Between his position and the approaching enemies, a squad of Heavy Bell armored soldiers surfaced from the depths.

  Their round helmets bobbed on the waves.

  Mereque wondered what they intended.

  Fish out of water in gear designed for deep-sea operations, not surface combat.

  The Blanched Knights passed overhead, ignoring them for the most part.

  A scouting group, assessing their strengths, looking for weaknesses.

  But the Bells carried something beneath the waves.

  As the enemies soared by, they lifted several large hoses. Releasing long pressurized streamers into the formation.

  They were caught off-guard.

  The Knights screamed—confusion, outrage, pain.

  They fell from the sky, plummeting into the froth below.

  The warriors thrashed and wailed, their armor hissed as it began to corrode. In seconds the Blanched Knights succumbed, bodies disintegrating into black stains as they sank into the depths.

  Cheers rose from the ship. Not from all, but from more than before. He could still feel some cold stares being sent his way.

  To Mereque’s surprise, his own voice joined them.

  He suspected Jenker had sent the Bells.

  There was no time to rest, he headed back to the Urchin Gull.

  Another long-running leap. His leg ached; he ignored it. Barely a limp, he thought.

  The captain waited.

  Hoses were strewn across the deck. Men were rushing to roll out more.

  Jenker’s broad smile told him everything. His friend had sent the squad. Clever, innovative, what he'd come to expect from his new friend.

  He'd proved himself when they’d escaped the Blanched Lands.

  He knew how to weaponizing their weakness. Salt water—anathema to the twisted creatures.

  Before they could speak, the vessel Mereque had left exploded. Half a dozen bright metallic masses violently impacted into it, spit from a cluster of Umbral Glooms circling high above.

  HUD Overlay (flashing red):

  AIRBORNE BALLISTIC THREAT DETECTED

  MULTIPLE IMPACTS IMMINENT

  EVASIVE MANEUVER RECOMMENDED

  ADRENALINE SURGE: OPTIMAL – ENGAGE

  The coordinated bombardment was devastating.

  Men on the Gull’s deck threw themselves down. Covering heads as heat and shrapnel flew.

  Mereque felt the force wash past him. He dropped low, kept his footing. Many not as lucky.

  Three crewmen impaled—lives stolen.

  Another lost an arm. A fifth had half his face torn away. His groans more haunting than the creatures’ cries.

  He noted his HUD (a slow amber pulse):

  LOSSES: 5 CONFIRMED

  IDENTIFY: CREW – URCHIN GULL

  So much death. So quickly.

  He could have cried. There was no time.

  Missiles detonated across the sky. Gunfire rang out, relentlessly.

  Yells of desperate people fighting for life grew louder.

  The assault was large-scale. It had become city wide, with attacks and battles occurring across the entire harbor.

  Mereque never imagined the creatures he encountered on those bleeding shores would bring this level of mass mayhem.

  Sycophants kept falling. More now. Bodies hitting decks created a grotesque drumming.

  Attack helicopters weaved through the battlefield, struggling with descending through the storm of bodies, fast Knights, and incoming projectiles.

  Mereque spotted Havenites in the air. Primitive jet packs enabling limited flight.

  They were no match for Blanched agility. But it was something, better than nothing, another avenue of engagement.

  Impressive for a naval people living mostly beneath the waves, he noted.

  The fighting raged on.

  ? ? ?

  Overseeing the attack from high above, the Anointed One—Sir Athur Tarmour—watched the mayhem unfold from his perch atop the lead Umbral Gloom.

  His perfectly symmetrical face, framed by long pale hair whipping in the wind, remained impassive as stone.

  The priests attending him prostrated themselves on hands and knees.

  A handful of personally selected Blanched Knights stood guard steps away, ready to execute his orders.

  Closest was Brother Keigael.

  The one who had guided him to the Wyrm’s highest blessing.

  Now holding a place both literal and figurative at his right hand.

  The Weeper had changed Tarmour dramatically, the power of their God was reflected within him, as expected for its avatar on Earth.

  The Arch Minister of Sufferance had understood this clearly, and accepted his fate expeditiously.

  Earning favor from both master and God.

  Since his Anointing, the Weeping Wyrm communed constantly.

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  Tarmour sensed its desires as his own.

  “My Lord.”

  Keigael announced, head bowed low as he leaned in.

  “Brother Balcarmos returns.”

  The air thickened before them. A swirling flat pane took shape. Through it emerged the priest, led by a leashed sycophant.

  One Knight kicked the servant off the Gloom’s side, leaving Balcarmos alone.

  He fell to his knees at Tarmour’s feet.

  Athur spoke without words, touching the mind directly. Forcefully.

  Tell me, servant—do the Marms come, or do I flail the flesh from your bones?

  Tarmour felt the power coursing through him, his god’s essence, all its might and all its sorrows.

  It was enough to melt most from the insides. He was not most. He was chosen. He was the Blanched King.

  To his credit, the priest controlled the whimper that sought to escape his mouth.

  Voice on the verge of breaking.

  “Yes, Holy One! Ossuran sends its spawn as expected. All goes according to your desires.”

  Balcarmos suppressed a shudder.

  Tarmour could feel the dread the priest felt. It was to be expected. Even their beloved god hated that monster.

  However, need cared little for their feelings. Only necessity mattered.

  No praise came. No admonishment. The best any could expect.

  Sensing satisfaction, Keigael drew near to him again.

  The only priest permitted to move on feet in the avatar’s presence—though crouched low, legs bent, back stooped.

  Balcarmos cowered behind as Keigael whispered.

  “The foreigner is among them. He has been seen.”

  “This is good.”

  Tarmour’s voice rang with force.

  Bringing a trickle of blood from the priest’s vestigial ears.

  “I will bring him before the Weeping Wyrm myself. When the Marms arrive, begin the Culling. We will deliver the Gift of our holy Baptism to these heretics! Praise our Weeper and lament!”

  The attendants chanted in worship.

  Tarmour gazed down as the Glooms circled the city.

  He watched the Harbour burn and thought of all the new souls that would be joining them soon.

  All of the new bodies that would make his crusade swell.

  ? ? ?

  Mereque overheard the grim reports: the Harbours submersion engines, housed within the primary wall pillars, had been crippled by targeted strikes.

  The city remained trapped on the surface. Many ships moored within its confines were pinned. Only those few positioned outside could deploy freely.

  The Havenite Navy’s vessels were stacked in layered berths—not all visible above the waves represented the full fleet.

  In fact, they composed barely a third.

  Unfortunately for the Urchin Gull—as the latest arrival—it now sat atop another vessel, unable to unmoor.

  Jenker’s strategy spread rapidly.

  Heavy water lines—conveniently doubling as fire hoses—were unrolled across decks throughout the modular city.

  It was an effective counter to the Blanched Knights. The salty brine burned them and forced them back.

  Their sycophant foot soldiers fared worse. Washed away by the dozens—hundreds.

  There was no flight to safety for them. No choice but to march to their doom.

  Overseers hurled the reluctant from perches with unceremonious cruelty.

  Scores of giant flying beasts ferried the enemy army.

  The Glooms’ potent attack—spitting white-hot iron spheres—could sink ships and shatter walls.

  But it required time. About twelve minutes between volleys.

  The creatures chewed their foul mouth excretions into those unnatural projectiles.

  With so many Glooms, they staggered the bombardment. A steady, deadly rain.

  The Havenites adapted. Moving personnel rapidly to evade impacts.

  The real threat lay in the havoc wreaked on larger structures and vulnerable moored vessels.

  Aerial advantage favored the attackers. None of the Navy’s air forces could close that gap.

  Every attempt they made failed, and those losses were stacking up

  Mereque scanned the chaos.

  The shifting Umbral monsters made no move to descend, maintaining cruising height where they could best prolonging the siege.

  It made him wonder if the ocean water couldn't be used against them. They all seemed vulnerable to it. Logical by extension that these oversized beasts of burden would be too.

  Jenker, on the other hand, was convinced they were up to something. That there was a stratagem behind the distance. One they had yet to understand.

  He barked orders for full mobilization.

  Mereque retrieved an axe from a wall-mounted emergency cabinet he had logged earlier.

  Geared-up personnel passed him in the halls. Full black body suits. Light-plated poly-alloy armor attachments. Faces concealed under sealed, form-fitting helmets, visors stylized like cephalopods—eight tentacles wrapping toward the back, as if swimming forward.

  The Zaxvoyan realized he had left his own headgear in the captain’s quarters.

  He would have to retrieve it later. Returning topside as fast as he was able was more important. He was needed.

  A few soldiers nodded recognition.

  His optical microchip matched one—100% to Fishburn.

  The man who had fought beside him against the Sheddings.

  Emerging topside once more, the roar of large outer-wall cannons greeted him.

  Firing skyward at the huge quad-winged creatures circling above.

  Jenker shouted into a portable radio brought by one of the men.

  Arguing passionately, he ended the call abruptly seemingly satisfied.

  He waved at Mereque as he approached. The larger man nodded in return.

  As he opened his mouth to speak—

  A song struck him.

  It was as if it was playing straight into his head, avoiding his ears and penetrating his mind.

  Mereque froze. Perplexed.

  HUD Overlay (subtle amber flash, pulsing):

  ANOMALY DETECTED: AUDITORY INTRUSION

  COMPULSION RISK: HIGH

  EMOTIONAL SUPPRESSION: FAILING – 42%

  COUNTERMEASURES: NONE

  Unlike anything he had ever heard, the melody touched his soul. Beautiful. Transfixing. Insidious.

  He overlooked Jenker’s words, though they stood only feet apart.

  Confusion grew as he headed toward the ship’s edge.

  Men threw themselves at him. Desperate to slow him.

  He couldn’t understand the problem.

  It called to him. He had to answer.

  How could anyone deny such symphonic beauty?

  It moved his spirit. Inspirational.

  Fifteen men barely wrestled him to a temporary stop.

  A stun stick released three hundred thousand volts, bringing him to one knee.

  That gave Jenker time—time enough to act.

  He pulled a cap over Mereque’s head and sound-dampening flaps sealed his ears.

  The song faded to a scratching whistle.

  Stunned and shaken, Mereque looked at his friend, puzzled.

  “What just happened!?”

  “You don’t have to yell.”

  Jenker’s voice came through a speaker in the cap’s flap.

  “You were charmed by the Marms. Sea sirens of legend—but no pretty ladies among them. Ugly bloody keel slugs. They’ll charm you right off your deck and into their waiting arms. A not-so-pleasant drowning follows.”

  It had come so naturally. Subtly.

  His thought processes offered no defense. Leaving him raw. Vulnerable.

  “That was… unbelievable,” he remarked quietly, astounded Jenker had saved him.

  Another favor owed.

  “The Song of the Sunken Marms,” Jenker said, sour-faced. “Drowned souls of long-dead merfolk. Infected by Sheddings, we think. Reanimated as half-living things.”

  He grimaced, then went on. “They dwell far west. Long trip for them to reach here. Slop cups! The Blanched have been busier than our intelligence ever uncovered.”

  With the song silenced Mereque rose to his feet.

  "Thank you," he said to the men that had helped stop him.

  That could have been bad.

  The assault raged on, and the Marms continued their singing, though he was safe from them for now.

  Looking around, Mereque noticed none of the Havenites had been affected.

  “Why aren’t you charmed? How did you protect yourselves? How did you protect me?”

  “Coralweed husks in the headpieces neutralize the enchantment. What you’re hearing now is the real sound they make—nearly as awful as they are. Look—there’s a handful passing starboard!”

  Jenker pointed.

  It was no exaggeration. They were some of the ugliest things the spaceman had ever seen.

  Eyeless, inky black and green fish-creatures with tails and two arms. Heads mostly mouth. Long pointed teeth framed by tangled weed-like hair flowing around them. Their bodies writhed with worms just beneath the skin. Particulate sediment spread behind as they swam, as if they left a taint in the water itself.

  He raised his Pelter. Fired.

  The sea sprayed as the round struck the waves and blew a hole clean through one monster, killing it instantly.

  At least I can shoot these ones.

  HUD Overlay (green confirmation):

  THREAT NEUTRALIZED

  COUNTERMEASURE CONFIRMED: CORALWEED EFFECTIVE

  ADRENALINE OPTIMAL – ENGAGE

  He didn’t understand what coralweed was, but it had saved his life and many of theirs.

  The Havenites had experience with these creatures and developed a countermeasure.

  It was Jenker’s earlier orders that had mitigated the worst of it. His suspicions compelled him to command full battle-ready gear. It was what he had been arguing about with superiors over the radio. Luckily, they had listened.

  Much of Havenlocke Harbour was hurriedly suiting up when the singing began.

  A few men were lost, but not many, most were able to protect themselves.

  And of those who had acted too late, most were rescued by their crewmates when they became ensnared—like Mereque.

  Jenker’s foresight had turned potential disaster into survival.

  Mereque lowered his weapon.

  He thanked the stars that these new monsters weren’t impervious to his Pelter.

  The Marms swam on. The song hadn't been silenced, but at least it had been muffled.

  They could count it as a small victory; though the fight was far from over.