The forty barrel-shaped depth-charges tore through the freezing water three miles above the trench.
Their green detonator runes flickered with manic intensity as they sliced past the mid-depth thermocline. Behind them, pressurized acoustic ripples radiated through the ocean, threatening to fracture the seabed.
Ten miles out on the flagship bridge, Alchemist Linnea stood before Kaelen’s secondary control console.
Elder Sterling leaned over her shoulder, his reading spectacles pushed up into his white hair.
“Day Fifteen,” Linnea murmured, checking the chronometer on the brass chart table. “The depth-charges have cleared the two-mile mark.”
Beside them, Deacon Vane flicked his abacus beads in rapid succession, his velvet slippers silent on the deck.
“Forty heavy sonic depth-charges,” Deacon Vane purred in a hushed whisper. “Forged from grade-six abyssal iron and packed with imported thunder-marrow. At Sanctuary rates, Gorgon just dropped twenty-four thousand Sovereign Jade Cores into the water.”
“He will not get a single core’s worth of damage,” Barnaby Holt grunted, his rough hand gripping the brass firing lever.
