act17side

Now, give him his burial.

Strong. Work together, and you are strong enough to lead our kind.

But, you do not plan to do this. This puzzles me.

Our kind, how will you treat them?

Willpower, begets all. Any chasm, can be crossed.

Our environment, complete and pure. Impurities, are not needed.

About parents, I am trying to find an answer. Yet the question, is not clear. I cannot ask yet.

(Sound of bones grinding and rubbing)

Do all of the sea's infants learn to talk as quickly as you?

What's wrong, Mister Captain? Has your loneliness finally compelled you to seek companionship with talking Seaborns?

You know, every wound on its body has been MY handiwork so far.

*Spit*.

It's still alive and kicking. We're just getting to the good part.

...Fighting, is meaningless.

Leaving, is the correct choice.

Ugh, get back here!

It tore through the wall and fled. Why did the Iberians have to make this ship so complex anyway?

I won't allow it to continue trashing my ship. Garcia!

That's cheating, you know~

How do you think we managed to keep this ship from getting riddled with holes and sinking, while surrounded by monsters for all these years? Relying solely on Breogan's technology?

We systematically kill the ones threatening enough to cause damage. Then, little by little, the survivors slowly sew up the scars they left behind.

This one can be considered intelligent, as far they go, but it's by no means the strongest.

I'm not in the mood to play games with you anymore, so this farce ends here. Kill it now, before it does something we can't undo.

The fleeing Seaborn easily tears through the ship's walls. It can smell its kin as well as the ocean just outside this strange box.

It is hurt. It needs healing. It needs nourishment. It needs time. The scaleless kin had bought it a chance to breathe, but far from enough time.

Many preparations are yet to be completed.

What?! A Seaborn!

The Seaborn does not speak.

Because it faces something that is not its kin. Not kin that speaks. Not kin without scales.

In which case, the small, fragile creature struggling before its eyes is just an ordinary lifeform. Just another part of the Cycle.

It should be consumed.

After coming to this conclusion, the Seaborn almost immediately lashes out at Irene with tooth and claw.

(So fast! Its body is different from before?!)

It's so tough?!

(Merda— I can't dodge it this time—)

(Roars)

(Eldritch noises) Stand... up... and run...

You... You can talk?! In Iberian?

(Eldritch noises) I... save you. Don't let... him know.

(Eldritch noises) Don't let... Alfonso... know I'm... still human.

Language, you also know it.

Efficiency, relatively low. Not enough information, not enough time. If necessary, I will complete it.

Kindred, you have formed your own group. And your offspring, consume one another.

You, are incomplete.

(Eldritch noises) Alfonso... cannot... get here fast.

(Eldritch noises) You... run.

Kindred, no point in nurturing.

Flesh and blood, donate to us.

(Howling) —!

Still attempting to spit out vestiges of human speech, the chief mate is punctured by the Seaborn's fangs.

It neither underestimates its enemy nor is distracted by Irene's presence. The Seaborn's motions have clearly evolved.

You...

Alfonso... Hurry... Hurry...

(I can't even pierce its carapace!)

(At this rate, I...)

Irene. You know where this is.

Yes! It's the Inquisition's—

Underground. Where every High Inquisitor has seen the truth.

The truth...

Consider this one thing, Irene. What is the Inquisition fighting for?

For Iberia's purity and virtue, for the sanctity of our Laws and Scriptures.

But what if the concept of truth as seen by the people is only superficial? What if the Law has no reach, the Scriptures fail to prophesize, and the morality that governs all things amounts to naught? How will you pass down judgment then?

I... will judge based on my own standards.

Even if it means casting aside the distinction between good and evil that you've always adhered to?

Of course!

That is easier said than done, Irene. There's no point trying to teach from my example, and I'm not as partial towards words as you are.

Maestro...

But.

There will come a day when your enemies will force you to cast aside everything you've ever known. Your faith, your morals, your ethics. Everything will be ravaged, desecrated, rendered null and void.

When that happens, if you can manage to rebuild your inner faith, whatever it may be, then that will form the foundation to help you defeat those enemies.

Before seeing the truth, before experiencing a crueler history, everything that we do is empty, with no basis in reality.

I won't tell you how you should act going forward. But when that time comes, I want you to remember my words, Irene.

You must become Iberia's last line of defense.

No...

Survival, is not actually your goal. Perhaps, you can become something greater.

Irene raises her handcannon.

A second cavity suddenly appears in the Seaborn's adamantine body, as a torrential flow of heat melts through its sturdy, unusual walls.

The surging temperature turns the surroundings into a sea of fire. The chief mate sobs and retreats to the side, staring blankly at the scene before its eyes.

The Seaborn has never been enveloped by such Arts before. It feels a sense of being overwhelmed, but quickly adapts.

However, the Inquisitor's barrage will not cease until the flames of her lantern sputter out.

Release the chief mate, you monster. And get a good whiff of the scent of Originium.

You have not sinned in any way. The Holy Scriptures do not even mention your existence.

Right now it is only I, as an Iberian, who is handing down this verdict.

The scourge of the seas must be wiped out. You have no right to live.

In the name of Iberia.