level_act17side_st11

Do you remember how we first met, Laurentina?

Badly injured, you lay across the rocks of that snow-like beach, as if you were some kind of sleeping beauty.

After drifting along the currents for so long, I was finally awoken by some truly rancid land-dwellers. How I wished I could have slept forever.

How could that be? If I'm remembering properly, we made quite a good first impression on each, didn't we?

That I won't deny. Otherwise, you would've ended up like Quintus, chopped into itty bitty pieces.

Speaking of, what a damn shame. Why couldn't have I felt like this back at Sal Viento? I could've 'reminisced' with him so much more vigorously.

Amaia maintains her elegant posture. The nethersea brand spreads as far as she can see.

But Laurentina does not take her seriously in the slightest.

What is she looking at?

...Your recovery seems to have gone well.

Thanks to you. What about the other one? How's he doing?

Who knows? Maybe he ended up like Quintus and perished at the hands of a Hunter.

...Which one?

'Twas just idle chatter.

Originium Arts. True, if there's anything on land that can pose a threat to a Hunter, it would probably be those so-called 'Arts.'

But you don't seem very well-versed in fighting with Arts either. Aren't you a bit TOO pathetic?

Laurentina, have you never wondered why your consciousness sometimes clears up and sometimes blurs? Or how you can even function after being injected with such a concentrated dose of refined liquid Originium?

Isn't that because I'm built different?

You've also told me about your dance lessons.

...Ah, damn it. I can't believe you told me before I got to remember it myself.

Fine, there were dance lessons. What else did I tell you about, Amaia?

Stop changing the subject, Laurentina.

Or, are you saying you know exactly how you 'woke up'?

We've done many experiments on you, my Sleeping Beauty.

For the longest time, we could only understand the ocean through the knowledge of the Islanders. And then, a perfect organism appeared right in front of us.

Our methods were primitive at best. Even if we donned the trappings of the church, we could not hide our blemishes as land-dwelling creatures—

Cases of us embracing the sea were few and far between, and the new lifeforms were seldom stable.

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...

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.

Amaia continues to listen quietly.

Dedication, sacrifice.

These sorts of unrequited altruism are respected by humans, and considered virtues.

Ægir. I have never seen that country myself. A vast, vast country, larger than Iberia, Victoria, or Ursus. Or perhaps all three combined.

I've heard that the Ægir are rationalists. But how rational can they be, compared to the rationality of our kin?

Listen to me, Herald.

There is nothing noble about sacrifice, and dedication is not necessarily a virtue.

Virtue...? Noble...?

You do not need to understand what sacrifice or dedication are. Only the mediocre would presume that the Seaborn becoming closer to humanity is any form of evolution.

No.

This is merely an increased tolerance to allow for more possibilities.

When we praise those who selflessly serve their kin, all that means is that so many more have chosen to do otherwise.

If even young gloompincers will die in the jaws of their natural predators to protect their kind, then why do we feel a need to repeatedly extol such a virtue?

Humans only sing the praises of what's rare, using morality to whitewash altruism. All in an attempt to justify their utilitarian hearts, deeming themselves more noble than beasts.

Such ridiculous self-aggrandizement. It is clear that the cracks between nations and races are tearing this land asunder.

'Life has never been without order,' my Herald. This is the final answer I sought, for which I left the land and entered the sea.

The Seaborn closes its eyes. It is contemplating the words of Amaia, the words of its kin.

It does not understand, but its kin says that it does not need to understand, only to do.

The next moment, it feels its scaleless kin place her hand upon its body.

Its kin says:

'I ask of you.'

'Remember me.'

'Set me free.'

'Consume me.'

Amaia!

No... The scent is still here. It couldn't have gotten far.

It cut through the walls corroded by the nethersea brand and returned to the ocean.

But that's not all. Something happened here. Its blood trails disappeared.

...You all stay here. I'll go after it myself.

Why would Hunters be afraid to return to the ocean? This is a disgrace.

Then stew in that disgrace, Gladiia. We need to tread carefully, and I alone will be enough to handle this.

I'll go with you.

To monitor me?

To maintain discipline.

As you please. But surely you can feel it too.

More Seaborn are approaching. This place may be closer to shore, but it's already become the heart of the ocean.

*brays*...

...Soon, soon— the grand domain.

Very soon.

The storm is tearing the sky open. The terrible waves, they come, they will come.

We shall watch. We shall wait.

We shall meet the terrible waves.