Chapter Text
The captain of those damned pirates was well-known within Admiral Magnus’s fleet- the striking, royal-blue trenchcoat with the gold-and-silver accents, and the full, bearded face with two piercing ruby eyes. And of course, his small and unusual crew of five near-perfect look-alikes- only distinguishable by the ways they dressed and the slightly cleaner way they wore their beards- and a single, faceless lady donned in hood and a man’s dress. Quite the odd group, but Magnus knew them well- and their captain wasn’t known as the Scourge of the Seas for nothing.
It had taken their frigate quite some time to track their little ship down after their latest raid on the Prime's trade ships. As small as it was, the privateers' brigantine was quick on the waves and flew through the currents like no other, which made them quite the slippery target to hold onto. But in a stint of fair weather and sweet winds, the admiral and his ship managed to tail them this time through the depths of their empire's naval reach- back across the Strait of Epsilon, past the port of Athenia and idyllic Paradron, and back to the obscure, foggy territory hardly charted on the maps, to the Sea of Chaar.
It was a place most seamen avoided altogether, and for good reason. The landfolk kept to themselves here, their fishing boats never straying far from shores plagued by fog and bitter weather and poor catches. But more than that, Magnus had heard the legend that permeated this place, really a nasty rumor brought in by travellers on the trade routes, but a tale nonetheless. They warned of the sea monster sent from Hell itself to rule dominion over these waters, a creature so vast and terrible that it was rumored to have brought down the Pirate King himself…
And as their ship cut through the cloudy waters, following the Scourge of the Seas, they found themselves privy to witness the validity of these mad ramblings.
Scourge’s vessel was but a thin blur in the thickening mist as Magnus ordered the square sails furled, the winds turning against their favor as if to warn them to leave, to escape while they still had the time and the ability. But they had come so far, chased the privateers so deep into these unfamiliar waters to not push on. Scourge had gotten away with his crimes one too many times, and he had no desire to return to the Prime empty-handed. And he had the feeling his target knew that too, because the only captain to willingly take their ship through cursed, misty waters was either a fugitive or a madman. Perhaps both, in this case.
As the winds begin to die as they cruised on, the air too started to change- a veil of dread settling over the deck as they drew deeper into the haze. Magnus called one of the deckhands to him- a young and new officer called Hot Rod- and relayed the instruction to reef the fore-and-aft sails back. They were gaining on Scourge’s craft in the mist, but for the oddest reason, he felt that now was not the time to catch up.
Hot Rod looked at him like he’d ordered them to start a fire in the gunpowder hold, but did as he was told. He rallied the others to lower the sails, bringing them to a near standstill as the ocean below them trembled like pudding and startled half his officers on deck. Magnus threw himself to the side of the ship just in time to see a massive, sparkling shadow gliding through the sea below them. There was something below them. Stalking them. Hunting them.
No. Not them. It was after something else. Someone else.
In an instant, before Magnus could make his next call, the mass erupted through the waves, sending a shockwave of seafoam and salty mist flying across the deck, threatening to capsize their frigate. A massive, snapping purple beak cleaved through the surface of the water just off of the port of Scourge’s ship, and Magnus shouted for all hands on deck, cannons to be loaded and for the sails to be set for the opposite direction, as the massive body broke water. He heard Hot Rod squeal in terror, throwing himself behind the mast and clinging to it as a shield.
That beaked beast was no ordinary sea monster- the giant bore the upper body of a man, adorned with frills of purple webbing and speckled leopard-spot patterns of lilac against a deep violet body. But the thing that set it firmly apart from man were the tentacles- massive, writhing arms as thick as the ship’s mast, flailing, grasping for the swerving brigantine in its trespassed territory, to which the vessel seemed to be having quite the time of dodging. Kraken, Magnus thought. He’d heard of this beast, but only in fairytale.
But he was standing, on his own two feet, in no fairytale at all. The kraken roared its fury, its helm dipping down and swooping for Scourge’s sails, but narrowly missing as the ship was blown just clear of its path. There was something about this terrible creature- something uncanny and terrifying to the admiral. Something about it screamed familiarity, like the glimpsing of an old friend on the street. Some part of him told him that he had seen this monster before, but how-? How, when he had never braved the Sea of Chaar, let alone braved a beast of such proportions ever in his life?
But it was not the time for questions. The leviathan had reared itself up, too tall to see through the haze, but its mere presence even seemed to change the entire world around it, waves billowing from around its writhing, suckered appendages, winds funneling in cyclonic fashion to whip the fog away, the first glimpse of sun peeking through the eye of the storm. Magnus spat in dismay- the winds were only blowing them into the fray, not out-! If they steered any closer, they would be in radius of the leviathan’s grasp, helpless to do anything but flail!
But yet there in the crosswinds was the little brigantine, Scourge’s vessel riding the furious gales with the grace of a ballroom dancer. His steadfast crew was clinging to the railings for dear life as they manned the cannons, and in perfect coordination, fired upon the beast. Magnus watched in astonishment as the cannons shot not lead, but an excruciating burst of light, barrelling through the whirling mist to pop open in the radius of the monster, forcing it to recoil in terror. A moment later, the shots were repeated- two, three flowers of blooming color and gunpowder. Fireworks- Scourge was shooting on the beast with fireworks. And how effective!
The beast roared in fury, dipping back down into the depths, but not before a stray tentacle flailed out and struck the ship at last, catching it from the starboard and ripping down one of the mast’s yardarms, and a sail with it. This was their chance- the winds died back with the disappearance of the creature, and Magnus had his chance to retreat- or to sail forth and capture the now-crippled privateers, as was his intention- in conditions like these, the had the opportunity to finally catch up to the elusive vessel, to apprehend these criminals and never be forced to return to these waters again.
The admiral had mulled the ideas over in his mind for just a moment before his train of thought was broken by another scream, this time from the boatswain, Springer, shouting in horror as the beast re-emerged right off of their stern. The outline of its furious garnet eyes peered down at them from its incredible vantage. Magnus cringed back but stood his ground, shouting for the sails to be doused to their fullest capacity, but it was too late to run. The leviathan’s arms wrapped tightly around the hull and deck, splintering the wood where it constricted and sending the crew fleeing like rats in a granary, scrambling for swords and cannons and shelter.
The admiral immediately drew his sword from its place at his hip, leaping down over the bridge railing to the scene of the invasion and angling a slice at the thick purple blubber wrapped around his vessel. The blade lodged in the slimy hide, barely piercing the tentacle as he struggled to withdraw it. Further down on the deck, Springer was already shouting to all that had not fled to man the cannons, aiming for whatever they could hit, and gave the order to fire. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t the authorization to give that command- the frantic crew locked and loaded, and blew off a round of lead into the belly of the beast.
The glimmering garnet eyes narrowed in disamusement as the shots ricocheted off of its midriff, leaving slender spiderwebbing cracks where they struck- but the monster was undeterred by such pellets. One gargantuan hand reached down from the heavens in response, as if to reprimand, and snatched Hot Rod off his feet like a little doll, the poor boy crying and writhing in terror but firmly immobilized in its grasp. Magnus abandoned his stuck blade and ran for the cannons- barked to the nearest sailor to quickly load and prime the artillery again, and swung it into position to fire upon the abductor. Any longer and the leviathan's hand would be out of his reach, ascending into the mist where- he didn’t even want to think about what that thing would do to his crew. He only had one chance at this. He didn’t think about that at all- he fired.
The cannonball soared through the air, making contact with the beast’s wrist, and this time the shot had an effect. Inky, black blood spewed from the lead-shot’s entry point and the fingers spasmed in recoil, loosening just enough for Hot Rod to wriggle out of its palm and leap without thinking down into the roiling ocean below. The witnessing crew sprang into action, one of the other deckhands sliding across the deck with a rope to toss the boy- but the battlefield was still in play.
The kraken screamed in a mixture of pain and fury, ripping a chunk from the top deck and upper hull with one tentacle as it swang for the mast with its other hand, pulling the ship into a dangerous tilt towards the sea. Water flooded into the hole in the hull, flushing out a host of his terrified crew from the deck below and throwing yet more above-deck over the railing, tipping them overboard just in time to be snatched up by the wriggling tentacles and hoisted into the air. Magnus watched in horror as the gargantuan head angled down over their doomed frigate, and he caught his first clear glimpse of the face towering over him.
Agape with anticipation were the jaws of the beak adorning the top of the thing’s head, angled open like two massive, purple horns, dripping with seawater and kraken slime. Sloping down on either side of its visage was the shaggy, seaweed-frilled helm of impossibly deep violet, framing the lines of a face that made Magnus’s blood run cold.
But before he had the time to process any of his sightings, the kraken’s bloodied talons swooped up to head-level, a struggling crew-member wrapped in its palm, and let drop its first victim from its digits into the gaping beak above with a ferocious snap of those violet jaws. That snapped the admiral out of his daze- that monster intended for his crew to be its pickings for supper, and if he didn’t move, he would be the next in line. But another round of cannonfire was ready, praise the gods- and this time, he was ready to give the command. He pointed for the mass of tentacles squelching and squeezing around the crew still floundering in the water- their next target to lock onto, and screamed the command to fire.
One-dozen cannonballs flew across the water, sinking into purple flesh and eliciting a spasm of winced responses from each made mark. For some, their suckered prisons unclenched, allowing them to throw themselves back into the mercy of the ocean- but yet still, the unmistakable sounds of cracking ribcages and crumpling flesh could be heard as the tentacles squeezed yet tighter, squeezing them of life. But the monster’s grasp on the mast finally relented, and the ship swang back upright in the waves as the kraken retreated, pulling away its remaining victims and a few more who had not grabbed hold of the lifeline as sailors pulled their brethren from the waves. How much more of this assault could they stand? Magnus stooped down the railing to help pull up the overboarded sailors, and found his hand wrapped around Hot Rod’s arm, the deckhand’s terrified face clotted with seawater and snot. Would any of his men make it home to tell the tale?
As if in answer to his question, the kraken before him clacked its beak, having polished off the prey in its grasp and hungry for its next mouthful of naval officer, but as it approached its attention- by some miracle of heaven- diverted. Even the winds seemed to follow its curiosity as its body turned in the water, tentacles withdrawing from the waterspace. Magnus knew immediately what its focus was on- and groaned in realization as he noticed that Scourge’s brigantine had taken its chance and slipped away into the mist.
Immediately, the beast grumbled- a terrifying, reverberating hum that shook his body- and sank back into the depths, jetting off in the direction Scourge had sailed off into and leaving the naval frigate to tend to its wounds, sparing their souls. Magnus whispered a prayer to the gods and turned his attention to the shivering deckhand beside him- the poor boy had stood on the door’s threshold of death and yet managed to wriggle his way free. He removed his officer’s coat and draped it over Hot Rod’s trembling frame- no sense in letting a good, brave deckhand die of pneumonia after so many had been lost to the beast he had narrowly escaped.
But while torn and beaten, that monster had only severely damaged the upper part of the hull, having not bothered to finish the job- and his frigate was still in enough condition to sail, at least to the nearest port for repairs and recuperation. Seeing that Hot Rod was no longer shaking like a leaf in the wind, he sent him down to stock the supply deck for their remaining rations and blankets, and turned to Springer to re-group his remaining crew and prepare them for sail.
Once that was all finished, he could return to his officer’s quarters and start thinking about how he would detail his next report to the Prime- the failed chase, the Sea of Chaar, the monstrous purple kraken, the loss of life, and Scourge’s mysterious exploits. A thousand questions swarmed his head as the ship turned in the mist, making headway back towards the warmer coasts afar. Scourge had clearly dealt with this beast before, and must frequent the bay- but for what reason? Other than the existential danger of being swallowed up by its residing monster, the bay held no other wonder besides the maddened legends- no trading ports, no agriculture, no fishing. Unless that madman was perhaps chasing these famed legends? Or even…
The face of the monster re-appeared in his mind again. No, surely it couldn’t be. Admiral Magnus was a man of logic, and he did not believe in coincidences- he couldn’t have known the beast in any life. But perhaps it was not a detail that should be omitted to the Prime, anyway. Not if he were to uncover the mystery, or catch that slippery Scourge. Whichever came first.