Thirty nautical miles from Minas Tirith Port, the deep sea was pitch-black.
Five Multi-Armed Race Warriors swam slowly through the water, their forms merging with the darkness.
Their tentacles pushed through the water, stirring a faint current.
"Tucker, expand your perimeter."
Captain Korsh's voice carried through the water to his companions.
The youngest, Tucker, nodded. His eight tentacles stretched outward, sensing the surrounding vibrations.
The symbiotic sensory sac on his back pulsed, monitoring all movement within a hundred-meter radius.
Meanwhile, the Warrior Uru was using a tentacle to grab a deep-sea fish, tearing open its belly and devouring it.
Blue-green blood spread through the water.
"Uru, now is not the time for a meal." Korsh's voice was tinged with annoyance.
"Captain, we've been in continuous combat for four days," Uru said, stopping his meal to turn to Korsh. "My combat strength will drop if I don't eat."
