It was bigger than they'd imagined.
Bigger than anything they'd ever seen.
The creature rose from the water like a mountain deciding to move. Like the ocean itself was giving birth to something that should never have existed.
Water cascaded from its form in waterfalls, in rivers, in floods that sent waves crashing against the ships.
Tentacles—if they could be called that—spread in every direction. Each one was longer than the ships that had come to fight it. Thicker than buildings. Darker than nightmares. They moved with a terrible purpose, coiling and uncoiling in patterns that hurt to watch.
It has two heads.
Both of them were turning, scanning, looking at the tiny ships that dared approach.
And the horns, Its everywhere. Not just on the heads—on the arms, the body, the tentacles. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands.
A forest of twisted bone covering every surface, each one sharp enough to pierce steel, hard enough to survive anything the humans could throw at it.
And the size.
Over a kilometer long.
This is what they came to fight.
This is what they're supposed to stop.
Soldiers gathered weapons. Checked blades. Loaded cannons. Ran through drills they'd practiced a hundred times, movements automatic, muscle memory taking over where conscious thought failed.
But their faces said what their mouths didn't.
" We can't win this "
" We're going to die "
" This is the end "
"Are you afraid?"
Namaska's voice cut through the storm—soft, quiet, but everyone heard it.
It carried on the wind like it belonged there, like the storm itself paused to listen.
No one answered at first.
"But I am."
He let the word hang.
He let them feel it.
"Fear is fuel. It reminds you what you're fighting for."
He pointed at the creature.
"Look at that thing.... It wants to destroy your home. Your cities. Everyone you love. Everyone who's ever smiled at you. Everyone who's ever needed you. Everyone who's ever depended on you to keep them safe."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"Now ask yourselves—did you really come here to lose?"
A soldier stammered. Young. Scared. The name was Viktor, and he'd been crying before the creature appeared, though he'd hidden it well.
"B-but Captain! Our swords are like toothpicks to that thing! We can't even reach it! How are we supposed to—"
Namaska smiled.
Slow. Grim. Knowing.
"Fools. Did you think we came here to swordfight it to death?"
He turned.
"Ready the Azinthenium Resonance Cannons! Target the primary head!"
His voice rose.
"And, FIRE EVERYTHING"
Chaos erupted.
Soldiers running. Cannons aiming.
The air filling with the sound of metal and machinery and desperate hope.
Orders shouted and acknowledged. Feet pounding on decks. Weapons powering up, charging, preparing to unleash everything they had.
Namaska drew his swords.
Both of them are made of Theridiam. The same material that cut through Dumans like butter, that had saved his life more times than he could count.
They felt light in his hands—lighter than they should have, lighter than any normal blade had a right to be.
The creature moved.
One arm waved—casual, like swatting a fly. Like the thousands of lives below it were nothing more than an annoyance.
Thousands of horn-like projectiles shot toward the ships. Faster than anything should move. Faster than sound. Faster than thought.
Namaska moved faster.
He was not a blur. Not A shadow. A man who shouldn't be able to move that way, doing exactly that.
His feet carried him across the deck in instants, his swords already swinging, already cutting.
Teleportation.
That's what it looked like. One moment here, next moment there, swords already through another horn, already moving to the next.
His blades sang through the air, cutting horn after horn before they could hit his people.
Each impact sent shockwaves through his arms, through his body, but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop.
"Fools!" he shouted, still cutting. "Activate the cannons NOW!"
The soldiers moved.
Scared, but moving. Terrified, but acting. Cutting horns that came too close, getting injured when they couldn't dodge fast enough.
Blood sprayed across decks. Screams filled the air.
The horns are cutting through Niclomentas.
But they didn't stop.
Never stopped.
Viktor took a horn to the shoulder—spun, fell, was up again in seconds, sword still swinging.
A woman named Sara lost three fingers on her left hand and kept fighting with her right.
A man named Chen took a horn through the leg and kept crawling toward the cannon controls, dragging himself across the blood-slick deck.
In the chaos, they activated the cannons.
Multiple shots fired.
It was brilliant light. Thunderous sound.
The cannons unleashed everything they had.
Probably these energy weapons designed specifically for this moment, for this creature, for this fight.
Some shots hit. Exploded against the creature's hide in bursts of fire and light.
Some missed. Vanished into the bottomless sea.
Some struck and did... nothing.
The creature didn't even bleed.
Didn't even flinch.
But it stopped moving its arms.
Just for a moment.
Just long enough.
To feel them their worthlessness.
James stared at the creature. At the cannons that had done nothing. At the soldiers bleeding and dying around him.
"I see , so even that doesn't make any difference" , James muttered to himself," —this feels like a suicide now "
Panting. Injured.
He looked at Namaska.
"Captain!"
His voice cracked.
"You knew this would happen? You knew this would fail?—And you still—told us to come? To die?"
Namaska stopped moving.
He turned.
Looked at James with something like pity. Like love. Like understanding that went deeper than words could reach.
"We know we can't defeat it." His voice was slow. Heavy. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion. "None of us in this world can."
He paused.
"Except him."
James's face twisted. Anger and despair and desperate hope fighting for control.
"Oh come on, Captain...are you talking about Nams—your son? You just sent him to another dimension because you didn't wanted to let him die...",James yelled in frustration, then he slowed down, "probably he's the one who could have saved us..."
Namaska nodded.
"You're right. No father wants to see their child die before them."
He looked at the creature.
At the death that was coming for them all.
"Now do you....you don't want to see your family dies infront your eyes...don't you?...", Namaska muttered.
James didn't answer.
Couldn't answer.
"Then come with me."
"Give me your hand in this Last Dance."
He smiled. The smile only he can see or the person who giving him their full attention like there's nothing exists beside it.
And James saw it.
"And no I'm not talking about Nams here"
He clenched his blades tighter,
"So don't die before—he come"
The creature roared.
Not a sound. A force. A pressure wave that sent men flying, that cracked decks, that turned the air solid for three heartbeats.
Arms waving. Horns flying. Faster than before. Faster than anything.
Namaska blocked what he could.
Moved where he could.
Cut what he could.
But there were too many.
Even calling it infinite would be less wrong then calling it countable.
Soldiers fell.
One by one. Dozens. Then more.
Viktor fell—a horn through his chest, his young face surprised, then empty.
Sara fell—three horns, one after another, her body crumpling like paper.
Chen fell—still crawling toward the controls, still reaching, still trying.
Derrick fell—Having something like documents in his hands.
James fell.
Namaska saw it happen. Saw the horn pierce his chest. Saw his eyes go wide, then soft, then empty.
Saw the young man who'd asked about his son, who'd trained with him, who had a family waiting for him—saw him fall and not get up.
But he heard it too.
His last words.
"Go, Captain... I'm with you..."
Everything went silent.
The roars. The screams. The waves. The wind.
Just silence.
And in that silence, something rose in Namaska's chest.
Something he hadn't felt in years.
Defiance.
Pure. Unfiltered. Absolute.
"Thank you, For coming with me"
Then he jumped.
Not onto the deck. Not onto another ship. Not onto anything that could've made sense.
Onto the water.
His feet touched the surface and pushed off again—too fast to sink, too fast to fall, too fast for physics to catch up.
Each step a heartbeat.
Each heartbeat a step.
Running on the ocean.
Toward the Leviathan.
His soldiers watched him go. The ones still alive. The ones still fighting. They saw their captain—a man in his forties, a man who should have been behind them, directing them, staying safe—running across the water toward certain death.
And they kept fighting.
Because if he could do that, what excuse did they have?
He reached near the creatures near blink of eyes.
His swords swung.
It's tentacles fell.
Yellow blood sprayed.
And grew back.
The wounds closed almost instantly, flesh knitting together, new tentacles sprouting from the stumps.
He cut again. They grew again.
The creature's horns came faster now—like it sensed something.
Like it knew this tiny thing running toward it was more dangerous than it looked. Like it recognized a threat when it saw one.
Namaska dodged. Weaved. Moved in ways that shouldn't be possible. His body bent and twisted and flowed like water, like smoke, like something that had forgotten it was supposed to be solid.
Namaska feels like he's dead because his eyes aren't blinking for once.
His eyes found the creature's.
Dark red and yellow. Ancient. Hungry. And now—something else.
Recognition.
"It sees me"
"It knows me"
"Good"
"Let it know"
"Let it remember the man who made it bleed"
He ran up its arm.
The surface was rough, barnacled, covered in things that might have been parasites or might have been part of it.
His feet found purchase where they shouldn't have. His body moved where it shouldn't have been able to.
The creature's arms reached for him—dozens of them, hundreds, a forest of grasping limbs.
He dodged them all.
Jumped from one to another. Used its own body as a path. Moved faster than it could follow, faster than it could predict, faster than anything its size should have been able to track.
Toward the eye.
He jumped.
Sword raised.
All his years of fighting. All his training. All his losses. All his grief. All his love for his family he might never see again.
Channeled into one moment.
One swing.
"TAKE THISSSSSSSSS!"
The blade connected.
And the world ended.
Not literally. But for that instant, for that single heartbeat, the blade touched something it shouldn't have. Air. Water. Sky. Everything the sword touched—vanished. Turned to nothing. Like it's ceased to exist.
And the creature screamed.
A sound that shattered what was left of the ships. That cracked the ocean. That sent waves in every direction for miles.
Yellow blood poured from its eye. Thick. Viscous. And wrong.
And Namaska fell.
It's feels like the wind had stopped. The waves frozed mid-crash. The creature's scream caught in its throat and simply... ceased.
And from that wound—
There was light.
Not the creature's light. Something else.
Something that came from the sword itself, from the Theridiam, from that otherworldly material that should not exist in any sane universe.
The light erupted.
And everything the sword had touched—air, water, sky, flesh—began to disappear.
It wasn't burning or dissolving.
It's just vanished.
Turn into nothing.Like those cease to exist. Erased from reality like they'd never been there at all.
Yellow blood erupted from the wound. Gallons of it. Rivers of it. Waterfalls of it.
Blood sprayed across the sky, across the ocean, across the ships far below. Where it touched the water, steam rose. Where it touched metal, it sizzled and warped.
The fall began.
Slow at first. A gentle drop away from the creature's face. Like the world was letting him down easy.
Then faster.
Then faster still.
His clothes whipped against his skin.
His swords—both of them, he still had both—slipped from fingers that could no longer hold. He watched them tumble away, end over end.
He remembers about the ship.
"Were they watching now?"
"Watching me fall?"
He hoped not.
He hoped they were looking away.
He hoped they were surviving.
His families face flashed in his mind.
Not the grown soldier. Not the captain who'd led missions and killed Dumans. The child. The boy.The girls.The tiny hand reaching for their father's fingers.
I'm sorry, Nams.
I'm sorry I couldn't be there.
I'm sorry I sent you away.
I'm sorry I'll never see you again.
I'm sorry Sara and Lara.
I tried to find you two for years but couldn't.If I don't die here I'll search for you two again.
I'm sorry Shiroyoki.
I couldn't give you that thing you wanted.
I'm sorry Scarlett.
For sending you in Lingsa.
For sending you in a dengerous place.
That time you opend your mouth like an idiot should and told me "Yes! I can do it, Father"
The water was close now.
Close enough to see individual waves. Close enough to hear them crashing. Close enough to smell the salt and blood and something else—something burning, something dying.
"It is over, huh" , He smiled as he kept falling in the Endless Sea.
"If it was a fictional story then some one would showed my past, my goals, my love"
"They'd show me young and hopeful. They'd show me meeting Lara. They'd show me bringing Nams for the first time"
"They'd show me everything I fought for"
"Everything I'm about to lose"
"How pathetic"
He closed his eyes.
Waited for the impact.
"So pathetic, Dad!"
A voice.
Before the water could take him.
A voice he knew.
His eyes snapped open.
Something grabbed him. Stopped his fall inches from the surface. Held him suspended over the water like a toy.
He looked up.
And saw—
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