A crimson shockwave of boiling brine illuminated the jagged canyon walls like a bloody dawn.
Penal Siege-Commander Gorgon tore through the water column at supersonic speed, dragging a vortex of superheated steam behind his spiked boots.
His veins bulged with black demonic fire, fueled by fifty years of incinerated lifespan.
On the flagship bridge ten miles out, Elder Sterling pressed his ear to the acoustic listening horn.
“Gorgon’s mass displacement has doubled,” Sterling reported in an anxious whisper. “He has abandoned all defensive forms. He is charging the canyon throat like a runaway ironclad.”
“Let him charge,” Linnea replied calmly from the array console. “Layer two of the Pre-Paid Shield is already primed.”
Two miles below the surface, Sera Thorne adjusted her grip on her Storm-Pike, her amber eyes tracking the rabid behemoth with practiced calm.
“Day Twenty,” Sera said, her voice steady over the water-currents. “His blood-boiling frenzy has doubled his strike mass. Clashing with that head-on will cost us three recovery pills.”
