Chapter 261
The second Elder Kin slams into the tank wall hard enough to rattle the floor beneath my boots. A split-second later, it bursts through, all glistening limbs and spiraling eyes. The first one—still twitching from where I nailed it with a bolt of lightning—lets out a bone-deep rumble, then springs back to life like it just remembered it’s a nightmare made flesh.
Water explodes across the lab. Shards of synthetic glass scatter like hail. My body collides with the floor, skidding on slick tile, and when I look up, Wake’s gone.
“Wake!” I shout, scrambling to my feet.
No response—just the sound of roaring water and the shriek of the alarms. The tank’s gone. The entire observation chamber is flooded with seawater and pure, elemental chaos. One creature coils toward Wake; the other slithers between us, an eel’s torso fused with too many limbs, too many mouths. Its body pulses with blue bioluminescence, sickly and wrong.
I scan the room and find the Heirs still near the upper stairwell—watching. Frozen.
“What are you doing?” I yell, trying to get their attention. “Move! We need you down here!”
They don’t move. Their eyes are wide, locked on the creatures like they’re watching their own funeral procession. I catch Lile's hand twitching near the hilt of his blade, but he doesn't draw. Even Miore—who just lectured me about the importance of sticking together—looks like he’s about to bolt.
The eel-thing lets out a scream like metal shearing through bone. Wake drives his blade deep into its side, and it still keeps coming. It lashes out, tail snapping like a whip, and sends him flying. He hits the far wall with a dull crack but rolls to his feet like it’s nothing.
And then Wake turns to Shoal, who’s standing by the control panel, still as stone.
“This is your army, brother?” he snarls, voice low and lethal. “These are the ones you’re betting the world on?”
Shoal doesn’t flinch. He looks at the Heirs. Look at the monsters. Then he exhales, long and quiet, and steps forward. Not away from the fight—into it. He grabs the spear mounted beside the emergency panel. He sheds the hesitation like a second skin and starts moving—fluid, sharp, deadly. A warrior in full.
I leap beside him. My palms spark with lightning. I lock eyes with Wake just before the three of us meet the creatures head-on.
Something clicks in the Heirs then. Maybe it’s watching Shoal finally fight. Maybe it’s seeing that Wake and I are bleeding and still going. Whatever the reason, Miore finally draws his curved blade and runs down the stairs. His power flares—coral-colored and shimmering—and when he slashes at the creature’s tail, it screeches in pain.
Lile follows next, shouting something in his own language. He slams his ice-blade into one of the creature’s legs, freezing it to the floor. Elanora comes last, lifting her hands high before sending a surge of water slamming into the eel’s gaping mouth.
We fight like hell.
I jump on the creature’s back, lightning arcing down my arms. Shoal drives his spear into its gills, spinning to avoid a tail strike that crushes a computer console behind us. Wake’s blade flashes as he ducks and weaves, landing brutal, efficient strikes that carve glowing wounds into the second monster.
The room’s a battlefield—water knee-deep and rising, sparks flying from shattered equipment, the air thick with blood and salt and the raw, ancient stench of the deep. The monsters keep mutating mid-fight—limbs growing where they shouldn’t, bones twisting with sickening pops—but we don’t stop.
I see Wake and Shoal fight side by side, their movements almost mirrored. Where Wake is agile, Shoal is grounded. Where Wake flows like the sea, Shoal strikes like a crashing wave. It’s messy, brutal cooperation, but it works.
Lile lands a final, sweeping strike that severs the eel’s head. The second creature lets out a shuddering groan as Wake drives his blade straight through its eye. It falls—twisting, twitching—and then lies still.
Silence drops over the lab like a blanket soaked in blood and seawater.
I pant, crouched beside the second corpse, arms trembling. My shirt clings to me, drenched, torn. Across the room, the Heirs are flushed, bruised, panting—but alive.
Lile lets out a victorious whoop. Miore grins, turning to Elanora. They clap hands, still buzzing with the thrill of it. For a second, there’s this weird, fragile feeling of triumph. Of being in it together.
Then Wake speaks, voice sharp as a knife. “You’re celebrating?”
The Heirs go quiet.
“You think that was a win?” He steps forward, soaked and furious, blood trickling down his temple. “You were sloppy. All of you.”
Lile’s smile fades. Elanora straightens, jaw tight. Miore narrows his eyes.
“They did their best,” I say quietly, stepping beside him.
Wake doesn’t look at me. His eyes are on them. “If that was your best, then your lines are as good as gone.”
Silence again, heavier this time. No one answers him.
Then Wake turns to Shoal. His tone doesn’t soften. “For the sake of our people, I’ll train them.”
Shoal studies him for a second, then nods once. No pride, no ego. Just an agreement.
“Touching,” Lily drawls from across the room.
We all turn.
She’s crouched beside the largest corpse, surgical gloves already pulled on, elbow-deep in luminous ichor. Her eyes are fixed on something inside the creature—its spine, maybe, or what passes for one. She holds a scalpel in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Her lips are curled in a grim little grimace.
“What is it?” Shoal asks.
Lily straightens slowly. Her gloves drip glowing black fluid. “I know every creature documented in that tank. Every single one.”
She gestures toward the corpse with her scalpel. “These? They don’t look right.”
I exchange a glance with Wake. His jaw clenches.
“I’ve dissected every specimen in that tank at least twice. I know them inside and out. First off,” She points at the limbs. “They’re not amphibious, but it’s not unheard of for certain sea creatures to spontaneously grow a pair of lungs. That’s not the most concerning development.”
“Then what is?” I ask.
“They sure as shit aren’t supposed to have legs.” She yanks off one glove with a wet snap. “And yet they did today.”
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