Chapter 28
Rain and Fire Part 4
The ship was already receding from his view. Below him waited the infinite blackness of the ocean.
The officer didn't simply let himself fall. He twisted his body in mid-air, forcing a full rotation as the wind whipped him violently.
During the spin, he concentrated his energy. The green light crackled around his arms again, and in seconds the translucent gauntlets reformed, fitting from his hands to his elbows.
The geometric fragments assembled like pieces of living crystal, gleaming even against the ocean's blackness.
Completing the turn, he faced the void, now in free fall.
That's when he saw it.
His eyes widened, and for a moment, he almost forgot he was still falling.
It really looks like a nightmare… he thought, incredulous.
What unfolded before him was the very scene Laios's nephew had described: a blackened sea, furious waves constantly battering the ship's hull,
with dozens of four-limbed fish monsters. Piercing, tearing, or cutting the hull and forcing their way inside.
A vision that didn't belong to the real world, but to a delirium coming to life before his eyes.
His heart hammered against his chest with fury, as if wanting to warn him that this shouldn't exist. And yet, there it was.
His expression cracked at such a cruel joke.
The officer turned his gaze to the ship's hull and stretched out his left arm mid-fall, seeking the ship's side.
KRANG!
The tips of the gauntlet's fingers dug into the metal hull with a sharp sound that vibrated through his bones. The momentum of the fall dragged him with such force that the energy-claws didn't sink in immediately, but ripped through the steel like blades.
The metallic screech extended along the hull as he descended, leaving behind an irregular groove, green sparks, and fragments of iron tearing away into the void.
The pain in his shoulder was immediate, as if his arm were being ripped from the socket, but he didn't let go. He gritted his teeth and kept tearing into the ship with every meter.
The friction slowed him little by little. At first he barely noticed, the air still roaring in his ears, but as the gauntlet bit deeper, the speed began to decrease.
Every second was a precarious balance between breaking the hull and saving his own life.
---
As he continued descending, the gauntlet tearing metal and reducing his speed, something moved below.
His eyes caught it between sparks and steam: a four-limbed sea monster, identical to the dozens forcing their way into the ship, was lodged against the hull. Its open maw crushed the steel like wet bark, tearing pieces from the ship to force its way inside.
The officer's expression changed instantly. Bewilderment and tension hardened into a grimace of decision.
He twisted his arm and body until he braced his legs against the hull, using the friction as support, and stomped sharply against the metal surface. The kick propelled him just enough to free the gauntlet's fingers, which screeched as they detached from the wall like ripped hooks.
For a second, he was in free fall again.
But this time with a clear direction.
His right arm contracted backward, aligning the gauntlet like a spear. The green geometry crackled with a lethal gleam, condensing force at the sharp tip.
His eyes didn't leave the monster. He fell straight toward it.
KRSHHT!
The officer's arm descended like a lance, and the geometric tip of the gauntlet pierced clean through the fish monster's head. The skull split with a wet crunch, flesh tearing around the green energy as a dark jet sprayed into the air.
The creature's body shuddered, still clinging to the hull by pure inertia. The officer didn't waste an instant: he planted both boots on the being's skull, using it as a platform.
He drew air in one inhalation and extended his legs with force.
The weight of the blow was definitive. The monster lost its grip on the hull and detached, releasing with a choked roar.
The officer, in contrast, used that same impulse to propel himself slightly upward, separating from the creature.
He pushed it downward violently, hurling it into the raging ocean roaring below like an infinite chasm.
It even hit a couple of others as it fell, dragging them into the ocean too.
SPLASHH!
The water closed over the beasts instantly, but not before being stained dark red. Blood gushed from the pierced head wound of the first, spreading in swirls among the waves.
The officer floated for a second in the air, still breathing raggedly, his bloodied arm extended.
The officer didn't let the fall drag him down.
In a slight twist, he extended his left arm and, with a shoulder turn, drove the gauntlet's fingers back into the hull.
KRANG!
The metal yielded with a sharp screech, sending sparks into the air as the green energy bit into the steel.
With a firm grip, he moved his legs with precision.
He placed his boots with extreme care on the irregular edge left by the monster when it tore the hull moments before.
Each step was a dangerous balance. The surface was twisted, cut to shreds as if scratched by colossal claws, but he used them as improvised steps. Storm water ran down the metal walls, slippery.
The officer adjusted his posture, tensed the muscles in his legs and the arm holding him, and held on. Now he was attached to the hull again, hanging mid-abyss, but with much firmer control than in his first fall.
The officer didn't waste time.
The green light crackled again, sheathing his right arm as well until it transformed into another solid, geometric gauntlet. With both arms armed, he crouched as best he could in the confined space, his body wedged against the hull.
He braced the right gauntlet against one of the irregular edges of the gash. The metal was twisted, with sharp fragments like blades, but the green energy cushioned the risk. Even so, every movement had to be calculated: one mistake, and the edges themselves could slice his skin under the armor.
He gritted his teeth and pushed.
GRRRK—KRANG!
The hull groaned under the pressure, resisting at first, until it finally yielded with a metallic clamor. The plates bent outward, widening the newly opened hole. Twisted fragments broke off, bouncing and getting lost in the sea.
He wasn't satisfied with that. He used the same gauntlet to twist the sharper sections of the edge, bending them inward and outward until they were no longer threatening blades.
The result was a wider access point, and above all, safer for him.
The hot air escaping from the interior hit him immediately.
The hole was wide enough now.
When the hole was sufficiently wide, the officer leaned over it. He firmly drove the right gauntlet into the twisted metal, securing his weight.
Then he released the left and, with a calculated movement, crouched further to fit his body into the opening.
First he put one leg in, feeling with his boot in the dark interior. The metal scraped under the sole, and after ensuring his footing, he slid the second leg in. He ended up sitting on the edge, hanging over the void opening inside the hull.
The heat emanating from the interior hit him with force. So warm it felt strange.
Around him, the storm roared, but inside everything was a heavy silence.
He clenched his jaw. He finally released the right hand's grip, leaving the hull behind, and let himself fall into the interior.
---
[In a hallway on an unknown floor]
The officer landed with a dry thud. Bending both knees, he cushioned the fall until he was almost kneeling. The impact shot through his legs like a whip, but he resisted, letting out only a contained grunt.
Then he let himself fall sideways, sitting fully on the wooden floor. His body felt heavy as lead, his muscles still trembling from the effort and accumulated blows.
He leaned his back against the wall, letting the cold, damp surface support him for a moment. The wood creaked under his weight, saturated with the smell of smoke and salt. The air here was different.
Warm but with a slight nauseating odor coming from the hallways, but without the storm's roar. Except for what entered through the hole.
For the first time in a long while, he was under a roof… albeit in an unknown part of the ship.
The hallway's silence surrounded him, broken only by his rough breathing.
"Haaahhh…" he exhaled forcefully, releasing the air he'd held for too long. His head fell back and gently hit the wall, resting there.
The cold contact of the wood kept him conscious, reminding him he was still alive.
Then he noticed it: the dripping.
Through the hole he had just opened, rainwater entered in thin streams that slid to the floor, forming small puddles slowly spreading down the hallway. The drops fell with an irregular rhythm, mixing with the smell of dampness.
The officer closed his eyes for a second, letting that sound envelop him, before opening them again with his jaw clenched.
---
He lowered his head, still breathing roughly, and then he saw it: a closed door, intact, in the middle of the blackened hallway. In front of him.
The officer braced a hand against the floor to get up. His muscles protested, but he managed to rise gradually until he stood upright. The echo of drops falling through the hole accompanied his every movement.
He advanced with firm steps toward the door. Despite the wear, his silhouette remained straight, the green gauntlets dissolving in the air.
Once before it, he extended his right hand and took the cold handle. He turned it decisively and pulled toward himself.
Nothing.
The door didn't budge.
He frowned, this time pushing forward with force, his shoulder following the movement.
Again, nothing.
The wood didn't creak, didn't yield. As if sealed from within.
The officer stepped back, his gaze fixed on that intact surface that seemed to mock him.
The officer released the handle with a sharp gesture. His tired gaze hardened.
Calmly, he opened his shirt just enough to reach the object hidden against his torso. His fingers brushed the hard, cold surface of the black claw, still imbued with the viscous trace of the monster he had torn it from. He extracted it with an agile, silent movement.
Without wasting time, he raised it and directed it toward the lock.
CLANG!
The edge pierced the metal easily, splitting the internal mechanism like warm butter. The vibration ran through the entire door, and the metallic echo resonated down the hallway.
Then, with a slow, controlled push, he forced the door open. The wood complained with a low creak as it yielded, revealing the interior gloom.
He entered step by step, the claw ready in his hand, and the first thing he saw bewildered him:
A disordered room. Several high bunk beds, three beds each, occupied the space like a forest of twisted wood. Overturned mattresses, torn sheets, and objects scattered across the floor painted a scene of abandonment and haste.
The officer advanced into the interior with heavy steps, each one marked by the hollow echo of the wooden floor. His breathing was deep, irregular, his body demanding a respite after so much strain.
Reaching the space between the bunks, he stopped.
With a slow gesture, he began to remove his uniform. The fabric was soaked, charred in several places and torn in others. As he tugged, the material crackled, sticky with sweat and dried blood. Finally, he let it go and dropped it to the floor, where it landed with a wet thud.
Then, without hesitation, he did the same with the shirt he still wore underneath. The garment, wet and blackened by smoke, slid from his torso to fall beside the uniform.
The warm air of the interior hit his bare skin. On his body, the marks of combat were drawn: superficial cuts, reddish burns, and bruises beginning to spread under the skin.
For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to feel the real weight of each wound.
After stripping off the shredded clothing, the officer bent toward a mattress lying discarded on the floor, to the side of an overturned bunk.
He lifted it with both hands. The weight was uneven: soaked, dirty, with dark stains indistinguishable between blood or old moisture.
With a brusque gesture, he beat it with his left hand, again and again, trying to shake off the grime. But the mattress barely responded: the rancid smell persisted, and the stains didn't disappear.
The officer frowned, snorting. Cleaning it wasn't going to be possible.
So he changed plans.
He grabbed the sheet and pulled the mattress forcefully, ripping off the wet, tangled sheet until it was completely bare, exposed in its damp foam.
Then he carried it a few more steps and let it drop into the lower bunk space of one of the still-sturdy bunks.
The impact resonated with a dry "thump," wedging it into its improvised place.
He repeated the same process with a pillow lying discarded a couple of meters away, dragged into the midst of the disorder. He picked it up with a tired movement, shook off the worst of the moisture and grime,
then let it fall onto the bare mattress he had just prepared.
The improvised resting place now had shape. It was nothing more than battered remnants, but in that instant, amid such disaster, it seemed a luxury.
The officer stood for a moment before it, breathing heavily. Then he raised his right hand and wiped it across his face, dragging away the warm water cooling on his skin, still streaming from the storm.
The gesture continued to his head, pushing back soaked strands stuck to his forehead and temples. He took the opportunity to fix his hair as best he could, a reflexive act that seemed as banal as it was necessary.
Once beside the bunk, the officer turned and let himself drop sitting onto the lower bed. The damp mattress creaked under his weight, and for an instant he felt the relief of no longer carrying his whole body.
He extended his left hand toward the pillow. He took it calmly, lifting it a few centimeters. With his other hand, he arranged the black claw, sliding it underneath as if hiding a treasure… or an insurance policy.
Then he released the pillow on top, completely hiding the gleaming edge under the damp fabric.
Thus, it was within arm's reach if needed. And anyone bursting in wouldn't suspect he had it there.
The officer exhaled slowly, letting the weight of precaution mix with the fatigue sinking into him.
He let himself fall sideways onto the improvised bed, sinking into the damp mattress. His whole body loosened upon contact, as if finally accepting the right to yield.
Bairon's face was exhausted, marked by dried tears, sweat, and ash stuck to his skin. He almost seemed extinguished, erased by the weight of all he'd lived through… were it not for the slight movement of his chest still there.
Rising and falling.
Breathing.
A slow, rough, but constant rhythm, keeping alive the only proof he was still alive.
In that gloom laden with smoke and silence, the fragile line between rest and collapse enveloped him completely.
"Wasn't it supposed to be a calm voyage?" whispered Bairon, his voice barely a thread lost in the gloom. "Right… Laios… Hanz… Körper?"
The name of each companion came out haltingly, laden with a weariness heavier than his wounds.
His eyelids trembled for an instant before yielding. And, finally, he closed his eyes.
His body relaxed on the bare mattress, and for the first time since he had set foot on the ship, he slept.
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[End of the 1st day of the voyage]
[Approximately 120 hours remaining]