I call to the dark.
Words hold no power here. I unleash the raw, undeniable frequency of the deep trench. A low, throbbing pulse travels through the silt, vibrates through the rusted iron pipes.
A summons.
Come.
The forgotten debris rises.
Come.
I wait in the freezing dark.
One agonizing heartbeat passes. Nothing answers but the heavy silence of the toxic smog.
Then a sharp click.
Another.
From the deep shadows of the discarded engine blocks, from the jagged cracks in the foundation, from the towering piles of rotting refuse, they emerge.
Crab-mers bearing missing, jagged limbs. Long eel-kin wrapped in scarred scales. The unwanted. The broken. The terrifying things the glittering Reef threw away.
They emerge from the dark, drawn to the impossible sound of a trench monster speaking their language.
Turning back, I face the shell.
Vaelis watches my display. His golden eyes shine in the dark.
"We possess an army," I say, my voice rumbling.
"Desperate scavengers," Mira whispers from her blanket. "They carry no military weapons. They have no training."
"They form the heavy shield," I say, my eyes locked on Vaelis. "We form the lethal spear."
I study my beautiful survivor.
"Are you ready to play the pampered Vael?" I ask him.
He straightens his spine. He strips the lingering fear from his face.
"No," he says, voice forged in iron. "I forfeit the Vael."
Lowering his eyes to the tactical map, he glares at the red circle marking the High Plaza.
"I intend to be a problem," he says.
I grin. Grinning with a roaring voice to back it up satisfies a deep primal urge.
"Bolt!" I roar into the shell. "Spin the engine to maximum! We go up!"
The depths answer the call.
The response starts with frantic clicking. The heavy silt shifts.
From the smog, the horde emerges.
The Reef understands traditional armies. This matches no such definition. No iron breastplates. No polished silver spears. No synchronized tail-beats. A chaotic riot of mutation and desperate survival surrounds us.
