When the pillars of the house are broken, the roof does not just fall; it screams.
"Tantei!" Kanka's voice was a jagged-raw-shriek from the top of the palisade.
Below, the Bati's advance was a rhythmic, inevitable Thud—Thud—Thud, the earth groaning under their heavy, disciplined weight.
"Boy!! Wait till your father finds out," the lead Bati bellowed, his voice a volcanic-snarl. "If you climb, the next hit won't miss!!"
Tantei looked up, his face a mask of shattered-conviction. "Kanka, go!! It's over for me. Take Tolu and the rest and escape! Go!!"
From the other side of the moon-bleached wall, Tolu's voice was a distant-panicked-cry: "WHAT'S HAPPENING? Tantei, just climb over before they catch you!"
Kanka slammed his fist against the bamboo—a hollow-drum-crack of frustration. "Shit! I'm not leaving you here. I'm not."
"KANKA!" Tantei yelled, his voice cracking.
The Bati closed the distance with clinical-speed.
Tantei felt the air displace behind him—a heavy, predatory rush. Instinct took over. Without looking, he threw his entire weight into a full-arc back-swing, his hand cutting the air with a desperate whiff-snap.
With a viscous thwut, the Bati's lead foot broke free from the mud, and he glided backward with a fluid, efficient spring, the strike missing by a fraction of an inch, eyes locking on Tantei.
Tantei was over-extended, his balance fractured, his footing a —flat, hollow whap—
The lead Bati, standing directly in his line of sight, his palm connected, breathing a low-frequency hnnn-ut or a jagged khhh-t.
CRACK-SLAP.
The blow was a White-Hot-Burst across Tantei's jaw, flesh against flesh that echoed through the courtyard.
Tantei's footing, already clawing for purchase, gave out with a wet, straining shrr-t, as his jaw was driven backward.
His head snapped back, his vision blooming into a static-grey-void.
"Tantei!!" Kanka's scream was the only thing left in the air.
A thin, cold wind climbed the headland, carrying the copper-sting of opened veins and the sour, heavy reek of churned silt. For a breath, the world held its noise, torches guttered with a low wuff, and the distant surf collapsed with a heavy, subterranean boom.
Far out where the foam broke, a lone Drua whispered through the dark. It was a serrated-silhouette cutting toward the headland, its twin hulls carving the brine with a sibilant, high-velocity hiss.
On the western shoreline, the air tasted sharply of salt and wet coral, the sea gleamed like polished obsidian under the moon.
Konto sat low, his shoulder wedged against the Uli's massive ironwood shaft, his spine absorbing the constant, high-pitched singing of the taut lines against the wooden hull.
His hands, calloused and quick, worked the sheets tight. The heavy sail-cloth caught a rising breeze with a flat, authoritative thwack before settling into a steady, vibrating vrrr-hiss.
The sennit lashings groaned—a dry, rhythmic skree-clck—as the boat heaved.
His eyes tracked the clustered trees on the shore, their leaves moving with a liquid, sweeping swoosh.
—Look at me, steering a wide Drua all by myself. Could it get anymore ridiculous? No, I guess not.—
His gaze returned to the water, which produced a constant hiss-slap against the hull.
—I really hold my breath, hoping they are okay out there. The Bati aren't to be taken lightly. The last thing I want is to see my brothers bruised and broken, handed over to my father. The thought alone. I just can't bear it. But no, I refuse to believe that. They will make it. They are smart enough to know how to avoid danger and act accordingly.—
A soft grin tugged at Konto's lips, a brief flash of warmth against the Bitten-Brine cold of the night.
—Two of my brothers are hunters for a living for crying out loud, while one of them is a brilliant soldier. I'm sure they will make it out no problem. I don't have to be afraid. I never have to be a—
A loud, confused voice. "Hey, Konto!"
Konto's smile faded when he turned his gaze to the shore in a low shock —huh?—
A villager with closely cropped hair and the sturdy, mud-dusted frame of a field-hand stepped into the light. He waved both hands in a casual, What's up? gesture that felt like a jagged-rip in Konto's concentration.
"Is that you?!" Sitiveni called, his wide, sun-darkened face splitting into a look of mounting realization.
He walked several paces forward, his stumpy toes splaying in the wet sand. His eyes, bright and unnervingly sharp under a heavy brow, locked onto the Drua.
Konto snapped his head back toward the sea, his jaw clenched, his dark brown irises glinted widly in the dim, orange hue. His heart hammering against his ribs. "Oh shit." he cussed under his breath.
"Don't look. Don't look. He didn't see you."
Konto looked at the cina jammed into the deckwood beside him. It was a jagged bundle of coconut fronds, the edges glowing a charred-crimson as the fire chewed through the fiber.
The flame didn't just burn, it spat. A gout of orange sparks danced in the wind, trailing behind the Drua like a Fire-Tail. The light washed over the deck, turning the polished wood into a honey-colored target and casting Konto's own shadow—long, frantic, and obvious—straight onto the obsidian water for the world to see.
—I forgot to turn off the lights! Oh no. I screwed the mission. The others will never forgive me—
The man, now stood at the water's edge. "What the?," he only watched the boat sailed steadily away, his face narrowed with mounted confusion and a prickle of alarm.
—What is going on with the guy? In the middle of the night on a vessel? Something's fishy. I got to warn his dad—
The young man glanced back at the retreating Drua one last time, his eyes wide with the Terror of Information. He turned and broke into a sprint, his first steps a messy, liquid fllp-shuck as he fought the suction of the silt.
At the village green by the Chief's Vesi ironwood door, the young man arrived with a desperate, drum-like rhythm—a series of heavy, wet thwaps.
The door of the Chief's bure took the force of three fingers hammered like a war-drum, a sharp, jarring hwack—hwack—hwack—Against the ironwood. "Chief!"
A sound, bare feet made a deep, rhythmic thud-thud-thud against the packed earth floor as he moved toward the entrance. "I'm coming." his voice, deep and stern, rolling through the hut.
"Chief Vakatele!" The man ignored the response, knocking several more times with frantic urgency: Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Vakatale's voice instantly grew sharp and annoyed, laced with the deep bass of his rising anger. "I said I'm coming!"
He seized the Katuba—a heavy lattice of smoke-darkened reeds bound in ironwood. Instead of a swing, there was a violent, rhythmic grrr-thud as he shoved the massive panel aside along its floor-groove.
The friction of wood-on-wood sent a dry, skeletal rattle through the structure.
A cloud of stale, warm air carried the faint, woody scent of pandanus matting and the Chief's own personal fragrance of coconut oil and hearth ash. He was dressed only in a heavy, pristine white sulu, and a necklace of polished whale teeth.
He loomed in the opening, his silhouette framed by the jagged-edged thatch of the doorway
He glared at the man, his eyes flashing. "Sitiveni, don't you have any manners?"
Sitiveni's breath was ragged and sharp. "Sorry, Chief, but Konto's acting strange. I saw him sailing away on a Drua. I called him, but he ignored me." He extended a rigid finger high toward the western direction and the open sea.
Vakatele yelled sharply. " he did what?!"
His roar carried through the bure walls, loud enough that even the unseen dogs outside stirred with a sharp, staccato
—yip-yip-yip—
Back on the headland, the Whisper-Raid disintegrated. The silence was replaced by a chorus of ragged, airless grunts and the rhythmic slap of feet fighting for purchase in the heavy, black mud.
The Second Bati roared, a sound like grinding boulders.
As Kanka charged, the guard didn't even lift his weapon, he simply stepped into the boy's momentum.
He delivered a massive, effortless shove with palms as hard as reef-coral.
Kanka's breath left him in a jagged 'Oof-vukk!' as he was launched backward. He hit the wet earth with a long, liquid shrr-shrk!
Near the wall, the Lead Bati had Tantei pinned.
The dirty ironwood shaft of his Gata was jammed across Tantei's throat, pressing him into the bamboo palisade.
The structure emitted a strained, rhythmic creak-snap under the combined weight.
The Bati's face was a predatory snarl, his Obsidian Orbits inches from Tantei's eyes.
Tantei's vision blurred. His lungs burned with a starved, wheezing hnnn-hnnn. With a burst of desperate " Adrenaline-Spike, he freed one arm and threw a full, risky swing.
—BAM—
His knuckles connected with the Bati's cheekbone—a sharp, meaty thud-crack.
The soldier's head snapped to the side, his Wire-Brush beard spraying a fine mist of sweat and grit.
The Bati stumbled, his feet making a gritty skritch-thump on the firmer ground, but he didn't fall. He recovered with mechanical-speed.
Before Tantei could chamber another strike, the Bati's fist came back—a short-arc, high-velocity piston.
—WHWACK—
It caught Tantei flush on the jaw. Tantei tried to counter with his left, but his arm was swatted aside with a dead-weight block.
The Bati stepped in closer, and drove his skull back into the palisade.
—CRUNCH-THWACK—
The back of Tantei's head hit the bamboo with a hollow, concussive boom.
Tolu hit on the wall, her voice cracking. "No, no, no!! Leave them alone, you absolute pricks!"
Before Tantei could slide down, the Bati drove a heavy, mud-caked knee upward into his floating ribs.
—KRICK-OOF—
The sound was a wet, internal crunch.
Tantei's diaphragm seized, his breath escaping in a high-pitched, broken whistle.
The Bati released him with a final, dismissive shove,
and Tantei collapsed into the dirt, a soft, wet shush. He instinctively covered his forehead, groaning low and gutturally, swinging his upper body left and right on the ground.
The air on the headland turned thick with the sharp, copper tang of blood and the sour stink of churned mud.
The first Bati looked down at the red line on his chest. His face twisted, jaw locking into a bone-hard knot. He raised his club for a final, crushing blow. "ARGH!"
A scream dropped from the sky. "Hey!!"
The guard looked up, his eyes flashing with a deadly, dark glint.
A sharp whistling whoosh cut the air. In a heartbeat, an obsidian-tipped spear buried itself in the Bati's neck. It sank deep with a wet, sliced Tssk.
The guard staggered, his heavy club falling with a dead, wooden thud. Dark blood gushed from his mouth, making a drowning, bubbly gurgle as his massive frame hit the silt. —WHUMP—
Tambo landed hard on the slick earth, his feet hitting with a heavy, liquid slap.
The lead guard closed the distance, his voice a rough, gravelly growl. "You crazy fucks!!" He swung his Gata club in a wide, air-tearing arc.
Tambo threw his body into the man, grabbing the weapon. The ironwood spur ripped across his upper arm—a white-hot, jagged sting that opened a deep, red furrow.
The Bati let the club fall and lunged. He drove his fists into Tambo's face.
—SLAM—SLAM—
Tambo's breath left him in a starved wheeze. The punches were heavy, solid cracks that made his vision splinter into shaking grey spots.
The Lead Bati's face didn't just change, it emptied.
The skin over his skull pulled tight, turning into a dry, grey parchment that looked a thousand years old.
His brow became a heavy shelf of shadow, hiding his eyes until they were nothing but two bottomless, black holes. There was no light left in them, only a fixed, glassy stare that looked straight through Tambo's soul.
His jaw didn't move like a living man's. It hung in a wide, frozen square, his beard matted with a thick, white foam. He looked less like a soldier and more like a hollow mask possessed by a cold wind.
When he spoke, the sound didn't come from his mouth. It crawled up from the deep, dark hollow of his chest. It was a heavy, distorted rumble—a sound like crushing stones mixed with a high, thin whistle.
"What did you do?! Have some fucking manners, you demon?! The spirits won't claim you. Your ancestors will never claim you, boy!!"
The words hit the air with a pressurized hiss, each one ending in a sharp, bone-dry click.
The blows kept coming—fast, rhythmic
thuds against bone and skin.
Tambo curled into a ball, his hands shaking as he covered his head, his chest pulling air in jagged, broken hitches.
He let out a primal roar from the dirt. He lunged for the guard's throat, but the Bati smashed his head back down into the mud. —THWACK— A strangled 'Ghk!' tore from Tambo's throat, the sound ending in a wet, muddy bubble as his jaw buried into the silt.
As he screamed the name of the Death-God, his voice changed.
It became a Deep-Slit-Shudder that vibrated in Tambo's very bones.
It was a wet, jagged roar, ancient and hungry, as if the ground itself was opening up to swallow the headland.
"Lothia will sear your soul through burned coral!! Your life is mine!!"
Tambo was no longer a fighter; he was a frantic, shivering architecture of bone and bruised meat.
As the Bati's fists descended—heavy, high-velocity pistons of reef-hardened muscle—Tambo's world narrowed to the space between his forearms.
—SLAM—WHWACK—SLAM—
The blows didn't just land, they collided.
His face was in constant, violent motion, snapping left, then right, then downward as he tried to roll with the kinetic shock.