Chapter —
Offer of Survival
The ship screamed.
Not metaphorically—not poetically—but truly screamed, its hull groaning like a wounded beast as something vast crushed against it from below. The floor pitched sideways, throwing Sabre hard into the wall. His shoulder cracked against the wood, pain flaring bright and sharp.
The lantern overhead shattered.
Darkness swallowed the cabin.
Another impact followed—deeper, heavier—followed by the sound of wood splintering and men crying out in terror.
Outside, chaos erupted.
"Hold the line!"
"The hull's breaking!"
"By the ancestors—it's coming back!"
Sabre dragged himself upright, breath ragged. His chest felt tight, like something inside him was being squeezed, twisted, awakened.
Then the door opened.
Light spilled in.
The man stood there, his silhouette framed by flickering lightning from the storm outside. His presence alone seemed to force the darkness back, as if the shadows themselves refused to touch him.
He looked at Sabre once.
"Do not follow," he said.
The words were calm. Final.
Then he turned and stepped onto the deck.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Another violent tremor shook the ship. Sabre lost his footing again, landing hard on his knees. Dust rained from the ceiling. Somewhere nearby, wood snapped with a sound too loud to be repaired.
Sabre's breathing grew uneven.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
It wasn't just fear.
A pressure began building inside his body—slow, suffocating—like invisible hands tightening around his heart. His skin prickled. His veins burned faintly, pulsing in time with the storm.
It's close.
Not just the monster.
Whatever lived inside him was reacting.
Sabre staggered to the door.
He hesitated.
The man had warned him.
Another impact struck the ship, so violent that Sabre was thrown forward, smashing his palm against the door as the floor tilted sharply beneath him.
That was enough.
He tore the door open.
The deck was hell.
Lightning tore across the sky in jagged arcs, illuminating a sea that no longer behaved like water. Waves spiraled unnaturally, folding in on themselves, rising far too high, crashing far too hard.
Men lay scattered across the deck—some unconscious, some bleeding, some clutching the wood and whispering prayers that went unanswered.
And wrapped around the ship—
The Leviathan.
Its body coiled like a living fortress, scales black and slick, glistening under lightning flashes. Each movement sent vibrations through the hull, each tightening coil threatening to snap the ship in half.
Its eyes opened.
Cold.
Ancient.
Uncaring.
Sabre's blood ran cold.
At the bow of the ship, the man stood unmoving.
Lightning gathered around him, but not wildly—not explosively. It circled him slowly, deliberately, like a restrained execution waiting for permission.
Opposite him, rising from the sea itself, stood the pirate leader.
The ocean shaped itself around his form, flowing like armor, shifting with his breathing. He stood atop the waves as if they were solid ground, water bowing obediently beneath his feet.
"This is your last mistake," the Lightning Elder said.
The pirate leader smiled—but there was tension in it now. Wariness.
"You've grown cautious," he replied. "That means age is finally catching you."
The sea surged.
The Leviathan tightened its coils.
The ship buckled.
Sabre felt the deck dip violently beneath him. A mast cracked with a deafening snap, crashing into the sea and taking screaming sailors with it.
Fear clawed at his throat.
This wasn't a battle.
This was extermination.
The pirate leader lifted his hand.
The ocean obeyed.
A massive wall of water rose, blotting out the sky, carrying with it crushing pressure and the promise of absolute death.
Sabre couldn't breathe.
Lightning exploded.
The wave evaporated in a violent burst of steam, heat blasting across the deck. Sabre screamed as the shockwave slammed into him, throwing him across the boards like a rag doll.
He rolled to a stop near the edge of the ship, half his body hanging over open sea.
Below him—
The Leviathan moved.
One massive coil loosened.
Then its head surged upward.
Straight toward him.
Sabre's mind shattered.
He couldn't scream.
He couldn't move.
The creature's mouth opened, revealing rows of glowing teeth slick with seawater and blood. The stench of the deep flooded his senses—salt, rot, ancient hunger.
This is it.
Something inside him snapped.
Not gently.
Not cleanly.
Pain tore through his chest like a blade. His heart slammed violently as astral energy erupted without control, without restraint.
Lightning burst from his body.
Raw. Twisted. Wrong.
It tore from his arm in a jagged arc, slamming into the Leviathan's head with a sound like the sky splitting open. The impact sent the beast recoiling, its roar shaking the sea itself.
Sabre screamed as pain flooded his veins, as though molten metal had been poured into his blood.
He collapsed.
Silence followed.
Not peace.
Shock.
Every living soul on the deck stared at him.
Smoke curled from Sabre's arm. His fingers twitched uncontrollably. His vision swam, darkness creeping in at the edges.
The Lightning Elder turned slowly.
For the first time, he did not hide his reaction.
Not awe.
Not pride.
Recognition.
The pirate leader saw it too.
His expression changed—not to fear, but to hunger.
"So that's it…" he muttered. "That's what I felt."
The Elder moved instantly.
Lightning descended like divine punishment, striking the Leviathan again and again. The beast shrieked, its coils unraveling as it retreated beneath the waves, dragging the pirate leader with it into the depths.
The storm faded.
Rain softened.
The sea calmed unnaturally fast, as if terrified of what had just occurred.
Sabre's strength gave out completely.
Strong hands caught him before he hit the deck.
The Elder knelt beside him, gripping his shoulder tightly—not gently.
"That power," he said quietly, "will kill you."
Sabre struggled to focus on his face.
"Left alone," the Elder continued, voice low and cold, "you will not survive a year."
Sabre swallowed weakly.
The Elder leaned closer, his gaze merciless.
"You asked what happens if you refuse me."
Lightning crackled faintly around them.
"This," he said, "is your answer."
Sabre's consciousness began to slip.
The last thing he heard was the Elder's voice, heavy with finality.
"You have already stepped onto the path."
"And it does not forgive hesitation."