The Sea People's Ritual

Ethan quickly dismissed the Atlantis theory. Atlantis was in the Atlantic, near Gibraltar. This was the Solomon Islands, on the other side of the world.

He focused on the figures emerging from the ship. They wore ornate, biomechanical armor and moved with unsettling precision. The design reminded him of Atlantean armor from Aquaman, but combined with deep-sea trench technology.

Guttural sounds spilled from their helmets.

"They're saying the airborne toxins have cleared. It's safe to take off their suits now."

Murong's voice nearly made Ethan jump.

"You understand them?!"

"[A-Rank Universal Linguistics]. I can understand all human languages, even dead ones. That's Amarda, a language banned three hundred years ago."

A three-hundred-year-old dead language?

"What else do you know?"

"Not much. The skill only covers the basics."

Before she could say more, the armored figures unsealed their helmets with a hiss of pressurized air.

Beneath the metal?

Handsome, chiseled faces—blond-haired, blue-eyed, almost aristocratic.

Almost.

Their necks shimmered with fish scales, and faint gill-like slits lined their throats. Translucent, fin-like appendages flexed subtly along their backs as they moved.

"Fish-men? Mutants?" Ethan muttered.

"Given this Apocalypse's theme, they're probably the ones controlling the leviathans," Murong said, narrowing her eyes. "But how does your coin fit into this?"

The Coin of Judgment's description was frustratingly vague: A gamble with Death. No instructions. No clues.

As they debated, the sea people took out glowing, disc-like devices from their armor. After a few adjustments, the discs hummed to life. All six pairs of alien eyes locked onto their hiding spot.

"They've detected us."

Murong's killing intent surged like a sudden storm.

Ethan grabbed her wrist. "If brute force could solve a Catastrophe-class Apocalypse, it wouldn't be Catastrophe-class!"

Murong exhaled sharply. "Then what? Run?"

"No." Ethan grinned. "This island still has other humans."

The sea people didn't pursue. Instead, their hissing conversation reached Murong's enhanced hearing:

"Those humans saw us?" 

"Impossible. It must be their eyewear." 

"Should we capture them?" 

"No. They can't escape. Complete the ritual first."

"Ritual?" Ethan asked when Murong shared the exchange. "To summon the leviathans?"

Murong shook her head. "No data."

They retreated to the native village, where terrified locals stumbled blindly through the fog. Their shouts were muffled by the thick mist. Ethan and Murong slipped into an empty hut, watching through the Detection Goggles.

At the shore, the sea people built a fifty-meter-wide altar, studded with pulsating crystals that emitted an eerie glow. Without Sparky's [Far-Sight], the details were frustratingly unclear.

Ethan checked the time. "The leviathans hit the coasts in three days. If that altar's the trigger, it'll activate by tomorrow night."

His fingers brushed the [Terminus Shard] at his throat. If destroying the altar ends this…

"I'm going for it," he told Murong.

Her jaw tightened. "Be careful. My mentor vanished handling a Catastrophe-class source."

Vanished—meaning dead.

"I will."

Then, impulsively: "Earlier, you mentioned the natives shooting us triggered bad memories. What happened?"

Murong stiffened.

For a long moment, Ethan thought she would ignore him.

Then—

"I was twelve," she said, her voice hollow. "Bandits raided our village. They lined us up. My parents... they pushed me behind them when the guns fired."

A beat.

"I was the only one who survived."

Ethan's breath caught. No wonder she lost control.

Before he could respond, a deafening horn blast shook the island, vibrating through the ground.

The sea people's altar exploded in neon-blue light, casting grotesque shadows across the fog.

And from the ocean's depths—

Something began to rise.