act17side

You, will consume me? You, are inviting me?

Because, information from afar, cannot pass to kin. Language, they do not understand. Vibration of air, utterance of sound, understanding of rules, learning of language.

This is why I hate those damn Ægirs. Look, even the monsters are learning Ægirian now.

Don't think I'll show you any mercy just because you learned how to talk, scumbag.

...You consume me, I consume you.

Feeding, has continued for too long. Must be ended.

How quickly time flies, you little runt. All this time, I've watched you grow up.

You think you're the predator?! You're nothing more than my domesticated beast!

Alfonso's blade digs into the Seaborn's body, while its sharp fangs scratch his arm.

Blood splatters through the air, and the atmosphere intensifies. The Seaborn's movements are becoming faster.

Tch, you ruined my last change of clothes. I ought to skin you alive.

(Roars) —

—Over here!

Ishar—

*gurgle*... Ishar-mla... You will, consume.

...Shut up.

You don't need to blather on to kill your prey. We just do our job.

—Stop it before it jumps into the sea!

Think you can run?!

The Seaborn continues to increase its speed, appearing to leave an afterimage of itself in place.

It strides and bounds, and in an instant, is already on the opposite side of the deck. Barely touching the ground, it dives straight into the ocean.

But something else is even faster than it.

A black shadow cuts off its retreat and smashes it to the floor. There, away from the light, something sears a mark into the deck, causing the entire ship to shudder.

...*pant*... *pant*...

My, you're the same type of thing as Quintus, aren't you? If not, half of your body would've been sent flying, not just a little scratch like that.

Next up is—

—Wait, what's this? This scent...

You felt it. Of course, he no longer is concealing himself, which means he has proven what he wished to prove. He has said what he wished to say.

Alas, I thought he'd be able to understand.

...Understand what?

If this scent belongs to his master rather than something else that's turned into a Seaborn, then I'd suggest giving up on him ever understanding.

Based on what I've seen of your shallow experiences and moral judgments, your idea of a 'trustworthy' Ægir is usually just whoever stands out most.

(Ulpianus has made his move. In that case, I can't waste any more time with her. There's no more point in stalling.)

(I must find the Herald. I must... welcome it.)

Hm? Leaving so soon? I thought we were just getting started.

Maybe next time, Laurentina.

If we ever meet again, let's have another chat. About Ægir.

Skadi doesn't blink.

She couldn't be more familiar with these movements. Simple, straightforward, a force of nature.

She remembers how her colleagues at Rhodes Island assessed her, as well as how she assessed the two in front of her, back when she first saw them.

However...

You were all chosen, deemed worthy by Ægir. Under my command, you should've been prodigies of exacting violence, your hunting genes complementing your skills.

But you've regressed, Skadi.

You...

You're...

It's not dead yet, Ulpianus. Don't be in such a rush to patronize Skadi.

I'm aware.

Take heed again, Skadi. Just like before, I'll only teach you once.

(Screeching howl)

Ulpianus swings his weapon.

The strike is straightforward and without excess. It is sufficiently swift, such that the Seaborn cannot avoid it despite its wishes.

Afterwards, an enormous rumbling sound proves that the strike was also sufficiently strong.

By the time the Seaborn is miserably thrown against a turret that's never been fired, its body had already been considerably cut down in size.

Like so. Grasp its movements. Make a decision. Swing your weapon. Aim to kill.

This is how you fight them. You are slower than before, and more cautious. Your life on land has been no small influence on you.

I... I never thought... but how did you survive?

I thought you died... But you, and Swordfish, how did you two survive?

What about the others then? The 1st Company, and the 4th Company? Did they—

By my standards, my survival was a tragedy. The Seaborn told me that the others could not be allowed to live on. They would not have overlooked anything in their nest.

Of course, based on Gladiia's usual attitude, by her standards this was also a disgrace.

Finish it off first. As for your situation, we can wait for all the Hunters to arrive.

You, in this dry, floating vessel... on this ship, hunt. You, left our kind.

Death, does not benefit our kind. Your death, also does not benefit our kind.

You—

Urk—!

Pah. What kind of hunter talks before his quarry is dead? That's the first lesson we teach in field training.

I seem to always be cleaning up after the messes of you Ægirs.

What is it you want? What do you need with my ship? Look what you did to Iberia, and to Victoria. Letting monsters overrun Ursus...

(Roars) —!

Urgh, stubborn bastard!

(Screeches) ——!

Run it through! Now, Alfonso!

Take this!

Haah...

I-Is it over?

Ugh... I can't... feel my hand...

...Look out beneath you!

What?

It's not dead yet!

... (Blood gurgles in its throat) Grrrgh...

Urgh...

It chipped through the deck. Trying to jump onto the chopping block yourself, you sack of meat?

...No, not quite.

After it! We didn't chase it back into the cabin, there are still more of its kin on the ship!

It's looking for her!

...Urgh... *gurgle*...

(Chewing sounds) ...Urgh... Kraaahh...

Herald.

...Scaleless, kin.

Wounds, can't be healed. No way, to nourish our kind.

They all, attack. Attack, but not to hunt.

Amaia simply listens quietly.

The wound Specter left on her slender body continues to bleed, dripping into the pool of blood already shed by the Seaborn and mixing into one.

Amaia simply listens quietly.

...You, also hurt.

You, consume me.

Kin, you live.

Our kind, will continue, and survive.

The Seaborn bows its body, lowering itself at Amaia's feet.

It closes its eyes and awaits death.