The Urchin Gull screamed upward, engines howled, pushing the massive hull faster than physics allowed. Two hundred knots. Still not enough.

  Below, the sea floor rose. Mud-colored. Purplish-gray bleeding through. Sediment sloughed off in clouds. The thing closed. Impossible.

  Mereque braced against the bulkhead. Heart hammering.

  Jenker’s face was pale, but his eyes shone with a confident determination. It wasn’t his first run-in with this monster.

  The crew was silent, diligent in executing their duties, though the fear was as thick as the water outside.

  Jenker flipped a switch on his wristband. A panel slid open and a monitor dropped from the ceiling. Mereque stared.

  They could see the external action unfolding on the wall mounted display screen.

  The Gull banked hard starboard. Nose pointed skyward. Boosters fired. One hundred twelve meters per second.

  The surface rushed up, and they broke free. Water exploded around them. The Gull soared.

  Behind, a mountain followed. Not a geological formation. A living thing. Surpassing the definition of titanic.

  The Gull soared higher (launched from the sea like a rocket).

  Below them, something rose. Following fast.

  At first, it looked like land rapidly expanding. Then... like something else. Wet, inhuman, and fleshy.

  A living endless wall was emerging, six kilometers wide, at least. There seemed to be no beginning or end to it.

  Moving with a purpose, it was coming for them. Fast.

  Jenker clipped himself to the table.

  The sub rolled.

  Loose items flew around the cabin (cups, maps, tools—chaos).

  Mereque dropped low and secured himself, wrapping arms and legs around it. He held tight while the deck bucked. Fighting both gravity and the jarring pull of the initial acceleration.

  The mass below continued, rising higher.

  The Gull hung for one heartbeat. Then it fell toward the waiting sea. Toward the inconceivably massive thing chasing them.

  Mereque’s grip tightened.

  Jenker’s mouth went wide, revealing all his teeth.

  The monitor flickered.

  Then it dawned on him.

  Old Father Kraken. That… that couldn’t be.

  The size of it. The scale.

  Reaching. Angry. Undeniable.

  The sub kept falling, remembering that gravity ruled here. The sea rolled away from it, as if it too was running in fear.

  And Mereque thought, It’s just the arm?

  ‘It’s just the arm!’

  Jenker laughed wildly. He was afraid. And defiant. Tears streamed from his eyes as he stared at the monitor.

  The Kraken’s arm reached, massive and unstoppable.

  He snapped his head toward Mereque.

  “Hold tight! Hard turn port!”

  No time to ask questions. No time for anything.

  Air jets opened on the right side of the Gull. Compressed blasts detonated and the ship went sideways.

  It felt like being hit by a battering ram.

  Mereque’s grip slipped. The jolt nearly threw him. He locked his arms tighter.

  Jenker’s tether held, saving him from being tossed about. His eyes wet and wild.

  The sub lurched left. Suddenly. Violently. Blasting them away from the arm.

  The compressed airstream continued to roar as the ship was pushed to the far side of Old Father’s arm.

  Mereque’s heart was pounding. It was an impressive maneuver for such a beast of a ship.

  But gravity still remembered them. The bow dropped fast and the ocean rushed up to greet them. Re-entry in seconds.

  Jenker’s laugh cut off.

  “Brace!”

  The impact was smooth—almost gentle, just a shudder rippling through the hull. Mereque couldn’t help but be impressed by the engineering that let a vessel this massive handle such insanity.

  Back under the waves, they sped on. Distance grew. The mass sank behind them.

  Now, with room to breathe, Mereque stared at the monitor. Clear view at last.

  It stretched endless through the sea. Not rock. Not formation. A huge horizontal cylinder—spongy, and alive.

  It had lifted from the seafloor. From the bottom far below.

  As detritus cleared in its wake, its texture revealed itself.

  A leathery ridged hide, pale, purplish-grey, and blotchy. Like ancient marine skin.

  Whale.

  The word surfaced from old Earth archives.

  Large air-breathing mammals. Ocean-bound. Images flashed—majestic tails waving in the currents.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  But this... This dwarfed them at an impossible scale.

  Mereque’s awe was mixed with dread.

  Ancient barnacles dotted the mass—some as large as the Urchin Gull itself. They clung to the arm, scarred and faded yellowed. Folds and creases gently rippled as the mass began to slowly descend.

  Mereque stared. Taking it all in. Trying to process what he’d just witnessed.

  The scale defied reason.

  Long spine-like hairs lined the underside (tree-thick, barbed). They shed in clumps. Floated. Pinwheeled.

  But these were not snowflakes. They were more animated. More alive.

  Tendrils lashed out (barbed, hungry, searching). Many crawled the seafloor. Predatory.

  The Gull rode the turbulent currents. Advanced nav guiding them clear.

  Jenker unhooked. Holstered pistol drawn.

  “Follow me. I need to get to Command.”

  His eyes hard.

  “Stay alert. We may have visitors.”

  Mereque rose.

  The monitor flickered.

  They had escaped the impossible. Again.

  But the strange hairs drifted closer. The sea teemed with them. Gross gossamer threads.

  The sub sped on.

  Mereque followed close, sidearm drawn.

  They ran right down a long corridor. Hazard lights pulsed red against bright white walls. Ominous. Urgent.

  The sub groaned around them.

  “That thing was alive. I thought it was just some sort of unusual geological formation. But it’s not that. What is it?”

  No answer at first.

  Mereque raised his voice.

  “Captain!”

  Jenker slowed. Turned. Face etched with worry.

  “Listen, friend. That was Old Father Kraken. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but we grow up living with him. He’s been here forever. Seems like Old Father’s taken umbrage with us. Portholes—he’s trying to flatten us like manta pancakes.”

  He forced a grin, shaky. The man was not okay, but he was putting on a good face.

  “He’s usually calmer. We must’ve pissed him off.”

  Mereque stared.

  “That... is your Old Father Kraken?”

  Jenker nodded.

  The words sank in.

  “You can’t be serious. The size defies biology— no normal organism could grow this big without collapsing under its own weight.”

  Jenker gave him a funny look, as if to say ‘better get with the program pal’, before shrugging.

  Mereque felt the truth hit.

  On this Earth the impossible had become real. It was a place where Dragons roamed the skies. Where medieval Knights were reborn as living nightmares. And where fairies danced between two worlds.

  The sub lurched again, followed by a low shudder. It felt like a distant impact.

  They ran on, feet never stopping.

  “Aye, I mean it, snap pants!”

  Jenker’s laugh was sharp, half-mad.

  Snap pants—a navy term for new recruits, trousers so pristine they looked fresh-pressed.

  Not that Mereque wore such attire. But it was aimed at him. He, being a novice to the sea.

  “Believe it! That is the Old Father. Blessings and curses upon him. He rules these oceans. Holds the world in his arms. Legends say without him, Earth wouldn’t even be here.”

  Mereque’s mind reeled.

  “Kraken…”

  The word echoed in his head from ancient archives. Ancient myths.

  It was a colossal cephalopod. A Ship-sinker. But s sailor’s tall tale, bred from natural fears of being on the open water.

  He stared at Jenker.

  “I read of such creatures. Giant monsters of the sea. Born of superstition. Surely… it can’t be real?”

  Jenker grabbed his arm. Exasperation cracked his voice.

  “Don’t know about superstition. But Old Father’s real as you or me. Believe it or not—he’s coming. His arm isn’t the only danger we need to worry about.”

  The sub lurched. Another distant impact?

  “Now move!”

  They ran on. The corridor blurred. Red lights pulsed around them.

  The Urchin Gull groaned under the shifting pressure of the ocean currents. Pipes rattled overhead.

  Not far behind, a popping sound echoed—like a gun fired.

  Mereque turned.

  Thin streams of water sprinkled the hallway behind them. Small holes had been punched through the tubes running along the ceiling and walls.

  At first, he thought it was accidental—a structural fault from the chaos.

  Then he saw something odd stretching out from within the streams. Semitransparent gelatinous tendrils ending in nasty pointed barbed tips.

  They undulated and stabbed the air with malicious intent.

  Mereque’s alarm spiked.

  “Jenker, we have company!”

  He called out, aiming back at the appendages as they lashed violently.

  Jenker cursed.

  “Keel Slugs! Sheddings! I was worried they’d get in! We’re going to have a fight on our hands!”

  Even as he spoke, the mass of prehensile extremities tangled up together. Getting thicker within seconds as more twisted about each other.

  To Mereque’s growing horror, the semblance of a body took shape within that indeterminate mess.

  Formless. Alive. The fight was on.

  The fine squishy tendrils corded tighter together. What looked like a creature with three arms and three legs came into being, wholly composed of the gelatinous extremities binding with one another. They became the texture for the creature’s form.

  Barbed tips became clawed endings for digits. They formed natural defensive protuberances all over the body, much like a quilled porcupine or puffer fish. But these spines had reach.

  One darted out at exceptional length and barely missed Mereque’s head by inches.

  He felt the air part beside his ear.

  It had the semblance of a head, but it was featureless—no eyes, ears, or nostrils. It formed a mockery of a mouth filled with pointed ends from the tendrils, horrific and barbed like jagged teeth.

  Mereque’s revulsion surged.

  With another curse, Jenker opened fire. He aimed his pistol precisely—a conventional piece unloading ammunition Mereque had never seen (only studied).

  The shot blew apart the tentacle that had nearly lanced him. Gore splattered, but the round stopped short of the wall.

  Controlled munitions. Smart.

  The creature recoiled. Slurped wetly.

  Mereque grunted as something hit hard against the armor protecting his upper left thigh. It bounced away, unable to penetrate the metal. The strike stung from the force behind it. Nasty bruising later, no doubt.

  He counted himself lucky.

  Unloaded his sidearm.

  Exceptional aim—training plus surgical augmentations enhancing his already honed abilities.

  The shot blew a hole clean through the creature’s mid-section.

  It stopped.

  No vocalizations.

  But the hundreds—perhaps thousands—of gelatinous tendrils composing it produced eerie slurping sounds from friction as they constricted together.

  Haunting and wet. The noise increased in volume.

  The hole he created began to close slowly at first, then faster. Inner pieces slid tighter. Repairing its form with alarming speed.

  Mereque’s horror grew.

  It wasn’t dead, it was adapting.

  The creature pulsed. Ready again.

  “Come on!”

  Dammad yelled, tugging Mereque’s elbow.

  “We have to retreat to command.”

  The thing lumbered after them (slurping, and wet).

  Mereque’s HUD flashed red: ALERT! HOSTILE COLONY ORGANISM DETECTED.

  He bellowed.

  “How do we kill it?”

  No time for answers.

  They turned left (through a porthole into a parallel passage).

  Jenker fired right, his shot cracking at another Shedding.

  But they missed one lurking overhead.

  Tendrils darted down.

  Mereque shoved Jenker clear. Leaped.

  He grabbed the slime in a vice grip. And pulled hard until the tendrils tore free.

  Orchid jelly sprayed (mucous, thick). Broken ends flailed (wild, directionless). The creature screeched (bubbling).

  Mereque dropped the twitching mass. It writhed there, slowly reforming itself.

  Jenker came up beside him, eyes wide.

  “Thanks.”

  Mereque flexed his hand.

  “Still got my grip.”

  Jenker grinned.

  “Keel slugs! Never seen a man rip a Shedding like that.”

  Jenker’s voice carried awe, more than impressed with his guest’s handiwork.

  “I was going to say we need torches—that’s how we clear them out. Your hands work just as well.”

  He aimed over Mereque’s shoulder and fired.

  The shot hit the creature coming down the corridor. Barely slowed it.

  But it gave Ventrullis a moment.

  He landed a second strike with his Pelter.

  Blew one arm clean off halfway along the length.

  The monster reconstituted another full appendage within seconds.

  Yet that time afforded a reprieve.

  They took full advantage and ran as fast as they could down the passageway.

  They nearly stepped headlong into Fishburn, who burst through an adjoining hatch carrying heavy ordnance strapped to his back.

  “Out of the way, Captain! Let me clean up these oversized jellies!”

  His subordinate shouted, drawing the weighty weapon up to aim back down the corridor.

  The nozzle flickered with a small flame inside the recessed covering. The two-handed rifle-like weapon was attached to his pack by a loose metal-ringed cord.

  He sweated heavily, visibly strained from hauling the whole package.

  With a grunt he motioned them past with a nod to his side.

  They obliged, pressing against the walls as they squeezed by.

  Fishburn hit the trigger.

  Mereque felt the heat wash back as the weapon discharged. Bright orange and yellow plumes sprayed the hallway. The roar of billowing fire filled their ears.

  The mariner burned the creatures without remorse. Roaring flames devoured inhuman flesh. The slugs squealed and bubbled.

  Fishburn and Jenker laughed.

  But it wasn’t with cheer. It was with relief.

  Mereque could see the madness teetering at the corners of their red rimmed eyes. He knew that look, it had chased him since the crash.