Records of Immortality Volume 2—Chapter 42: Hunted

The school of Krakhan charged on, relentless.

Swish! Swish! Swish!

Captain Osric's arbalest thrumd, a steady counter‑rhythm to the churning water, each shot a punctuation mark in the chaos. His arrows—sheathed in a nimbus of reinforcing prana that made them glow faintly in the dying light—sliced through the air with the promise of death. They struck the creatures' thick, tallic hides and skittered off in showers of sparks that lit the water like fallen stars.

"Damnation!" Osric spat. "Their hide is like forged steel!"

Ashan leveled his right hand, his voice dropping into the profane, guttural syllables of Ashurain. The words ca easier now, the shapes worn smooth by repetition, the power in them waiting, coiled, ready.

[Combat Bolt]

A crackling bolt of dark azure energy spiraled around his fist, casting strange shadows across the deck, before lancing toward the lead beast. One of the Krakhan responded not by dodging—these creatures had never learned to dodge—but by gaping its maw wide, a wall of needle‑like teeth poised to catch the attack, to swallow it, to prove that nothing in this world could hurt it.

"Now! Fire!"

"Feast on this!" Osric obeyed instantly. His enhanced arrow shot straight into the open, vulnerable mouth, into the soft flesh that had never needed armor.

A wet, crunching thud echoed across the water. The creature spasd, its death throes painting the water with dark ichor that spread like oil.

"One down. Eight to go."

Osric slung the x‑bow over his shoulder. "Ashan, I'm taking the high ground! No matter what, do not let them breach the hull!"

He scrambled up the mast with simian agility, finding a precarious perch among the rigging, the wind tearing at his clothes, his eyes already tracking, already aiming.

Ashan drew his remaining fireball charms. The papers were warm in his hand, the symbols pulsing faintly.

Let's turn the sea to steam.

He flung all five into the path of the onrushing monsters. The charms ignited mid‑air, transforming into roaring orbs of orange fury.

In eerie unison, the remaining Krakhan halted their charge. Their jaws gaped again—not to bite, but to expel pressurized jets of seawater.

WHUMPH!

The collision of fire and water was a cataclysm. Steam erupted in a great, hissing cloud that blotted out the light, choked the air, transford the space between ship and sea into sothing neither water nor air. Concussive force slamd into the deck, the mast, the n.

"Hell yeah! That's the spirit!" Captain Osric's arrows rained down with increased velocity, finding seams between scales. Three more Krakhan fell.

Three more down.

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Ashan's eyes scanned the chaos. The steam was dissipating, the water settling.

Where is the fifth?

Greyish‑white vortices swirled into life within his irises, cutting through the gloom, piercing the depths.

There. Deep diving.

Without hesitation, Ashan drew his prized blade and dove over the rail.

The water was a cold shock, stealing breath, pressing against skin and eyes. He kicked downward, his enhanced sight cutting through the murk. The blade was heavy in his hand, prana flowing through it, making it hum with hunger.

Just below, the surface erupted. The lurking Krakhan shot upward, its gargantuan maw yawning wide, rows of teeth gleaming like a promise of endings.

This scene is becoming tiresoly familiar.

He didn't flinch. He let a concentrated thread of prana flood the blade, felt it sing with lethal intent. As the jaws closed around him, he thrust—not blindly, but with surgical precision—into the soft palate above the beast's tongue.

The blade sheared through flesh and gristle. Hot blood sprayed, painting Ashan's face and tunic in vital crimson. The creature convulsed.

[Combat Bolt]

At point‑blank range, he unleashed the energy directly into the wound. The creature shuddered one last ti and went still.

He pushed away from the sinking corpse and kicked toward the surface.

Above, Captain Osric's arrow storm continued. The remaining Krakhan were marked with burns, deep gashes, protruding shafts. Yet their predatory drive pushed them forward.

"Tch! Persistent bastards!" Osric grunted, sliding back to the deck, breathing hard. "Spent?"

Ashan hauled himself aboard, muscles screaming, hands leaving red prints on the rail. He wiped blood and saltwater from his eyes. "Half. But we must conserve strength. No sense arriving at a pirate den already bleeding and empty."

"Then what do you propose we—"

Ashan's words died in his throat.

Shhh… Shhh…

Faint, dying cries filtered through the water. Not the cries of beasts charging—the cries of beasts being taken.

Both n froze, staring at the sea behind them. The wounded Krakhan were gone. The water was still. Smooth. The calm of sothing that had fed and was waiting to feed again.

"Where did they…" Ashan's voice was a whisper, dread coiling in his gut. I sensed nothing. No approach. No attack.

Captain Osric hefted his crossbow, head swiveling frantically.

Soul Sense.

[Viksana: Analyse]

Ashan layered his perceptions, casting the enhanced net wide. The world dissolved into a tapestry of life‑force and intent—the fading embers of the slain Krakhan, the vibrant blaze of Osric, the dull thrum of the ship's timber.

And below.

There.

Sothing moved in the deep gloom beneath the keel. Not a presence—an absence. A patch of profound, hungry darkness that drank the very light of perception. Ancient. Cold. Utterly alien. A thing that had been waiting in the deep since before there were words for waiting.

Ashan severed the connection violently. Beads of cold sweat trickled from his temples. His hands trembled.

What vile abyss‑dweller is that? I sensed only… void.

"Captain!" His voice was raw, urgent. "We need to run! Now!"

"What do you an—"

RUMBLE.

The entire ship shuddered as if struck by a subrged mountain. The deck lurched violently.

"Whoa! Hold onto sothing, lad!" Osric threw his weight onto the great wheel, fighting to keep them on course.

CRACKLE—SNAP!

Splintering wood scread from beneath their feet.

Ashan lunged for a mast stay, wrapping the rough rope around his forearm. "It's attacking the hull! The lower strakes are breaking!"

"I know!" Osric roared. "So deep‑dwelling rakshasa… Arohan‑rank, at least! Our only chance is to outrun it to shallow waters!"

RUMBLE—CRACK!

A section of the port‑side railing disintegrated, shredded by an unseen force.

"How long can we last?!" Ashan yelled.

Captain Osric's reply was grim, gritted through clenched teeth. "A day. At most!"

A day? The calculation was cold and swift. We'll be matchwood in an hour.

The mission. The House. The Kumar. All of it ant nothing if he ended his second life in the gut of so leviathan.

I need a plan. Now.

He clung to the rope, the fibers biting into his palm. Beneath him, the ship groaned its death rattle. Out on the darkening water, no pursuer was visible—only the spreading calm, the silence more terrifying than any roar.

His eyes, reflecting the dying light, swirled with desperate greyish‑white as he scanned the endless, murderous sea, searching for a salvation he could not yet see.