The silence hung thick as spoiled milk in the ruined lab, broken only by the wet drip… drip… of thawing fluids and the low, pained gurgle of the retreating serpent. Rust flakes drifted like diseased snow in the sputtering red emergency lights. Then – CRASH!
A dented metal container, dislodged by the serpent's thrashing retreat, rolled erratically across the sludge-covered floor, clanging against a half-melted cryo-pod. The sheer randomness of it – a mundane object in this charnel house – drew a collective snort of weary amusement. Atlas spat a glob of blood-tinged saliva onto the muck, managing a pained grin. "Heh. Left us a present."
The momentary levity shattered like glass.
The shadows at the chamber's far end erupted. The yellow serpent, driven beyond pain or caution by its wounds, surged forward with terrifying speed. Its segmented bulk, slick with its own dark, viscous blood and the lab's chemical filth, plowed through a pile of frozen horrors, shattering them into icy shrapnel. Its circular beak, a nightmare of overlapping razor-plates, gnashed open, unleashing a guttural roar that vibrated the metal walls and made Jelly, reforming nearby, wobble violently with a terrified "BLOOP!". Dozens of whip-tentacles, dripping with venom that sizzled where it hit the floor, lashed the air like enraged scourges. Its glowing eyes, now bloodshot and filled with a primal, alien fury, fixed on Atlas – the one who had hurt it most.
"Focus!" Rayleigh barked, his voice cutting through the din. He didn't flinch, shifting his stance minutely, his simple sword held loosely yet radiating unwavering readiness.
Atlas met the charge, blue energy flaring wildly around Stormclaw and Thunderfang. "Bring it, ugly!" he roared, but his movements were fractionally slower, hampered by the deep gash on his flank where a stinger had ripped through his tactical pants and torn into the rust-red fur beneath. Dark blood welled steadily, staining the fur a deeper crimson and dripping onto the yellow-tinged sludge. He swung Thunderfang in a wide arc, forcing the descending beak to veer slightly, the impact sending a shockwave that cracked the floor beneath his boots. He skidded back, grimacing.
"Atlas!" Marya's voice was sharp, her golden eyes snapping from the serpent's trajectory to the Mink. "Status?"
"Tch! Just a scratch!" Atlas growled, baring his fangs, though sweat beaded on his brow. He slammed his Chui together defiantly, sending sparks flying. "Don't get soft on me now, Zaleska!"
Galit's long neck whipped towards Atlas, his emerald eyes narrowed behind his cracked glasses. "That arterial spray pattern suggests otherwise, Atlas," he countered coolly, his Vipera Whips already coiling like agitated snakes. "You are leaking vital fluids at an inefficient rate for 'just a scratch'."
Rayleigh chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. He rolled his shoulders, the scars on his arms shifting like old maps. "Seems our scaly friend's had enough playtime. Think it's about time we wrapped this messy package up, eh, girl?" His gaze, calm and assessing, locked onto Marya.
Marya didn't take her eyes off the serpent, which was coiling its massive, blood-streaked body for another strike, its breath huffing in ragged, wet gasps that smelled of chemical bile and raw meat. A faint, almost imperceptible tension tightened the muscles around her eyes. "It will come from the left," she stated, her voice flat. "Its third segment drags. Favoring the right strike."
Rayleigh's weathered face creased into a faint smile. "Good eye, kid." He adjusted his grip on his sword.
Marya's lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk. "Little gift from my father. Observation sharpened by endless, tedious drills."
Rayleigh's chuckle deepened. "Looks like that ain't the only gift he gave you," he observed, his gaze flicking momentarily to the obsidian blade, Eternal Eclipse, held ready in her hand, its surface seeming to drink the dim light. The Heart Pirates insignia on her leather jacket was stark against the gloom.
"Never said it was," Marya replied, her tone dry. The serpent chose that moment to strike.
True to her prediction, it lunged from the left, a blur of diseased-yellow scales and gnashing beak, a cloud of corrosive, yellow-tinged vapor billowing ahead of it. But before its momentum could fully build, Galit Varuna was moving.
His long neck snapped forward like a released spring, his body a fluid shadow. He didn't meet the charge head-on. Instead, he stepped into its path, his Vipera Whips hissing through the foul air. They didn't strike flesh. One whip lashed out, not to block, but to guide – wrapping around the thick base of a flailing tentacle mid-swing. The other whipped past the serpent's snapping beak, embedding its barbed tip into the buckled metal of a nearby support pillar with a resounding THUNK!
"Redirecting!" Galit called, his voice clipped and focused. He braced, muscles straining against his lighter armor. The serpent's own momentum, channeled by the whip wrapped around the tentacle, was abruptly yanked sideways. Its lunge became an off-balance stumble, the massive head crashing into the pillar Galit had targeted, inches from where the second whip was anchored. Metal screamed as the pillar buckled further. The corrosive vapor cloud billowed harmlessly to the side, eating into the wall with a sickening hiss.
The serpent shrieked, a sound of pure, frustrated rage that echoed through the ruined chamber. Its glowing yellow eyes, wild and bloodshot, fixed on the tall warrior who had dared to divert its path. It thrashed, trying to free the tentacle Galit had anchored, tearing at the metal with its beak. Galit held firm, his long neck taut, his face a mask of intense concentration, the strain evident in the set of his jaw and the way his knuckles whitened on the whip handles. The fight had entered its decisive, brutal phase.
The serpent's shriek wasn't just sound; it was a physical blow, a pressure wave that slammed into them, thick with the stench of bile and decaying scales. Its massive head, momentarily stunned from crashing into the pillar Galit had anchored it to, whipped around, those galaxy-patterned eyes burning with ancient, corrupted rage – now solely fixed on the long-necked warrior who'd dared divert its charge.
Atlas saw the opening. Pain flared white-hot in his side where the venomous stinger had torn through fur and muscle, his blood a steady, warm drip onto the cold sludge. But the sight of the serpent's exposed flank, the chitinous plates near its third segment spider-webbed with cracks from his earlier blow, overrode the agony. Pride and battle-lust roared louder.
"MY TURN!" he bellowed, a feral grin splitting his muzzle. Blue Electro exploded around Thunderfang, the air crackling with static that made loose bolts vibrate on the floor. He ignored the protesting scream of his own muscles, channeling everything into one explosive burst. He wasn't dodging; he was launching himself, a rust-red comet trailing arcs of lightning, straight at the vulnerable segment Galit had identified.
The serpent sensed him. Too late. It tried to twist, to bring its armored back or lashing tail around, but Galit's anchored whip held the crucial tentacle fast, pinning its movement for a critical half-second.
CRUNCH-SHATTER!
Thunderfang, wreathed in furious blue energy, slammed into the cracked plating with the sound of a mountain splitting. Seastone core met corrupted chitin. Dark, viscous fluid, thick as tar and smelling like rancid copper and spoiled fruit, erupted from the point of impact. Not a spray, but a gush, splattering Atlas's fur, steaming where it hit the charged Electro around his weapon. A shard of yellow scale, larger than a shield, sheared off and clattered wetly to the floor.
The serpent's shriek this time was different – a raw, guttural sound of agony that scraped the nerves. It wasn't the roar of rage, but the cry of a wounded beast. Its colossal body convulsed, a seismic spasm that tore the anchored tentacle free from Galit's whip with a sickening riiiip of parting sinew. Galit staggered back, his long neck whipping to avoid the flailing limb.
Atlas landed hard, skidding through gore and chemical slush, Thunderfang sputtering. Triumph warred with the fresh wave of agony radiating from his side. He spat blood. "Told ya, ugly! Atlas finishes what he—"
The serpent moved. Not with another charge, but with terrifying, wounded speed. Its massive, bleeding flank scraped against the buckled pillar as it retreated, coiling backwards into the deeper shadows at the chamber's far end like a scaly tide pulling back. Its movements were jerky, pained, leaving a wide, glistening trail of that unnatural black blood smeared across the filthy floor and pooling around the discarded scale shard. The rhythmic THUMPs of its presence faded, replaced by a frantic, wet slithering, the sound of something vast and grievously hurt seeking the dark.
"Persistent and leaky," Galit observed drily, adjusting his cracked glasses, his Vipera Whips coiling back defensively. He tracked the smeared path of blood leading into the gloom. "Fluid viscosity suggests significant internal damage. Hemorrhaging likely."
Rayleigh lowered his sword slightly, his sharp eyes following the retreat. "Tough hide, tougher spirit. Wounded animals are the most dangerous kind, Doc," he added, glancing towards the shadows where Lysandra presumably watched through a monitor.
Marya didn't sheathe Eternal Eclipse. Her golden eyes, narrowed and intense, scanned the path of destruction and the trail of dark blood. The cold fury that had fueled her earlier Awakening was banked, replaced by a razor-sharp focus. The creature was hurt, yes, but far from finished. Its blood hissed faintly where it pooled, tiny tendrils of acrid smoke rising. She took a step forward, boots squelching in the muck beside the massive scale fragment.
Atlas tried to straighten, pushing through the pain. "Let it run! We'll finish it in its hole!" He took a step, then grunted, a hand instinctively clamping over the bleeding gash on his flank. The adrenaline surge was fading, leaving the venom's burn and the deep tear starkly evident. Dark red stained his fur, stark against the rust color, dripping steadily onto his boot.
"Atlas," Marya's voice cut through, flat but carrying. Her gaze flicked from the retreating shadows to him. "Your 'scratch'."
He waved a dismissive, blood-smeared hand. "Ain't nothin'! Just needs... tyin' off." But his breathing was ragged, sweat beading on his brow despite the chamber's chill.
Galit's long neck craned, his analytical gaze sweeping the wound. "Tissue damage consistent with a barbed projectile. Significant blood loss already. Continued exertion risks systemic shock." He stated it like a weather report, but the implication was clear.
Rayleigh sighed, a sound like stones grinding. "Wraps can wait, lad. First, we follow the paint job that monster left us." He nodded towards the glistening black trail leading deeper into the ruined lab. "Before it decides to lick its wounds and set another ambush. Marya?"
She was already moving, stepping carefully over frozen debris and around puddles of unknown fluids, her eyes fixed on the serpent's path. Eternal Eclipse glinted dully in the sputtering red light, a sliver of darkness ready to bite again. "It's heading towards the source of those tremors," she stated, her voice low. "The 'kennel' Lysandra mentioned. Let's end this before it finds a darker corner to die in." The trail of ancient, corrupted blood beckoned them deeper into the heart of Sigma-Null's nightmare.
The glistening trail of foul-smelling blood led them deeper into Sigma-Null's bowels, a macabre breadcrumb path through frozen horrors and chemical swamps. Marya moved with predatory silence, boots finding purchase on shattered ice and warped grating, her gaze locked on the dark smears vanishing around a bend. Eternal Eclipse was a cold weight in her hand, the Heart Pirate insignia on her leather jacket a stark contrast to the decaying nightmare around them.
Suddenly, the floor heaved. Not the distant THUMP they'd grown accustomed to, but a violent, grinding lurch that threw Atlas against a buckled cryo-tank with a pained grunt. Rust rained from the ceiling like metallic hail. Galit's long neck snapped upwards, analyzing the groaning superstructure. "Structural integrity compromised further. Seismic activity source: converging with the entity's trajectory."
From within the folds of Rayleigh's weathered coat, a frantic, tinny voice erupted: "Rayleigh! Report! Sensors are haywire! I don't have eyes on you! What's your status? Is the creature contained? Harlow's reporting tremors topside—"
Rayleigh didn't even look down. His scarred hand dipped into his pocket, found the squirming transponder snail, and with a decisive click, silenced its pleas. "That's enough of that," he murmured, his voice a low rumble beneath the settling groan of tortured metal.
A flicker of amusement touched Marya's lips, quickly replaced by sharp focus. Her head snapped upwards, golden eyes narrowing. High in the tangled rafters, amidst dripping pipes and sparking cables, a massive, serpentine shadow shifted. Scales scraped against corroded steel beams. "Looks like it went up," she stated flatly.
"Agreed," Rayleigh said, dusting rust flakes from his shoulder. He rolled his neck, the sound like pebbles in a sack.
"Let's bring this tedious mess to a close. Starting to lose interest."
Rayleigh chuckled, the sound warm despite the chill. "Getting bored already? Mihawk never did suffer fools… or tedious fights gladly."
Marya shot him a sideways glance, a faint crease forming between her brows. It was unnervingly close to something her father would say. "Since when are you an expert on his patience?" she retorted, her tone drier than the rust dust.
"Since I watched him wait three days for a vintage to breathe," Rayleigh grinned, stepping forward, his simple sword held loosely. "Speaking of, I think I owe you a drink after this. Let me guess… something sharp? Aged? Or perhaps that awful sweet rum the kids—"
"Don't start," Marya groaned, her focus returning to the shifting shadow above. The air grew thick with anticipation, the only sounds the drip… drip… of thawing fluids and the serpent's ragged, wet breathing from the darkness overhead.
It struck without warning. A blur of diseased yellow scales plummeted from the gloom, a falling mountain of fanged beak, lashing tentacles, and sheer, wounded fury. Its trajectory aimed straight for the center of their group, a final, desperate attempt to crush them.
Rayleigh didn't flinch. "Allow me," he said, almost casually. He raised his sword not for a thrust, but a simple, almost dismissive swing. It wasn't flashy. There was no grand wind-up, no named technique roared into the void. It was pure, distilled will given physical form. The air rippled visibly around the blade's path, a wave of invisible, crushing force radiating outwards like the shockwave of a silent bomb.
The falling serpent didn't just stop; it convulsed. Its agonized shriek choked off into a strangled gurgle. Scales cracked audibly under the unseen pressure. Its massive body writhed mid-air as if struck by an invisible giant's fist, its trajectory violently altered. It slammed sideways into a massive, already stressed support pillar with a sickening CRUNCH-THUD that echoed through the chamber.
The pillar, ancient metal already weakened by corrosion and battle, didn't just buckle. It shattered. Chunks of reinforced alloy the size of barrels sheared off, crashing to the floor in a cacophony. And from the gaping hole left in the ceiling, not light, but water began to pour. Not a trickle, but a torrential cascade, icy and shockingly cold, carrying the distinct, briny tang of the deep sea. It hammered down onto the shattered pillar and the momentarily stunned serpent, quickly forming a swirling pool on the lab floor.
Marya lifted a single, perfectly arched eyebrow at Rayleigh, water already plastering strands of her dark hair to her forehead. "Really?" Her voice was flat, dripping with sarcasm colder than the seawater. "Did you forget the minor detail that we are currently several fathoms underwater? In a brittle tin can?"
Rayleigh shrugged, watching the water surge with an expression of mild satisfaction, utterly unperturbed by the growing flood lapping at his boots. "Can't say I approve of the World Government conducting their unsavory little experiments right in my backyard, girl. Bad for property values." He gestured vaguely towards the groaning serpent, struggling to rise in the suddenly thigh-deep water, its movements sluggish, its alien eyes dimmed with pain and disorientation. "Finishing blow's yours. Consider it an apology for the impromptu bath."
Marya rolled her golden eyes. "Thanks, Gramps. Truly magnanimous. You should've let me have it before you decided to redecorate." Despite the sarcasm, a fierce focus settled over her. She didn't waste words. Water surged around her boots as she pushed forward, then exploded upwards in a powerful leap, enhanced by a burst of raw strength. Eternal Eclipse flashed in the sputtering emergency lights, the obsidian blade seeming to deepen the shadows around it as she arced towards the serpent's exposed, heaving flank. Her form was pure, lethal grace – a dark comet aimed at the heart of the nightmare.
Rayleigh watched her ascend, a genuine, if weary, smile touching his lips. "Show off," he muttered fondly under the roar of the falling water. "Just like her damn father."
Marya reached the apex of her leap, directly above the serpent's thrashing head. She drew Eternal Eclipse back, the blade humming with a silent, hungry anticipation. The corrupted yellow eye, wide with pain and ancient malice, seemed to lock onto hers. This was the end. She poured her focus, her will, into the downward strike that would cleave the monstrous head from its shoulders—
The world vanished.
Not faded. Not darkened.
Vanished.
One heartbeat, she was suspended in chaotic air, surrounded by the roar of water, the stench of blood and brine, the flickering red light glinting off her blade and the serpent's scales.
The next heartbeat… nothing.
No sound. No light. No cold water. No lab. No serpent. No Atlas grunting in pain, no Galit analyzing, no Rayleigh watching. Just an absolute, suffocating, infinite nothing. It wasn't darkness; it was the utter absence of everything. No up, no down. No sensation of her own body, her breath, the weight of the sword in her hand. Only a terrifying, all-consuming void that swallowed existence whole. The momentum of her strike, the certainty of the kill – it all dissolved into this terrifying, silent oblivion. The nightmare of Sigma-Null was abruptly replaced by a void deeper than the ocean above them.