Arknights story · Stultifera Navis
SN-7 Golden Corridor
The ragtag group defeats the newly-spawned Seaborn, but Amaia and Ulpianus have their own plans. The mysterious legacy of the legendary shipwright is within arm's reach, but Gladiia senses kin that have separated from the many.
1 scenes, 249 lines
1. After Operation
249 linesI see it.
I see Alfonso heading to the great hall every day. He's named it 'Iberia.'
He's moved the mirror from his bedroom to the hall, and spends day after day examining himself.
Ever since the head chef and young Jamie were executed, he and I are the only ones left.
......
There you are.
How long was I asleep? Feels like I barely got any rest before I found myself awake.
Uhh... Not long... But...
No need to force yourself. I know it hurts when you talk.
These lowly monsters leave plenty of blood behind, so let's use that to write instead.
I nod. In the corner are buckets, filled with the blood of our quarry.
Time passes too slowly. I barely slept at all, but my dreams felt even longer than all the decades behind us...
Is it time we gave up then? It's been a long, long while since young Jamie and the old chef left us. Should we follow them?
We should give up.
My consciousness blurs more and more, like the feeling of being entangled right before waking from a dream.
It is not just my flesh that is changing, but everything about me. Everything that makes me a living being.
We should give up. We should end ourselves before we're devoured. The infinite, boundless ocean. The sea breeze. The waves. The whispers.
...Chief Mate, this is our ship. Our ideals.
Sooner or later, we'll lose even the strength to walk. But that won't happen to her. Not the Stultifera Navis.
That cigar-chomping engineer was right. Even if we all die, this ship will never sink.
Today... is just another twenty-four hours in one long, unending day.
... (Scrawls some words using the blood of Sea Terrors)
Don't... give up?
Hah! Look at what you've become. I can't even see your sea-blue eyes anymore. Wouldn't you rather be set free?
(Scrawls) I am your chief mate.
......
For... your sake...
Hush, easy now.
Thank you, Garcia. No matter what you turn into, the bond between us will never change.
(Nods)
But I know. He is looking at the mirror. Because even someone as strong as him... has finally succumbed to the monsters.
We have consumed their flesh and blood. At first, we started fires to cook them. Then, we were forced to devour them raw.
Even the most powerful Inquisitors were awed by Alfonso's strength. He was the object of so many young sailors' admiration. There was nothing he couldn't do.
But he has held on long enough. Soon, he too will become one of the monsters.
He is worried. He is furious.
If he cannot even tolerate the slightest monster within him, how can he tolerate me?
Trash. You're worth even less than the weed that washed ashore in Sal Viento. That woman was merely creating a smokescreen.
The ocean boasts no changes to speak of.
......Gla-dia......
...I want to see. Are you free?
......
Friends are here. They are trapped. Need help. Should be returned to our kin's embrace.
Many friends have died here. But Parents. Will not let them die. I must save them.
Even if you can speak with that ugly mug of yours, that's no surprise to anyone.
Return to the great sea. No need to fight.
We go, together—
I've already grown tired of your prattling. Time to end you.
...Gla-dia, will you prey on me?
If you feed on me, will that make you stronger? More full of life?
Will it help the scales on your neck grow and spread, and return you to your proper form?
—!
Abyssal Hunters are bound by blood.
The Seaborn contorts its relatively slender form. It is—
—biting off parts of its own body.
I sever... this flesh. Consume it.
If you need more, I give you more. I will give you everything.
Gladiia stares blankly at the fleshy mass on the ground.
She is shaken.
But not because of the Seaborn, or its behavior.
However, this moment of distraction convinces the Seaborn that Gladiia has accepted its proposal.
...We will meet again soon.
The Seaborn leaves, the Gladiia does not pursue it.
Because she smells the scents of Shark and Skadi. The Seaborn will not escape.
She turns around, and heads towards where another smell is coming from.
The smell of the sea... and of blood. The smell of Hunters. Aboard the ship? And I didn't notice it until I got this close?
Impossible!
What... What do we do now?
Never expected there'd be people alive here. I thought we'd get the ship back just by killing some Sea Terrors. The Captain made it sound so simple.
......
What are you looking at, Specter?
The mirror.
Did you know, Skadi? Even as we speak, when I look at myself in this mirror, I start to remember so many things that I'd forgotten.
A darkened dome. A hundred-meter tall sculpture. An aquamarine-colored opera hall. A waterfall pouring crystals of ice. What is this place, Skadi?
...Your home.
My home... I remember now.
Writhing flesh climbing all over that statue. It collapses with a thunderous thud.
I remember these things, but... But I've never experienced them.
Dunno. I only know it from hearing you talk about where you used to live, which fell into ruin long ago. Long before I met you.
Maybe you only saw the report later on.
Can we save the chatter for some other time?!
Were we planning to chase down those two Seaborn, or are we seizing control of the ship while they're not around and, uh, sailing it back?
If the survivors haven't managed it in sixty years, somehow I doubt we could figure it out ourselves.
Just be patient. The squad leader will figure something out... Ugh.
Specter! What's wrong?
Just... a little dizzy.
I just remembered... what they did to me. I...
Wait.
I saw her just now in Gran Faro...?
She was willing to talk to me. She was full of hypocrisy, blowing hot and cold, but she...
She's here.
What... You mean more survivors?
No, an enemy. One who can cross the sea and board this vessel, which is more than enough to identify them.
Let's split up. Where will you go?
I...
......
I am an Iberian Inquisitor. It is my duty to ensure that this ship returns to Iberia's hands.
I'll go after that— after Alfonso!
(Slithers away hastily)
Gahh—!
Oh, don't you worry, Garcia. We'll catch up soon enough.
When those ignorant Ægirs wounded it, it went up through Victoria, and past Bolívar. From there, it could only climb up onto the deck, then dive into the sea.
This ship is not at its beck and call.
...Leithanien. When we were young, we visited that country along with some other officers. Do you still remember?
The twisted faces of those Kurfürsten were enough to turn stomachs. But they understood how to respect Arts, which was a mind-boggling revelation...
Hmm...?
Today's been a good day. We saw quite a few living people. Hope they get out quickly though.
Go. Go to 'Leithanien,' Garcia. Go play the scores you used to love so much.
Breathe some life into the hunt, my love.
(Nods)
—!
Hrgh—!
You, are not scaleless. Do you need food?
(Encircling slithering sounds)
Sufficient nutrition. But these waters, are still incomplete. The Cycle has not yet been built, and living things die in vain.
We must hurry—
—Why? Hunting, meaningless. There is something we must do, a duty to our kin.
How many does that make now? Lost track after ten. When'd you monsters learn how to talk?
Ohh... No, I remember you, little one. When we ate your parents, you and your litter were nearby, watching.
Back then, you were the weakest of the lot. Pathetic runt.
Alfonso laughs as he pokes at the Seaborn's wound, blood running along the tip of his blade and dripping onto the floor.
We are bound by blood. You hunt and eat us, you will become us. Just as our Parents hunted you, and then became hunted by you.
If the right conditions can trigger your evolution, then how do we make you more palatable? Your flesh, that is.
To hunt is to survive. There is no good or evil in the hunt.
That's too bad then.
Gladiia does not search for the Hunter's whereabouts.
She begins to look around her.
Ever since she boarded this vessel, her surroundings have filled her with a sense of nostalgia—the materials, the decorations, the handiwork.
Breogan, a genius from the Academy of Sciences, was an Ægir. Without a doubt, this was his domain.
The mystery behind why this ship hadn't sunk in decades was itself the message Breogan wanted to leave to the Ægir. A brand new fusion of Originium and terrestrial technologies.
But what exactly is it?
Gladiia grasps the key from her bosom.
She sizes up her surroundings.
Breogan... Where did you hide your secrets?
(Why would this ship be built like a palace?! Most of it is decorative, and there are even sculptures.)
(No, that's not all. Both the sculptures and the patterned carpets have been cleaned. Even under these conditions?)
(The sound of music wafts in from the distance)
...Someone's playing the piano?
It's coming from over here!
......!
Irene's footsteps slow down.
At the end of the corridor, through a crack in the door, she sees—
—A single Seaborn, slapping away at a dilapidated old piano.
(It's that Seaborn that was next to Alfonso! But what is it doing here?)
(Cheerfully slaps at the piano)
Ugh, what a ruckus... It's just pounding away at the keyboard with no rhyme or reason.
(Alfonso isn't here... Did he go after the Seaborn? Why is his chief mate here alone then?)
(Well, I won't worry about it for now.)
—The seashore, O, the seashore♪
—What?
(That melody just now, was that a coincidence? It certainly looks like it's only randomly smashing the keys.)
(No... It stopped?)
......
...The seashore... O, the seashore...
Farewell to heroes... and... great men...
—
—! Hiss...!
The Chief Mate turns its head in fear. Fear. Fear is what Irene sees in its behavior.
A massive, inexplicable physical reaction. One that's never been displayed in front of a Hunter before.
Just now, you weren't just randomly hitting keys...?
That... passage you played. An Iberian military song...? You... how?
Urgh...!
......
.........
You...
Y-You're still conscious? Do you still have memories of being human? Do you know who you are?
But, no... You're already fully transformed. The Inquisition has dealt with cultists like that before. There's no reversing it.
......
Wh-What are you planning? What are you doing with your hand?!
(Carefully places its hand atop Irene's head)
What... What is the meaning of this?
......
Through the scraps of cloth reminiscent of a wedding veil, the Seaborn known as the chief mate watches Irene.
Its pupils are cloudy. It is suffering. It—
—is filled with both affection and nostalgia.
You... If you truly retain a shred of your humanity...
But how, after all these years...?
—!
Cap... tain...
Wh-What's happening?!
Wait!
Hunt, feed. But that is not what you are doing. Your goal is constantly changing. Shaking. Yes, shaking.
Tch.
You should just keep playing your piano, Garcia. You don't need to be touching these—
(Lightly shakes head)
...Hah.
Then sink your teeth into it. Its body is changing. Finish it now.
You are... not hungry.
Why?
Alfonso doesn't answer the Seaborn's question. He simply chops and hacks at it again and again, like meat on a cutting board.
The chief mate bites down on the Seaborn in a death grip. Its crown falls to the ground during the struggle, but it does not care to pick it up.
Alfonso cuts off the Seaborn's tentacles, which join the crown on the ground. The chief mate pauses for a moment.
Ah... Garcia, Garcia.
Look at your crown, and at that tentacle. Do you understand what you've become now?
...Leave. We will meet again.
Garcia!
—!
The chief mate lifts its head, but the Seaborn has already vanished without a trace.
It quietly picks up its crown, and places it back on its head before returning to Alfonso's side. As if apologizing, it gently rubs his hand.
...Are you hurt, my good chief mate? Or were you distracted by our uninvited guests?
......
The chief mate does not answer.
It dares not speak. It dares not say that when it was biting down into the enemy, it felt like it was 'tearing into its own kin.'
It dares not speak, and after once again realizing what it has become, it begins to feel guilt.
...If you still have room for emotions in your heart, then that is proof enough that you're still human. Remember young Jamie's last words? 'I have no remorse, no regrets, and no fear.'
Only when you truly feel nothing will you lose the right to call yourself human.
Don't worry. The next hunt will be quick, and as always, it WILL return.
...... (Nods)
What's wrong?
(Lightly shakes head)
Herald.
...Kin. Scaleless?
You are badly wounded. A newborn like you should not have been in a hurry to board this ship.
Kin are here. In need of help.
Indeed, true enough. But you've been hurt. Though they are kin, they do not welcome you.
They have not yet accepted their identity. They are still lost and confused.
Accept? Identity?
...You do not need to understand. These waters are still incomplete. Perhaps you will have to further perfect yourself before you can lead our entire kind.
Need time. And nutrition.
And I've come to give you both.
That blasphemous sea captain slaughtered Sea Terrors for food, but used every means available to hinder the transformation. He's usurped pieces of the Cycle, yet refuses to be a part of it.
The flesh and blood of those offspring rightfully belonged to you. Those nutrients were meant to be yours. This ship has delayed the birth of a brand new ecosystem.
Please do not abandon me, Herald. In due time, all of Terra will become one and the same with the Nest.
......
I do not abandon. Kin.
I need time. But not much more.
I will be back. We will meet again.
I could have sworn you were going to rush over and kill us.
Should I be thanking you, Ulpianus?
I can kill something like whenever I want. It's even weaker than Quintus.
How patient of you.
Gladiia also tried to infiltrate the Church of the Deep in Sal Viento, hoping to get something out of them. Of course, she was a poor fit, given her personality.
And here I was thinking that none of you were a good fit. Or are you saying you're special?
You're getting less and less tight-lipped of late.
......
Heh. I suppose there's really no rhyme or reason for when you decide to keep quiet, Ulpianus.
Don't use my given name so casually, Liberi. You don't understand the weight behind it.
We are enemies.
Oh, we both know you've already abandoned that notion, deep in your heart. Of course, you might still hold some 'enmity.'
Like a lost and famished traveler who stumbles on a frozen, starving mangler-beast in the mountains.
......
Did whatever Breogan left behind satisfy your imagination?
Far from it.
The Seaborn have existed for even longer than the Ægir. For their history to be turned upside-down, there must be something behind it.
If you care about the word of God, then so be it. The Seaborn are not gods, nor are their forefathers.
I have seen how your gods die, their screams coursing through the currents, their flesh and blood smeared across abyssal ravines. As the clan hovered overhead, I plunged into the unknown depths of Ægir's territory.
I've seen it with my own eyes. Enough to shatter all the beliefs I'd held thus far. Afterwards, I will rebuild it. Ægir will be lifted up once more.