The Maw of the Serpent
Chapter 5: The Maw of the Serpent
The Marilag sailed smooth and proud, a graceful shadow gliding over turquoise waves beneath a lazy, endless sky.
Salt and sun-baked wood scented the air. Seabirds wheeled overhead, their cries stitching peace into the moment.
Below deck, sailors sang—rowdy, off-key, alive.
For a heartbeat of time, the world seemed merciful.
---
Reyna stood at the bow.
Her coat flared behind her in the sea breeze.
At her hip, the saber's hilt tapped with each rise and fall of the ship.
In her hand—the locket.
Her thumb traced her daughter's face behind scratched glass.
And then—
Something shifted.
She touched the saber. It hummed.
Low.
Constant.
A vibration that whispered through her bones like a buried growl.
She narrowed her eyes.
The wind had changed—metallic, charged.
The seabirds were gone.
The air tasted wrong.
Her grip tightened on the saber.
It pulsed—warm.
Too warm.
As if the blade knew something before she did.
---
Stormfall
The wind screamed.
A banshee howl sliced through the air, shredding the calm.
Clouds gathered fast—black, bruise-green, boiling over the horizon.
The sea turned unnatural—shimmering, sickly, alive.
Compass needles spun wildly.
The Marilag bucked under them, groaning like a creature in pain.
> "REEF THE SAILS! BRACE THE RUDDER!"
Capitana Reva's voice cracked like a whip.
"MAN THE HARPOONS! WHATEVER THAT IS—WE FACE IT!"
Reyna ran to the rail—
And saw it.
---
Beneath the waves… a shadow moved.
Massive.
Coiling.
Impossible.
A mountain rising from the deep.
Then—impact.
The ship jolted violently. Men screamed. Wood tore like paper.
BOOM.
The Marilag's starboard side lifted high—then crashed back into the sea with a thunderclap of foam.
Crew tumbled.
One man vanished beneath the thrashing tail of something ancient.
---
Reyna moved without thinking.
She grabbed a child—then a mother—shoved them into lifeboats, one after another.
Sweat and seawater blurred her vision.
> Slash.
Cut the ropes.
Get them clear.
One family.
Two.
Three.
Gone.
Not safe.
But afloat.
---
Then came the Leviathan.
It breached with an explosion of foam and fury.
A wall of jagged bone and muscle, taller than the ship itself.
Its hide shimmered—coral-crusted, horrifyingly beautiful.
And its eyes—
Emerald.
Cruel.
Old.
The sea roared. Not from its mouth—but from the ocean itself.
---
Capitana Reva stood defiant at the helm.
Blood streaked her face. Sword in hand. Unmoving.
> "FIRE, DAMN YOU ALL! FIRE!"
Harpoons flew.
Thud.
Thud.
Useless.
The monster slammed into the ship again.
Wood cracked.
The Marilag's spine snapped.
> "ABANDON SHIP!"
Her last command.
Then—fire and water took her.
---
The Saber's Strike
Reyna ran.
The saber screamed in her hand now—no longer a hum, but a shriek.
The beast turned—
Its head rose, maw wide, teeth like ancient stones.
Reyna leapt.
And plunged the blade into its hide.
> CLANG!
It bounced.
No blood.
Only light pulsing from beneath the skin.
Like the creature was... shielded. Protected.
Reyna hit the water hard. Air fled her lungs.
---
Stand-Off
Underwater, the world blurred.
Cold.
Dark.
Muffled.
She drifted, sinking. The saber still in hand.
Above—the Leviathan.
It filled the sea. A mountain with eyes.
It moved closer.
An eye the size of a wagon wheel stopped in front of her.
It didn't attack.
It... looked.
Not at her.
At the saber.
It blinked.
A slow, thoughtful gesture.
Then—it turned.
And disappeared.
---
Aftermath
Reyna surfaced—choking, coughing, bleeding.
The Marilag was gone.
Only wreckage remained—floating planks, burning barrels, lifeless limbs.
She clung to a beam. Her fingers numb.
Her lips stained with blood and brine.
The saber still hummed softly at her hip.
Alive.
Unbroken.
She looked ahead.
Land.
A jagged silhouette in the distance—an island.
And then—
Darkness.
---
Beneath the Waves
The Leviathan circled in the deep.
Alone.
It shifted the current around it—not by tide, but by will.
It moved the sea.
And carried Reyna—gently, purposefully—toward the island's shadowed shore.
Not as wreckage.
Not as prey.
Not as a survivor.
As a message.