost the concept of time, finds a sea of stars in the sky.
She can finally hear that voice.
The voice that calls out to her.
Specter paces around the deck, and Ulpianus casts her a concerned glance for just a moment.
You and the captain have a keen sense of smell. Can you sense any Seaborn around us?
No, right now, there is little difference between here and the land.
Even though we're clearly floating out at sea. It's disconcerting.
I'll head the other way to see if we're really being pushed by a current.
...See you soon.
O starry sky.
This is the first time in many years I've seen the stars so clearly.
I had forgotten so many things. I forgot my home, was used by others, and what finally saved my life and awakened my memories was the part of me I hated most.
Accepting that I'm a freak actually wasn't as hard as it sounds. That's what makes me unique.
The one, final thing I am unable to let go of... is my home.
But have I really returned? Is this place on the sea's surface really Ægir? Is this still my home?
Just because Gladiia never said it doesn't mean I wouldn't realize. It wouldn't be the first time rifts have grown between Hunters, but between us and Ægir? We've been separated by the shore for too long.
...I remember something else.
When I was little, I once went with my parents and grandparents to watch the stars on the ocean's surface adorn the sky, on a day much like this. Even the most beautiful pearl geode couldn't compare to that splendor.
In retrospect, even after I became a Hunter, I was always leaving my home again and again, but never reaching anywhere else.
Haha... I suppose I'm getting a bit homesick.
Where are you going to take me this time, Amaia?
Under the magnificent starry sky, the creature quietly looks down on Specter.
It makes not a single sound. The ship splitting the waves, the wind's bluster. All sounds are drowned out by His soft murmurs.
He hovers in the air as if walking on water, gently kissing the light of the stars and moons, His tentacles coruscating in a beautiful array.
Nowhere, Laurentina. The ocean is boundless, and wherever we go is all the same.
I've always been able to hear your song, Amaia.
Laurentina, that is the name of our scaleless kin, the Liberi, the Iberian.
As I consumed her, she kept stroking my head. She spoke to me of many things. Time itself was like frozen dust, an eternity seeming to pass as I listened to her.
Until she could no longer speak, until even her bones were digested by our smallest kin, she nurtured me with both nutrition and time. She taught me everything I know.
Since when were you so sentimental towards your food?
Such was her request, I merely granted it. If there is purpose to such emotions, we are willing to experiment.
What of Ishar'mla? Gladiia? And... Ulpianus?
Are your kin ready to return to the great sea?
...We've had a bit of an internal disagreement.
Why? Your home is clearly right before your eyes. We many are clearly right here awaiting you.
You're homesick, Laurentina. Amaia told me that, of all the Ægir she ever made contact with, you harbor the greatest affection for Ægir itself.
Come.
Embrace me, and I will bring you back home.
You know, I've never touched a living Seaborn before. I prefer your kind dead.
Just as you prefer to give shape to inorganic matter, even though it offers nothing for your survival?
Do you have any other pursuits other than 'survival'?
Pursuits? Like your pursuit to return home?
The survival of our kind. The survival of more of us. The survival of we many.
All beings ought to form a single entity. Life should not be so disorderly.
The Seaborn descends onto the deck.
Specter laughs.
You're a graceful one. Did Amaia teach you that as well?
It was just her request. A memento.
I suppose that means you'll be paying back both of our debts?
...Ah, before her death, Amaia entrusted you to me. I will make use of your life. I will also fulfill your requests.
Amaia thanks you. She said I should help you. Because of you, their work was able to take another step forward. Their 'research' and 'ideals' have all advanced greatly.
I can talk to you about Ishar'mla. I can take you back to Ægir. I can share with you where our kind are, and how they are doing. I can name your clansmen who are trying to become one with us.
Amaia begged me to help you. Only through helping you, will you accept us as kin.
...Hah.
In that case, my first request is...
Stop singing. I want to hear the wind of my hometown.
Very well.
In an instant, the wind and the waves return to Specter's ears.
Just as the sound of the first waves splashing against the deck rings out clearly, Ulpianus's giant blade is already poised above the Seaborn's head.
Ulpianus!
A sufficiently heavy blow. Our kin in the ocean will welcome his unconscious form. They will take him back to our nest, where we will spend time becoming one with him.
As for this floating box... it has been used to house our kin who have not yet adapted to the sea. But most of them died, and the rest have refused to become one with us.
Therefore, it is no longer needed.
Specter is unable to see the Seaborn's movements, but like a piece of garbage being swept aside by a pedestrian, the once-glorious cannon mounted on the ship vanishes in the blink of an eye.
A few seconds later, an enormous splash in the distance reveals where the steel construct had gone.
Specter's eyes are unable to follow.
Whether shaken by the ease with which Ulpianus was repelled, or distracted by the sound of the metal cannon being sliced through, Specter is easily struck and sent crashing into the deck.
She was unable to see the attack at all.
Come, let us return to the sea.
Whether to hunt, or to communicate, or to evolve, we must all return to the sea.
Halt!
You trying to take apart my ship, you monster?!
Garcia!
(Roars) —!
The chief mate charges at the Seaborn.
But before even laying a finger on that elegant being, the chief mate's movements suddenly freeze.
Kin. This is kin.
I am attacking my own kind?
Guh...?!
What a paradoxical being. You have consumed many of our kin, yet many more go hungry. You ought to feed them.
Turn into nutrients, and nourish our kind.
Garcia!
What are you doing to my chief mate?!
—Ugh!
Gaah... Goddamnit!
......!
Don't worry, I'm alright... *cough*.
......
Alfonso...
What is it...?
Wait, hold on, what?! Garcia, you—
Alfonso.
Today is... the last day... of our voyage.
All these years... I... always treated myself as... a monster. Easier... that way.
I know. If I die... you'll be lonely... and then you'll die. You shouldn't... die... so I'm... worthless.
Today is the last day... of our voyage.
I... I think I already... feel kinship towards it.
No! No!
Garcia! You can still talk! You're still yourself!
No.
Time... is up. The Stultifera... will soon sink. The fluorescent sea has already started... to corrode the ship.
I—
—Will fight to the death, as an Iberian. I will never... accept it as my kin.
......
The Seaborn has already bent down.
It looks hardly any different from the greatest chief mate Iberia has ever known.
Garcia nudges the shining crown sitting atop its head.
(Iberian) My beloved... Remember... your duty.
......
(Roars) —
You are not fighting me, Garcia.
Graaaaah—
You are fighting we many inside your heart. You are on this ship, but you thirst for the sea.
Urgh— Hraaaagh—
But it doesn't matter.
Become sustenance, and nourish our kin. Or, become one with us.
The Chief Mate's body is punctured, blood gushing out like a spring.
The Seaborn tosses Garcia overboard into the ocean, like chucking out bait.
It gazes from above, noble and impassive, like an inviolable eikon.
What... What just happened?
How could it so easily—
Human, kin, and all living things in between.
Amaia wishes to correct you. And thus, it shall be done. I simply welcome back my kin, and welcome back Ishar-mla.
Protect the lives of our kin. Then, return to we many. 'Return home.'
Shark.
—
Gladiia effortlessly steps forward, casting off the gentle beckoning from behind.
In the space of a moment, Skadi, who had been standing behind her, and Specter, once again returning to battle, react in sync and brandish their weapons at the Seaborn.
As the fastest of the group, Gladiia would improve the synergy between the three if she slowed down a bit—but she had already lost the capacity to stay calm.
......
It dodges. Or more accurately, it simply takes a step forward, but its speed is sufficient.
It has its eyes only on Skadi.
There are many among us who wish to see you. Ishar-mla. Ishar'mla.
—!
Our kind awaits you. We await you. We hope you will answer our call.
Filth, is there no end to your arrogance?
Gladiia whirls her lance at the Seaborn, but it does not evade. It is run through, its body easily lifted and smashed down into a deep pit.
......
No good... What's happened to your body?
Soon, many kin, many kin in need, will reach my heights.
We are changing every day. Gladiia. We are one whole. You are of the strongest batch.
...Where's my captain?
Tossed into the sea. He was injured pretty badly.
......
Even their gods were unable to devour Ulpianus. He won't die so easily.
Its body seems to have undergone some changes. It's nothing like the trash we encountered in Sal Viento.
Swordfish? Treating an enemy with caution rather than contempt? Maybe I'm still missing some memories, but does that ever happen, Skadi?
No, you're right, it is rare. But Seaborn like this were also rare. What kind of prey stands before three Hunters and remains unscathed?
To be fair, I've barely done anything yet.
The ship won't hold out if we keep fighting like this, though. It's grown much stronger.
...Just the last few blows have already set the lowest deck on fire.
How dare you treat Garcia and my ship like this! I'll make you regret this, monster.
......
Please, my kin, even more of our kin call out to me, asking me to maintain the ocean's growth and tranquility.
If you get in my way, I have no choice but to consume you. I beg of you, return to our kind.
Hey, Amaia.
...If you insist on calling me that.
Sure do. Anyway, I just remembered something which REALLY should've been written into those Scriptures—
What?
She still owes me her life, and you're going to pay it back.
A debt? If you are willing to return to our kind, I will grant you that.
No can do.
......
The Seaborn does not answer.
It silently leans forward, baring its claws.
In an instant, the damage to the ship's hull passes a critical threshold, and everything in sight shakes violently.
...Minutes. Yes, your kind's conception of time. Amaia spoke of this before.
Ten minutes.
In ten minutes this box will be surrounded by our kin. It will 'sink.'
Hunt and consume. Survive and evolve.
It has never hesitated.
2. After Operation
360 lines......
This... isn't possible.
If true, then this whole time, the Abyssal Hunters have been looking for something right under their noses.
What that possibility signifies is too vile to put into words.
From beginning to end, the Eye of Iberia has always born witness to the aftermath of calamity. But it is just a sinking eyeball, unable to speak.
...What does this mean?
It means Ægir's demise is accelerating.
It means that... if even cities at this distance are sending out distress signals, then the Stultifera Navis has been circling above their nest since the very beginning.
...The Hunters are all in danger.
I know what you're thinking, but we have only one ship and the two of us.
Saving the Stultifera was not realistic.
You may not mind a few Abyssal Hunters dying at sea, but what we would be strangling in its cradle is opportunity. For both Ægir and Iberia.
......
Dario died a warrior's death. Wouldn't you want to gain some valuable knowledge from the mouth of the surviving Inquisitor?
This is our last chance.
No. A powerless city, almost reduced to ruins. How many Ægir have already fallen to the ocean?
We must act cautiously, or we will be leaping into the flames.
Even so, this is our last chance.
If we wait until Ægir can no longer respond, until another Silence has fallen over Iberia, then indeed, the true enemy will appear.
But at that point, would it matter?
I understand you have your responsibilities. You don't want to take any risks until the Penal Battalion has full control over this place.
So I'll go alone.
...I know better than to underestimate the power of you and your pet, but it's a long trip. Are you sure you'll make it on your own?
The Hunters bleed a special kind of blood. Sea Terrors aren't necessarily that hostile towards ordinary ships.
I can only hope you didn't just make that up to assuage my fears.
That's not a lie I would have come up with anyway. Regardless, I can't leave the Hunters behind.
......
*sigh*...
You'd better bring back the Hunters and Irene, Kal'tsit.
I will.
Ah, um...
Is there anything I can do to help?
Mon3tr, survey our surroundings. If those Sea Terrors went back into hiding underwater, don't rile them up.
We need time, since the ship's taken some damage from the trip.
(Answers with a nod)
This ship...
The one the Hunters took was left by the Inquisition's spies.
Lord Carmen's original plan was to join up with the Penal Battalion at Gran Faro, establish a frontline headquarters, and push forward on a medium-sized naval vessel.
So, this lone boat, abandoned on the shores of Gran Faro, is our final hope.
I, I can help... I'll go take a look at the boat. I've never actually repaired a ship before, but I do have some tools with me.
Um, can you really head out to sea on something like this?
Woah, huh?!
S-Sea Terrors?!
Waaaaah—
They were hiding in the shadow of the reef? Mon3tr!
(Screeches excitedly)
Jordi! Get off the boat!
I, I can't, something's pushing on it! The anchor's gone!
I'll try to steer it back—
Wait, wait— Then we'd lose the boat then! I, I'll try to steer it back! Urgh!
Watch out behind you!
(Cheers in response)
Whirlpools, changing currents, and the Sea Terrors are unusually active again... What's going on here?
(Stretches out claws)
You want me to grab on and fly back with you? But, then the boat will— Woah?!
(Screeches urgently)
I, I...
Jordi knows that if doesn't take this opportunity, then he'll drift into the endless ocean along with the ship.
There's no other choice. He has to return to the Eye of Iberia and hide inside the lighthouse.
Just like he hid in that little town for over a decade.
Just like he hid when Dario died.
Just like with Thiago.
He clings to the mast to avoid falling into the aberrant waves. Mon3tr is visibly dissatisfied, urging him on.
Sea Terrors leap from the water's surface from time to time, darting back and forth rapidly and kicking up plumes of water. The Eye of Iberia is already becoming smaller and smaller.
He sees words carved crookedly into the boat's mast:
'Gran Faro'
...I will go in Kal'tsit's place.
All I have to do is... find that ship, and bring everyone back, right? That doesn't sound too hard...
No...
Compared to losing the ship and waiting helplessly under the lighthouse... it's a gamble I have to take!
I can do this on my own!
As long as even one of our kin touches upon the ultimate answer to life, we will be able to re-weave the laws of the cosmos from beginning to end.
Before we are given our next Revelation, we shall find a way.
Even if Ishar'mla refuses to answer. Even if our kind will never know the divine Will.
We will still survive.
Shark.
Of course.
Hmm.
Our kin have conveyed their will. Nutrients are sufficient. No longer must we feed on each other.
I should return to the nest. You should come with me.
You're still going on about that stuff, Amaia? Why don't just stay put and let me kill you like a good girl?
Our kind calls me back. They call for me to share my fruits with them.
I shall heed their call. When that is done, I shall heed your call. I shall seek you out, and you shall kill me.
Haha... Of course I can't let you leave. If I let you go, how many Seaborn just like you are going to end up all over the place?
Amaia sure knows how to make things hard for me. If only she were as simple and straightforward as Quintus.
What a shame I couldn't keep her around with that dance.
......!
You talk too much, scum!
Ishar-mla. I've always wanted to meet you.
What happened? Why doesn't He speak anymore? Where is He?
Pah... It's like hacking at water. No resistance at all.
Are you Him? Is He you?
I have no idea what you're talking about. If you mean that big guy, He's already dead.
Death. Withering. He exists beyond these concepts. His voice, by no means signifies the end of life.
What do your kind call Him? The same as those cultists? Your 'god' has already withered and fallen into the abyss.
God?
No. This is what we call Him—
Ishar-mla.
I'm here.
The hardship we suffer is ever present.
The life we thirst for is ever present.
......
Ishar-mla. Once more, I feel His pulse.
Kin. You swam together to His abode in the abyss, where even death drowns.
We have lost contact with Him, but His choices can only lead to the future.
Kin, your information... Nay, the flow of your emotions.
You feel it, Ishar-mla. Because you have left the arid land and returned home.
Our blood flows in your veins. His blood flows in your veins. You are Him.
No matter. As you say, thus you are. Abyssal Hunter, Ska-di.
Ishar-mla, we await His answer. Be it on the other end of time, He will answer us.
Until then, until our answer finally comes—
—We many shall live on.
Gladiia silently appears behind the Seaborn, the lance in her hand actually puncturing the creature's body.
It is followed immediately by the cacophony of a whirling chainsaw.
Too slow. You're becoming weak, so just accept getting turned into paste.
Nngh—!
—Too shallow, it's not good enough! Ugh!
The heat of the sweltering flames sweeps down the long corridor. The Stultifera is groaning.
The Seaborn does not attack the vulnerable Skadi.
It simply stares at her in silence. A very strange sensation. Just like at Sal Viento.
It is 'watching' her, Skadi thinks.
Ugh, the ship is... at its limit. It'll start sinking very soon.
......
It's trying to get away! Argh!
Below you!
......
Don't move, monster.
I won't allow you to return to the sea.
You are pitifully weak, human. Even as nutrition, you are not enough to nourish our kin.
Now that nutrients are plentiful, we require only time.
This place is far from your territory. You have no reason to interfere with us.
You and your kind cannot be judged by the law. I don't think I have any means of eradicating you for Iberia either.
Law? Burdensome rules of survival, as Amaia once said.
Compared to our kin, you are indeed too weak.
—But I will not let you escape, ocean scum.
This is the last shot.
......
And sure enough, I can't even... *cough*... leave a scar on you...
Emotional. How strange, human. You are so weak, driven by emotions, trying to escape my hunger.
Escape, yes. Escape. Fear? But why do you still stand here then? Why do you attack me? Why... do you not flee from me?
Do you... also wish to make a contribution to 'we many'?
...Hmph.
Who gave you the right to interrogate me?
......
The Seaborn no longer speaks. The creature before it is not kin.
Predation does not require the tool called language.
But before it can strike, a shadow drops down from the darkness of the ceiling.
Alfonso?!
Tch. Haven't seen the color of its blasted blood since it became like this.
This hunt— *spit*. Is almost over. You killed my chief mate, and you WILL pay.
You both, paradoxical beings. You still refuse to become our kin.
You have eaten many of us. Yet you refuse to become part of us.
...Make your choice. Not much time remains.
Hunt, acquire nutrients, return to we many.
Or, cease your bodily movements, give up the gift of life, and pass it on to our other kin.
Choose.
...Irene.
Yes! Um, why are you calling my name, though?
Tell me, do you have a way to return to land?
I...
But I must go back.
I can't stand against the Seaborn, but Iberia can. I'll carry this final warning with me. What happened to all of you, what Gladiia saw, I must bring all of it back.
You're starting to sound like a Messenger.
...That's fine. I can be whatever I want.
But I must go back.
Ngh?!
My ship is about to sink.
Sixty years. It's been over sixty years. But because of your arrival, we must now face the end.
...Tell me.
How does Iberia remember the great Captain Alfonso?
......
'Alfonso Under the Pomegranate Tree'. 'The Hero, Alfonso.' 'The Sunken Alfonso.'
There are many people... who held onto hope that the Stultifera never sank. But we weren't able to head out to sea.
If... If you really are Lord Alfonso...
You have become a paragon to countless Iberian soldiers.
Hmph... Pomegranate tree, huh... How pretentious.
A flash of intense passion shimmers across the captain's eyes.
Since the dark clouds and turbulent waves trapped them inside this cage, few things have ever stirred his heart.
It's gotten weaker.
I'll hold it back.
......
E-Explosions?!
I thought the Originium boilers got knocked out of commission a long time ago, but the impact just now seems to have ignited the engine.
The flames will spread upward. I've always wondered how these things taste flame-grilled.
......!
The heat makes the Seaborn uncomfortable.
It has become weak. Its kin are encircling it. It is unable to reach the sea.
It screams. But its calls are not answered.
No. Kin are coming. Closer. It can hear the voices of its kin.
They speak—
Die.
Gladiia does not hesitate. Skadi and Specter sever its body.
It tries to regenerate. It tries to break free. But this time, Alfonso clings to its body in a death grip.
He makes use of his already mutated arm.
It feels its lifeforce slipping away.
It sees Specter raise her weapon again.
......
What? You want to talk to her again? What can that filth possibly say that's worth hearing?
You don't understand, Quintus.
She told me about her life in Ægir.
So what? If you want knowledge, a Herald can tell you far more.
All we need to do is summon the Voice of the Deeps, and you will be able to obtain anything you want.
That's why I said you don't understand, Quintus.
What I want to deconstruct, to witness, to caress, to break... has never been those cities. On land or in water, it's all the same.
I want to hear about their lives. About the wonderful lives they once had, about how they built their society, about how they defended their home.
About how they cannibalized each other. About how they met their destruction, just like us.
Like us?
The people who defile Ægir are Ægirs like you. The people who defile Iberia are Iberians like me.
Heh... The results of the experiment are already plain as day. If we still need more comparisons, she'll go mad and hate us.
She'll hate us, and to be honest, I hate them too. Self-destructive soldiers. A self-righteous country. Falling into a self-inflicted trap.
But sometimes... You have to admit that we're more like them, more like humans, than we are like Seaborn.
We'll probably be fighting forever.
—It worked!
Hey, Captain Alfonso, are you alright?!
...Compared to my ship, not half bad.
Are you really dead, Amaia? It can't be that easy, can it?
(Limbs twitch)
Don't waste your breath on it.
(Convulsing) Lauren...
I'm here. I'm right here.
Seems like our positions are reversed now, Amaia.
Too bad for you, I've never... been one for science experiments. Not in the slightest.
(Quivers with torn muscles)
—
...That should settle things.
And this ship's about to go down.
Even when my consciousness was hazy, I was still aware of how much effort it took for us to get here. Seems like we'll be running up against another wall.
Did you get what you came for, Swordfish?
Ulpianus took it.
It's our fault that we failed to preserve the prototype technology on this ship, but...
That doesn't mean we came here in vain.
......
Captain.
Hmph.
It doesn't matter. Garcia already said that today's the last day of our voyage.
...For a long, long time, our will to survival has been slowly eaten away.
At first, our greatest enemies were anxiety, suspicion, uncertainty, and fear. But later...
Our emotions started drifting away from us. A longing for the ocean gnawed at our nerves, and one after another one, we forgot the glory of being a crewmember of the Stultifera Navis.
I watched them jump into the sea one by one, or I beheaded them before they could. I admit... that was a bit extreme.
This long nightmare of survival has finally come to an end.
Seawater is pouring into the ship. This whole place is being eaten by the nethersea brand.
Inquisitor, this technology here, these Originium boiler techniques, will they be useful to the current Iberia?
Everything on the Stultifera is a precious national treasure. Ever since the Profound Silence, Iberia has had a large amount of Islander technology that cannot be reproduced.
And it's not just because we lost our fleet and our cities. Because of the judgment we passed on the Ægir, we lost so much of our talent too.
It was... necessary. Even now, I don't think that a soft-hearted strategy full of kindness could have combatted the Church of the Deep.
If, today, we are forced to lose Stultifera Navis—the Ship of Fools—then I think... it would be a heavy blow, but it's something that was doomed to happen from the start.
......
Hmph, hogwash. The state religion's always been like this.
Ægirs.
Take care of the Iberian. She can't swim back.
...That I can promise you.
The explosions are getting worse—this side's leaning!
We need to go, Skadi. Cut off a bit of the rafters above you!
Hurry! Irene!
I, I know! But what about Alfonso?!
How far will the currents take us? Or are we going to go around in circles? Isn't this place on top of their nest?
Regardless, looks like we're going to have to swim back.
W-What?!
...Go. Get the hell off of my ship, like I told you from the start.
Just go. I'll stay here. This is my Iberia, and the captain goes down with the ship.
......
Alfonso slowly lowers himself into the throne. He closes his eyes.
The warmth of the bright Iberian sun as it splashes at an angle across the deck.
The aroma of a winery. The melody of his hometown.
A damp and empty room. Freshly burgeoning petri dishes.
The ocean's waves.
The ocean he once knew. The warmth of Garcia's hand. Breogan's lonely countenance. Carmen's smile. His comrades' roars resonating through the sky.
He opens his eyes, and lets out a hearty laugh as everything is consumed by the flames.
His laughter crosses through time, until it reaches a small town of pomegranate flowers, where one can smell the sea upon the breeze, and mingles with the first cries of a newborn child.
Alfonso. That is what the people call him.
He lifts his old, rusty blade, and places it against his neck. He prays. He laughs.
Hah. What a joke! Remember this well, Irene! Return to land and sing the praises of Alfonso's feats!
The last monster that Alfonso slew... was himself!
The ship breaks apart.
The glow of the flame blankets a sea that had been silent for nearly a hundred years.
An era comes to an end.
A legend passes into history.
In the distance, the sun rises.
Here sinks the Stultifera, and with it, the long-cherished wishes of Iberia, nay, of all civilization.
All succumbing to calamity.
......!
What's the matter?
I think I heard... a voice.
No, it must be my old age. These things happen.
Water?
Right...
The Stultifera... sank.
I'm in the ocean? The ocean... is a dangerous place.
It's dangerous, yes.
I have to return to Iberia!
Glub—! Gurgle—!
Stop trying to breathe like that. Underwater breathing is beyond you. Most Ægirs can't either.
I want to say something in return. But of course, I am underwater, and cannot.
Despite trying to contain my instincts, I can't help but clutch at her clothes like a helpless child.
But, I can see it.
The light reflected in her pupils.
It comes from the bottom of the sea.
Specter does not say anything, but I can feel her arms trembling slightly around me.
Maybe because of the battle we just fought? Maybe? Or, something to do with the light?
I'll bring you back up. Hang on tight.
—Glub!
My vision blurs.
So that's... what the bottom of the ocean... looks like.
Then—
—Is this Ægir?
The Seaborn quietly watches the distant flames disappearing beneath the waters.
The ship sinks into the ocean. Along with the flames. Along with everything.
Its kin answer its call. They all return to the many.
Surrounded by the many's embrace, it takes only a moment for the dying to be given new life.
—
Ishar-mla. I will bring you all, back home.
?!
—Let's all, die together, with Alfonso.
The chief mate grips the Seaborn in its jaws and charges all the way into the seabed's murky darkness.
Its lover. Its memories. Its identity. As its charge slows, its consciousness dissolves into the ocean.
But still it bites down on the Seaborn.
The waters, make you nostalgic. Swim, and you will awaken.
Accept it. You are one of we many. We have long awaited you.
No— No......
I am... Garcia... I am... Alfonso's...
Then why did you stop swimming? Your signal is just like mine.
Your wounds have all healed. You are accepting who you are.
No—!
Why no?
The Chief Mate's consciousness is blurring.
Is it biting down on this Seaborn? Or, is it leaping into the Seaborn's embrace, seeking its succor?
It... It is forced to accept.
The sea makes it very comfortable. The Seaborn's thoughts flood into its mind.
Is it Garcia, Chief Mate of the Stultifera?
No, it is a Seaborn. It is one of we many—
Glub... (sounds of bubbles being blown) Gurgle... (sounds of bubbles popping)
You...
Ul...pianus... Kin...
......
Thank... you...
Ulpianus watches the two sink to the bottom of the ocean, seemingly locked in an embrace beyond death. Like flowers growing side-by-side, they shrink, and wither. And beyond a certain depth, they are carried away by the undercurrent.
He does not lift his head until they are completely out of sight.