Chapter 391: Two Tools Collude to Plot a Scheme
The glacier trembled, on the verge of collapse.
The awakened undead army surged forth like ghosts crawling from hell, shrieking as they charged toward Allen and the others.
Their sheer numbers completely blocked the passage to the ocean.
Black Manta had already led his surviving men to escape. The frogmen dove straight into the sea, while the Desperate Warriors boarded the submersibles and quickly descended, heading back to the submarine.
Boom!
A chunk of hardened ice suddenly fell, instantly crushing hundreds of undead beneath it.
But more of them swarmed forward, unfazed by death, launching a relentless assault.
Namor stared helplessly as his enemy fled, his face full of unwillingness, yet there was nothing he could do but watch.
Clearing a path through the undead would take considerable time—far too long to stop the escape.
"We're leaving."
Allen raised his hand, opening a portal.
Clearly, he had no intention of wasting any more time here.
The four of them promptly returned to the Arkham Fortress.
"Allen, could you have used your spatial magic to bypass the undead earlier?"
Now back in a secure environment, Namor's thoughts calmed down, and he realized that Allen had deliberately let them go.
That portal could have easily skipped over the undead horde.
"I didn't think I could beat him, so I let him off—for now," Allen replied indifferently, without a trace of guilt.
As for the undead horde, they were buried beneath the glacier now anyway.
Besides, without a new class to grind experience, Allen didn't see the point in exerting himself.
"He's right. We can't act rashly," T'Challa agreed.
Even a single basic strike from the Dark Trident had trapped them—its true power was unimaginable.
Allen said bluntly, "I talked so much to that Black Bastard, and even secretly used one of my custom spells. He didn't react at all. The only explanation is magic immunity."
In short, Allen's magic tier wasn't high enough to harm Black Manta, who was empowered by an evil god.
Which meant that the power source of the Dark Trident was terrifyingly strong—likely one of the top-tier dimensional overlords.
After all, Allen's own magical source came from Erha.
Although Erha was now also a dimensional overlord, his rank was embarrassingly low.
"So we're just going to give up?" Namor asked bitterly.
He couldn't just let it go—not after losing over a hundred of his people.
"Give up? I'd never. Not in this life."
Allen raised an eyebrow confidently. "That little Bastard's probably planning to recruit Aquaman for revenge. Well, I'm going to call for reinforcements."
"Sun Sun."
"I'm here."
"Get me in touch with Orm," Allen ordered.
Unita calmly replied, "On it."
Far away, on a Hawaiian beach, Ocean Master Orm was on vacation.
Wearing a floral shirt and shorts, holding a hamburger, he spotted a cockroach crawling nearby.
Instinctively, he slapped it, and after a second look, happily stuffed it into the burger and took a hearty bite.
Crunch. Chicken-flavored.
Chewing with satisfaction, Orm nodded approvingly.
At that moment, his phone screen lit up with a video call from an unknown number.
He answered.
A sneaky-looking face filled the screen, eyes darting suspiciously.
"Is this Orm?"
A familiar voice came through the phone, but Orm couldn't place it right away.
"Who are you?" he asked.
Allen pulled back the camera and waved cheerily. "Long time no see. Miss me?"
"Allen? What's going on?" Orm asked, puzzled.
You don't reach out unless you want something. Since joining the Suicide Squad, they'd barely kept in touch—hell, the Midnight Enforcer team had already fallen apart.
Orm had long since left any official organization and now drifted through human society solo.
"We need you. The organization needs you."
"…"
…
Meanwhile, hiding deep in the ocean, the Black Manta pirate crew had not yet rushed to attack Atlantis.
David hadn't fully adapted to the Dark Trident's power—it hadn't been long since he acquired it.
He needed some time to get used to it.
Not much time, of course—just enough to avoid missteps.
But what truly worried him was the mental intrusion brought on by the trident.
Even after just using the evil god's power twice, he could clearly feel bloodlust invading his mind.
A primal urge for destruction, as if he were meant to bring death to the world.
That's why he hadn't gone head-to-head with all four enemies and instead chose to retreat.
David always remembered his main objective: to make Aquaman pay in blood.
If he were in Atlantis, he could slaughter endlessly.
Driven by vengeance, he wouldn't hesitate to wipe out the entire sea tribe.
"This… is a divine weapon."
Killian's eyes burned with desire.
Who wouldn't want to wield ultimate power and sit atop the throne of the mortal world?
"You'd best put that thought away," David warned meaningfully. "I don't mind raising another undead army."
He had only scratched the surface of the Dark Trident's powers. So far, he'd discovered two:
—Controlling the dead and turning them into undead
—Unleashing black tides to dominate targets
There were still many abilities he hadn't tested.
Like boosting physical attributes or summoning monstrous deep-sea creatures.
Clearly, the Dark Trident was the antithesis of the Golden Trident.
"You're overthinking it," Killian replied respectfully. "I don't want to jeopardize our cooperation."
"I hope so."
David nodded faintly, then ordered his crew, "Get me a connection to the Golden Jaguar."
It was perfectly normal for him to know Erik Killmonger.
On the surface, Erik held an official identity, but behind the scenes, he'd long dabbled in shady dealings, and over time, the two had become acquainted.
Especially since David occasionally took on under-the-table jobs from Amerikka.
Things like attacking foreign warships, staging false-flag ops to spark conflicts, or looting high-value cargo ships—all of it required intel support from Amerikka's systems.
He was a pirate lord, not an intelligence agency.
And being fellow Black men who both lost their fathers to violence, the two felt a bond of shared pain—growing close through mutual understanding.
Naturally, David knew that Erik's main enemy was Black Panther.
So he took this opportunity to rope Erik in as an external ally, ensuring his plan would be foolproof.
"Brother, how've you been?"
As soon as the call connected, Erik greeted him warmly.
Having avenged his father, Erik now exuded confidence, though he was still busy consolidating power within Wakanda.
Ruling an entire nation granted him unmatched authority—a feeling he found addictively intoxicating.
"Brother, I saw the Black Panther," David said directly.
"No way. I killed T'Challa myself."
In the video, Erik, originally seated on the throne, abruptly stood up in alarm.
David recounted everything in detail, leaving no room for doubt.
Because the intel matched perfectly, Erik had no choice but to accept the truth—T'Challa was still alive.
"I can't let him live."
Erik's voice dripped with killing intent. "If he lives, my throne is at risk."
Nearly half of Wakanda's tribes still supported T'Challa, and the Queen was uniting factions behind the scenes—a potential threat that couldn't be ignored.
(Support me and read ahead on Patreøn: patreøn.com/craxxtranslations. Thank you for your support!)