act17side

Do you still remember the huge ruckus you made right after waking up, and the first conversation we had after that?

I asked, 'how did the Ægir manage to do it?'

Amaia dodges Specter's attack.

She gently caresses her neck, and the glow of the golden hall seems to bleach her skin a ghostly pale.

You hold a massive amount of refined liquid Originium... right here.

If an ordinary person had had their spinal fluid replaced with such a concentration of liquified Originium, they wouldn't be merely comatose, no two ways about it.

Ah...

I really ought to thank you. After all, you allowed me to experience a completely different life.

Do you know how many Ægirs had their futures forcibly wrenched from them because of the trench-sucking scum you worship?

...And what would you originally have been then? An opera singer? A playwright?

As if. Of course not.

I wanted to be a sculptor. Even my teacher said I had the talent for it.

When I was little, the city I lived in had a massive, snow-white statue.

Did it collapse during the Seaborn's invasion?

Nah, that'd be too cliché.

I've never even seen it broken. We moved to a different city before long.

But that statue's always remained in my head, and I never forgot what it looked like. And then... thanks to you guys, I finally understand the allegory of that statue alternating between black and white amidst the shadows.

'Prayer.'

If I'd continued my studies in Ægir, I might have never learned the more nuanced meaning of that word.

You can stop stalling for time now. I know your arts are related to perception; I've seen them.

Haha, think of it this way. I've met some real weirdos aboard Rhodes Island. I might've done some rather unbecoming things, but... Never mind, I'm sure they'll forgive me.

Is that the name of a ship?

A much better ship than this one.

Anyway, your precious Sea Terrors are all dead or injured, and your nethersea brand can't do anything but eat away at this pompous hall. What's next?

Need help writing your suicide note? You don't get to see authentic Ægirian calligraphy everyday, you know.

...Haha.

Well then, Laurentina.

Amaia extends her hand to Specter. Her slender palms are covered in the nethersea brand, as if she's wearing faintly luminescent formal dress gloves.

Specter does not reject her, but grips her weapon tightly with one hand while holding Amaia's in the other. The two of them step delicately across the golden hall.

Actually, I wasn't much of a dancer when I was young. The captain taught me a few times, much later. She's a better dancer than you.

You know what keeps your Oripathy in check. You also know why it's easier to wake up from your affliction the closer you are to the sea.

The other Hunters, particularly Gladiia, must have guessed it long ago. But she's always been reluctant to admit the truth to herself. It could not be simpler, yet it is so cruel.

Isn't it because I've returned home, and am smitten by the scenery?

Haha. Laurentina, I never realized how much you loved self-deprecating humor.

But you're not wrong. Returning home. Returning to the sea.

It's all because their blood flows within you.

The Seaborn part of you is holding back the Originium. The Seaborn part of you is what wakes you up when you return to the ocean.

So, this awakened you, as you are now. Are you Seaborn, or Abyssal Hunter?

...Watch your step.

Thank you.

You aren't expecting to shake me, are you? Like how Skadi got lectured by that talking scum back in Sal Viento?

Are you not shaken? Even though you recognize that your strength, your sanity, and your soul all come from your enemies? No one can remain unperturbed in the face of this truth.

I haven't finished my story yet. Do you know why I love sculpting?

Hm?

Because, during the process of carving, chiseling, and shaping—

Specter pauses her footsteps.

Amaia is caught by surprise for a moment. Specter releases her hand as her other is already bearing her weapon down. At that moment, her expression glistens with a childlike glee.

—We give meaning to the forms of the dead, liberating them from the void of meaninglessness.

Just like my lovely destiny.

Tch, there's no end to this trash.

What do we do? How are we going to catch up to it? Where is it going?

They retreat to the ocean when hurt. We don't often hunt them on dry land.

But— Ugh!

The Sea Terrors managed to breach the hull?! But, even the cannons of high-speed battleships shouldn't be enough to damage the Stultifera Navis!

They've had years. Must've chipped through it long ago.

...They trapped the ship but didn't sink it? Why?

We can ponder this all we like, but regardless of what miracles it took, we need a plan fast or this ship really is going to sink!

A plan, huh... That I do have.

Quickly take out the enemy, and they should retreat back to their nest.

Is it really that easy?!

If not, then we make it so.

It's heading up, hurry! We can't let it reach the ocean!

But... Ugh, Sea Terrors are practically clogging the entire corridor!

...Can you still jump?

What?

The roof's been corroded by the nethersea brand and is very fragile.

We'll take a shortcut.

*hiss*...

There you are, my quarry.

...You, prey on blood relatives. Prey on kin.

You, have eaten many.

Well no shit, you think we can live off the wind?

To consume, is without fault. Food, is plenty.

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...