Riku barely had time to brace himself before the sea struck like a beast unleashed. The boat lurched sideways, wood groaning under the violent pressure. Saltwater slammed into his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs as he clung desperately to a rope. The world twisted—sky, sea, deck—spinning in a dizzying blur.
Below him, the abyss boiled.
The single glowing eye beneath the waves widened, its pale light cutting through the darkness like a beacon of dread. The water around the trench surged upward in massive spirals, pulled by the awakening force below.
The Umibōzu roared—a deep, cracking sound that echoed across miles of ocean. Riku had never heard anything so full of terror and defiance at once. The guardian slammed its bulk into the waves, trying to push the rising water back, trying to hold whatever was coming.
But the sea was no longer listening.
Riku stumbled to the wheel, forcing it straight as the boat drifted toward the forming vortex. The water beneath him churned like a colossal mouth opening.
"Move… move!" he gasped, slamming the throttle.
The engine struggled but caught. The boat shot forward just as a massive surge burst from behind, lifting the stern and threatening to flip the vessel entirely. Riku held the wheel with everything he had, teeth gritted, heart pounding madness into his ribs.
As he broke free from the vortex's pull, he dared a glance back.
The Umibōzu hovered over the trench, arms spread wide, body glowing faintly with a ghostly blue shimmer—as if using every ounce of its strength to contain the thing below.
The deep eye closed.
The sea went unnaturally still.
Then a sound rumbled from the trench—a deep, resonant hum that vibrated through Riku's bones.
The hum became a pulse.
The pulse became a shockwave.
The shockwave erupted through the ocean.
A towering wall of water shot outward in all directions, rippling like a liquid earthquake. The wave raced ahead of Riku's boat, surging toward the distant shoreline.
Toward Aomori Village.
Riku's breath froze. "No… no, no, no!"
He grabbed the radio, fingers trembling.
"This is Riku Takeda! A massive wave is heading toward the coast! Evacuate! I repeat—EVACUATE NOW!"
Static.
Then a broken reply:"—Riku? The sea—it's rising—people are—"
The transmission cut off.
Riku pushed the engine for all it had, the boat slicing through the dark water in a desperate chase. But he knew the truth:
He couldn't outrun a wave created by something ancient enough to breathe with the tides.
Lightning flickered across the horizon—not from the sky, but from the water itself, where blue-white arcs danced across the surface like veins awakening.
The Umibōzu turned toward him.
Its voice echoed in his mind—strained, urgent, almost pleading.
"Do not return to the shore."
Riku stared in disbelief. "But the village—there are families, children—"
"You cannot save them from what wakes."
The glow around the Umibōzu flickered. Cracks formed along its massive form—as though its body was fracturing under unimaginable pressure.
A guardian breaking.
Something deep inside Riku snapped.
"No," he whispered, gripping the wheel. "I'm not leaving them."
He shoved the throttle forward, driving straight toward the rising wall of water, toward the doomed shore.
Behind him, the abyss trembled again.
A second eye opened.
Enormous. Ancient.And hungry.
The sea split open in a rush of black water as something titanic shifted beneath, rising slowly—like an island waking from a dream.
Riku didn't look back.
He couldn't.
He could only race the wave.
Race fate.
Race the awakening of a deity that the Umibōzu itself was terrified of.
And as the monstrous eye watched him flee, a whisper rode the wind—so faint, so ancient, it didn't feel like a voice at all:
"The balance has broken."