Child of Night Part 2

 It was about time I finished this short story. I hope whoever reads it has a great time!

 

 

Never before have I been so grateful to hear the distant rumble of thunder. Its echoes wash over me, caressing every inch of my skin, thus sharpening my senses. The rain conceals not only my scent but also the sound of my movements, while an endless cloak of black clouds hides the setting sun. Yet no matter how far fate’s helping hand stretches, caution remains my greatest ally. There could be other, crueler hunters lurking amid the sea of tall grass - bloodthirsty things which crave the taste of human flesh. So I creep into the unknown, spear in hand, eyes ever vigilant, for today my prey is the most ruthless of all, the most merciless and efficient killer ever created. Today I am hunting my fellow man.

I press my body against the muddy ground and take a moment to feel the power of distant lightning strikes. The earth vibrates each time the heavens strike the world, from which, I aim to absorb their speed and strength. I must become like lightning if I want myself to have a fighting chance. My foes are taller, far stronger than I, with wide shoulders, thick arms, and scars from past battles. Yet no matter the odds, I press forward. After all, what do I have to lose? I have no home, only the open plains, no father, mother, sibling or child to share my struggle against the cold winds with or to protect from the fangs of beasts. If I could save that woman, that maiden dressed in white, I could have a family, maybe start a new tribe where my bloodline could live on. Doubt lingers in my mind, yet I push on.

Finding their camp wasn’t difficult. Though the rain washed away their tracks, man—whether clad in amber or animal hides—tends to leave evidence of his presence. Crumbs of food, cut vegetation, and even excrement were enough for me to track them to their hideout, where I expected to find more of their kind. To my surprise, they live alone, in conditions only slightly better than mine.

Four small wooden huts, half-sunken into the ground, dot the hillside, their mossy roofs barely visible. A campfire burns inside each strange dwelling, its smoke escaping through small holes in the tops. Strangely, no defenses—no ditches or palisades—protect the camp from outside threats, leaving the entire camp out for the taking. Only the vigor of the inhabitants offers any chance against utter destruction, but as I gaze at their tired, expressionless faces, I wonder if these warriors even have the will to live.

Hidden by darkness, I observe the scene, my body frozen like a rock. The girl is still alive, though drenched in cold rainwater. She lacks the strength to resist, and I watch as they tie her limp body to a tall boulder atop the hill. But it is no ordinary stone. No, it is an idol, a terrifying monument adorned with carvings of men falling into flames or chased by thin, tailed figures with arrowhead skulls. I stare at it, searching for meaning in the strange altar, while a voice in my mind urges me to hide from its unending gaze. Then another thought emerges—foreign, alien, yet strangely alluring. It tells me to show respect to the idol, that I am safe in its presence, and to forsake the heavens as they have forsaken my kin. With a racing heart, I press my face against the ground, desperate to break free from the accursed stone’s influence. The thoughts fade, but I fear they will return to haunt me.

I’m unsure how long I’ve stared at the mud, but after what feels like hours, curiosity overcomes me. The amber-clad men no longer roam their camp, leaving only their “living trophy,” who seems to have fallen asleep. Still prone, I move toward the nearest hut, my eyes darting left and right to brace for any unwanted surprises. Despite my caution, the coast remains clear, much to my concern. Like the sun scorching the earth before a storm, my mind warns me that this peace and quiet has a reason—one I dread learning the hard way.

Still, I crawl up the hill, pausing every few feet to ensure I haven’t been spotted. After spending minutes creeping up to the camp, I reach the first shack, and I can practically feel the heat just from watching the shadows dancing on the walls. Then I see him. A man lies beside the roaring flames, naked except for a thin brown blanket he clutches like a child. Had I not witnessed their true nature hours earlier, I might have mistaken him for another denizen of the steppes, a victim of the elements. Watching his chest rise and fall while listening to his deafening snores, I’m reminded of myself, of all the nights I spent huddled beside dim flames. But I know who they are: killers, raiders, warriors of evil.

Seizing what may be my only chance to take one of them down, I swiftly move toward him, knife in hand. The sinister voice of the idol returns to the back of my mind, but this time, it speaks to me in a tongue I cannot understand, and disperses as soon as I deliver the killing blow. I hold the stranger’s mouth shut as he jolts awake from the flint blade burrowed his throat, as he tries to push me off in a desperate attempt to save his wicked life. Like the prey I caught on the plains, he chokes on his own blood before my eyes, unable to save himself no matter how fiercely he tries. Moments later, his body goes limp, and I realize I have just committed murder for the first time.

Strange. So different is man from beast that the mere thought of killing one could sicken the stomach. I cannot tell whether it’s my knowledge of his past actions or a deep, feral craving for violence that leaves me feeling nothing. There is blood on my hands, the blood of a man whose name I never knew, whose fate I care little for. Perhaps in that better age my grandfather spoke of, I would have felt sorrow, hatred, or even disgust. I might have felt all the emotions my kind has been burdened with, and perhaps more. But this is no better age. This is a trial by fire.

As I sneak toward the second hut, I notice the cold rain has begun to ease. The noise of my movements grows louder, freezing me in my tracks. So blind had I become from my successful kill that I neglected to check my surroundings. Yet as I glance left and right, the outpost remains as somber as ever. Still, the thought of lowering my guard unsettles me. After all, it was such carelessness that allowed a blade-headed beast to surprise my kin, who then stained the soil red with their insides.

The second warrior sleeps soundly as well, unaware of his impending fate. Yet on my way to finish him off, something tells me that my movement lacks in confidence. It’s as if my body doubts me, my limbs whispering that my success cannot be repeated. Still, I ignore it, as I did with the voice of the stone.

Or at least, that was my hope. Entering the hut, I find a man thrashing under his blanket, unable to sleep. He slowly opens his weary eyes, and I, with only a few heartbeats to spare, spring forward. Bringing my flint knife down from above, I inflict a gruesome wound on his shoulder. He screams in pain and tries to push me away, but in his tired, agonized state, he struggles to throw me off, locking us in a desperate wrestling match. Despite my initial advantage, my prey still has his weight to rely on. Each of his punches lands with the force of a stone flung from a sling, and each time he grabs me, I fear he might tear me apart. Only my pitiful slashes deter him from doing so, for despite his hulking frame, he is still a mortal.

After a minute of grappling in the campfire’s warmth, he weakens, bleeding from the dozen small wounds I’ve inflicted on his body. My prey raises his arms to shield himself, seeking a moment’s rest as I tire. Then, as I drive my knife toward his throat, he swings his elbow into my face. I fall beside him, stunned and blinded by the blow, while the smell of warm blood hits my nostrils.

Before I can even grunt, the man’s hands seize my neck, squeezing the breath from my lungs. His fingers dig deep, coiling around my throat like a snake.

My life flashes before my eyes as I scramble for my missing knife. Faces and memories, both sweet and sorrowful, flood my mind as I begin to lose consciousness. Everything darkens, my head throbs with pain, and I can do nothing but hope for salvation. Then, as my fingers grow cold, I feel the handle of my knife in my palm.

So focused was my foe on choking the life from me that he failed to see my attack. I strike him from below, driving my knife through his jaw and into the roof of his mouth. It takes a moment for the pain to register, along with the realization that I, a young hunter, have bested him.

I have no time to celebrate my kill, however. As soon his blood drops onto my body, I crawl to safety and grab my spear. Surely, the last warrior heard his comrade’s cries over the now-gentle rain and waits for the chance to smear my guts over his stone god.

Outside, my eyes meet hers. Gray pearls gaze into my soul, searching for answers about her fate. Her face bears a tired, hopeless look—the look of someone who has abandoned the will to live, existing only for the moment death claims her. I rush to her, still panting from my fight, and see her try to shuffle away with what little strength remains within her. She must think I’m one of her captors, come to offer her blood to the rock. As I cut the rope binding her, a spark of hope lights her eyes. She tries to stand after I free her, but her legs buckle under the weight of her capture. I catch her before she hits the ground. Our bodies press together for a moment, skin touching skin as we share warmth. She is cold to the touch, shivering beneath her soaked robe. Yet I see a faint smile on her face, followed by a strange word I can only assume means “thank you” in her tongue. I nod at her in silence, still mesmerized by her eyes.

So locked were our eyes on each other that I failed to check my surroundings. Out of nowhere, the third warrior wraps his left arm around my neck before kicking the girl into the mud. I feel his amber-clad torso pressing against my frame and catch a glimpse of his axe rising, poised to split my skull. Like the cornered wolf I am, I bite his exposed forearm with such force that it draws blood. My final foe, though tall and strong, recoils from the pain and hurls me aside, cursing me in his own tongue. In the distance, thunder roars across the plains.

We stare at each other with mutual hatred, eyes burning with the feral urge to take life, to extinguish the flame of another being. To him, I am but a mere pup, a youngster who dared to step out of line. But for me, he is my true rite of passage.

He stands there, wearing nothing but leather pants and an amber torso piece, likely sizing up how long I can last in a fight. I do the same. One strike from his axe could end my life, while my flint-headed spear must hit his most vulnerable point. Perhaps crippling a leg joint will even the odds, or severing a tendon or two. Or, if the heavens truly favor me, I could slash a major artery. All I need now is one lucky strike.

He shouts and lunges toward me, but I roll to his side just in time. Instinctively, I stab at his chest, but to no avail. My spearhead glances off his amber-clad torso with a faint clank, leaving us achieving nothing, other than trading places. We repeat this twice more—him swinging, me dodging and stabbing, only for my weapon to rebound off him. I feel the tip of my spear loosening, its integrity failing as it clashes against the superior material.

My limbs tremble. I’ve been on the move for so long with so little in my belly that my body begins to falter, my racing heart gripped by fear of death. The warrior before me senses this. He grins at my suffering, relishing in my weakening resolve. A chuckle escapes his lips as he points his axe at the stone, then slowly draws it across his throat in a slicing gesture.

In desperation, I hurl my spear toward him. Aiming as if I were hunting on the plains, it strikes his uncovered shoulder. He freezes from the blow, and I, drunk with the smallest glimpse of victory, rush in, dagger in hand.

But overconfidence fells many aspiring hunters. With the butt of his axe, my foe strikes my head as one might swat a fly. I collapse onto the wet soil with a loud splash, my face caked in mud, my head ringing from the blow. I struggle to rise, but my persistence earns only a kick to my ribs as my ears are filled with the warrior’s bellowing laughter. I lie there before the idol, spirit broken and limbs weary, awaiting a swift death. Yet it does not come. No, my foe seems to be enjoying my pitiful state and spits on me. Then comes another kick, followed by a third and a fourth one each more brutal than the last before, bruising my small frame. A wave of insults washes over me, unintelligible but granting me a moment to rest and seek a way out—if there one. Then I realize my dagger remains in my hand, concealed by mud and grass.

He lifts me by my hair, intent on dragging me to the rock as an offering, his mouth spitting curses in a tongue so brutish it fuels my hatred for my enemies. It was this rage which gives me the strength needed for my plan. In the middle of his speech, I drive my blade deep into his calf, striking bone and the blood vessel I was hoping to open. The warrior drops me and screams in pain, granting me enough time to crawl to safety. I glance back to see how far I have gotten, only to see my foe limping toward me, axe raised high.

With no weapons left and no one by my side, I close my eyes, ready to meet my end. Then I hear the soil shift. Curiosity prompts me to open my eyes, and I watch the idol topple toward me—and, more crucially, toward my foe. He turns and screams, but a moment later, he is crushed under the immense weight of the rock. At that instant, the rain ceases.

Before my heart can calm, I search for the girl with my eyes and, to my surprise, find her slumped against the idol’s base, panting from exhaustion. It is now that I realize she must have toppled the stone to save me, whether through her last reserves of strength or with aid from above. In the end, we saved each other; two souls bound by a shared struggle, freed from the claws of the evil rooted in this corner of the world. She collapses to the ground, laughing, releasing nervous energy. It is an involuntary response, done to relief tension. I know, for I’ve done the same many times before. I laugh as well. I laugh for I know I lived to tell this tale.

Child of Night Part 1

 

A lone hunter-gatherer battles starvation and encounters men with eerie, shining blades... Will he survive this brutal world?

"Man was little more than prey in those days. They were victims to the elements, hunted like any other game. It was truly the Age of Night." 

(Unfortunately, I could not find the source for this image) 

 

I am starving. My stomach growls loudly in pain as I lie low among the tall grass, begging for nourishment it has been denied for the past three nights. This desperate urge in my belly claws at my flesh, dulls my senses, and strips me of strength, yet I have no choice but to ignore it. The sensation of starvation has become part of my life, a feeling I have been forced to become all too familiar with after the death of my kin. Indeed, I am alone on this hunt, guided by nothing but instinct and memories of a better, ever-so-distant past. What knowledge my father could not pass on to me was instead etched into my mind through trial and error. Now, however, failure will only bring death.

Three days I have spent tracking down my prey, stalking them from the shadows, watching them with anticipation. I have watched the hooved beasts losing a foal to a cave lion, I have stared in disgust as men of twisted flesh and deformed skulls chased them throughout the plains. In both times, I did nothing. I have bid my time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, the perfect opportunity to fill my stomach with their succulent red meat. I can already taste the bone marrow spread over the tip of my tongue and the beast’s blood dripping down my throat. Each heartbeat I spend with hiding brings me closer to the brink of insanity. Yet I cannot reveal myself, not now at least. A hunter must be patient, or else he brings doom upon himself and his tribe.

The time of truth is at hand. Like a shrewd fox, I have managed to get close enough to smell the scent of their fur. They glow brightly in the color of the sun, standing out against the deep green plains as if they were droplets of honey. My plan is finally coming to fruition. Approaching the herd from the east, I let the cold steppe wind carry my scent in the opposite direction. To my prey, it’s as if I don’t even exist.

With my hairless face pressed against a mound of dirt, I hear the prize of the hunt approaching. It is the only male in its group, living proof that their kind is as scarce as men and women. I am reminded of my grandfather’s tales of a distant past, when my kin were as numerous as the birds in the sky. Heavy thoughts arise in my mind as I recall his words: this world is a realm of death, where the only rule is to kill or be killed, where survival demands bathing in blood. My mind shifts to a more recent memory. Images of my previous hunt flash before my eyes, filling me with fierce determination. This day won’t be my last in this world, but for these beasts, I shall be their doom.

In the blink of an eye, I leap from my hiding spot and charge toward my unsuspecting prey. The creature’s four pitch-black eyes stare back at me with a soulless gaze as I hurl my spear with all my remaining strength. It lets out a piercing shriek as my weapon’s flint head burrows deep where neck and shoulder meet. Driven by pure terror, they start fleeing, and I give chase. The wind that aided my hunt now whips my long black hair like the grass I’m running through, while the scent of blood fills my nostrils. I follow the trail of red ichor, and though my legs threaten to give out, I push on like a true hunter. My heart pounds so fiercely I fear it might burst from my chest. Yet I continue sprinting, my mind dulled but focused, driven by the mere sight of blood.

The creature pauses every so often to rest and check if the coast is clear, but I feel no urge to rest my body. Before long, it finds itself cornered between me and a small rocky hill. In its pain-filled delirium, it chooses not to drag its still-bleeding body over the hill; instead, it tries to go around, giving me a second opportunity to strike. I pick up a rock and throw it at its head, surprising us both with my sudden surge in marksmanship. The beast waddles for a few more heartbeats before I lunge at its now-wretched body. I pull out my spear and sink it deep into its fur-covered throat in one swift thrust. Blood gushes from the wound, and before it can drown in it or pass out from exhaustion, I greedily drink directly from the source. The hunt is over. I have proven myself a man once more.

 

 

The sound of meat grinding against my maw is music to my ears. It has been so long since I last tore tender flesh with my teeth that, in my celebration, I overate. A small, dwindling fire warms me as I lie among the rocks, giving my now-aching body much-needed rest. I feel no fear in this blissful moment. For now, my hunger is satiated, and the specter of starvation no longer looms on the horizon. Even in the chilling touch of the wind, I sense safety, for I know my forefathers watch me through the western breeze. Yet as time passes and my fire fades, my mind begins to wander. Are they proud of me? Were my steps into adulthood as glorious as theirs? Only the dead know, for I am alone.

I start wondering about my place on this cold, cruel world, when suddenly, a scream throws me out of my comfort. Over the other side of the small hill where I have slain my prey, I can hear the sound of feet moving through grass, and most shockingly, the pleading of a woman. My muscles tense up as I look around in fear of being attacked. I cannot see anyone or anything disturbing the vegetation on my side, yet I pick up my spear alongside my knife. A second scream fills me with disgusted curiosity, so after spending another moment observing my surroundings, I crawl to the top of the hill, and take cover behind a large mossy rock.

The sight takes my breath away. I see a trio of men dressed in glistening, amber-like coats, surrounding an elderly man and a young woman clad in smooth white leather dresses. The old man kneels, pleading with the warriors in a tongue I cannot understand, while the girl stands frozen in terror. I watch with a heavy heart as he begs in a shaky voice, tears rolling down his wrinkled cheeks into his messy gray beard. The warriors, however, remain unmoved. After a tense moment, one of them steps forward and draws a dagger. The blade, made of the same amber-like material as their clothing, glows brightly like fresh tree sap yet possesses the clear hardness of flint. My mind wanders for a split second, pondering the origins of such intriguing equipment. A rare rock from a distant land? Spears, knives, and clothes from a fabled past? Are these men even the same kind as I am, or spirits from beyond the veil of existence? I do not know. All I understand, as I watch the weapon slit the old man’s throat, is that it surpasses anything I possess.

The elder’s blood splatters over the tall blades of grass like autumn rain. Its crimson hue is dark, like the clouds above or the hearts of his strange, alien killers. The girl lets out a petrified shriek, but it is drowned out by the rumbling of thunder as her uncaring captors drag her off by her hair without a hint of remorse. They head north, toward lands unknown, leaving me as the sole witness to their dark and evil deeds. Without hesitation, I pray to whatever being watches this world from the heavens, thanking it for the wind and rocks that hid the smoke of my now-extinguished fire.

As my heart slows, thoughts flood my anxious mind. I have spent many moons alone on the plains, without anyone by my side. The memories of my dying kin remain fresh, and while fear has taken root in my soul, the longing for connection never fades. Perhaps it is this longing, or maybe my hatred of idleness, that drives me to pursue them. It would be a foolish endeavor, of course—me against three mighty warriors, whose blades slice through skin and flesh with ease, as if it were nothing. They are taller, stronger, and merciless, true fighters of this dark and brutal age. Yet I find myself tracking them. It could be the girl’s long chestnut hair, her fair skin, her resemblance to a now dead loved one, her cries for mercy—or perhaps my dream of proving myself—but I don’t care. Man is a wolf to man, and I will not be an exception.

Last Voyage

There is something evil in those depths. Something that does not honor the sanctity of the heavens.

 

(Image source: German Federal Archive)

 

 

It was another dark, eerie afternoon on the frigid waters of the far north. The cold waves of the Sunkarian sea crashed against the ship's hulls with unrelenting force, washing away the crew’s sorrow like the rain which hid their tears. Captain Lasse Timonen watched the gray landscape from his vessel's bridge with weary eyes, his mind fueled solely by his bitter coffee and the tobacco in his small clay pipe. The concept of rest and comfort had become nothing more than a distant memory for the crew of the RSS Lajpatta. Ever since the Commonwealth declared war three months ago and rapidly advanced into the Central Empire, the royal navies had been on high alert, and constantly under fire. Decades of preparation had gone to waste, as their enemies, equipped with the most modern warships, outnumbered the northerners at every turn. There was great shame within their hearts, for their failures had allowed their foes to land on friendly shores, opening a new front in an already ruthless conflict. Lasse’s stomach churned with guilt, and his thirst for revenge grew increasingly unbearable as the day went on.

Just three days ago, out of the thirteen ships in his strike group, eight would never see land again. With them sunk any hope of halting the enemy, swallowed by the very waters its crews had sworn to protect. The Commonwealth was now allowed to violate the sanctity of the waves with their presence, and to plan their moves without any opposition. In Lasse’s eyes, such a defeat brought shame upon the Timonen name, a name whose bearers had never failed the admiralty before. His forefathers had always been exceptional seamen, officers and gunners blessed with valor and bound by honor. But alas, times were changing. No longer could grit rule the waves, for in his day and age, the valiant had machines to rely on. War, when deconstructed to its most basic form, has always been a game of numbers. Yet as the years passed, the complexity of these numbers grew, so much so, that simply overwhelming the foe did not cut it anymore. Gun calibers, armor thickness, penetration, and the angle of the hit were just some of the factors that played part in modern naval combat, terms which would have easily given Lasse’s grandfather a hefty migraine. Still, Captain Timonen tried his best to keep the old ways alive, often to the dissatisfaction of many.

“Visual contact, dead ahead. Civilian vessels, bearing southeast at six knots. They appear to be flying Sunkarian flags.” a lookout broke the awkward silence, his binoculars fixated on the horizon. Although there was still a considerable distance between the two fleets, the sight of a dozen unprotected merchant ships held a clear meaning for everyone on the bridge.

“It’s our objective; there is no denying it.” said Commander Auno Heikkilä, who watched in youthful fascination as the distant smoke trails merged with the storm clouds. “These are the escaping Saarellans.”

“I’m sickened.” replied Lasse, his pipe still dangling from his mouth.

“How come?”

“By everything! That we cannot defend their island, that we have to hold their hands instead of fighting, that we have to ration coffee… Everything! I have two cruisers and four destroyers under my command, filled with battle-hardened sailors, only to waste their prowess on escorting some peasants blinded by paranoia!”

“I understand, Captain. However, defending the weak is still a knightly duty, is it not? Even in the darkest of days, we noblemen must uphold our virtues.”

“You are right, Commander. Damned admirals! If they hadn't allowed the army get most of the funding, or if they had the guts, we wouldn't be in such a mess.”

“Wars cannot be won in a single day, Captain. Let us lick our wounds so we might strike our enemies with renewed strength! Besides, I’m more concerned about the weather at the moment. It’s too sudden for my liking…” exclaimed the young commander. Lasse grunted in frustration while stroking his beard and began to contemplate The storm was worrisome indeed. Naval intelligence had not foreseen the arrival of such weather, prompting the superstitious crew members to spread vicious rumors. Captain Timonen, however, did not concern himself with such topics; in his eyes, technology had rendered the fear of the unknown obsolete, just like how machine guns turned heroism redundant.

“Captain, the N33 has reported movement directly to our north. However, they haven’t spotted any smoke trails.” explained a communications officer moments after the civilian fleet was sighted.

“Could it be a submersible?” Auno asked, but the captain merely shook his head.

“I doubt it. We do not operate them in this grid, and there have been no reports of the enemy using them.”

“We should prepare some torpedoes, just-” a fourth officer began to offer his advice, but before he could finish, frantic shouting erupted from a radioman’s headset. “What’s happening over there?”

“It’s the N33! They are… there is a huge wave coming towards them!” replied the sailor in a mix of confusion and dread. None of the men knew whether to believe the words they were hearing, until the muffled sounds of a large splash and the creaking of steel could be heard coming from the stern. The strike group had been traveling in a wedge formation shortly after leaving port, with the RSS Lajpatta and the RSS Kalskin forming the “vanguard” of the unit, while the sister ships N33 and N38 trailed behind. The sound of waves crashing against the former from such a distance left the bridge crew utterly bewildered.

“I demand a damage report!” ordered Lasse as his officers struggled to comprehend the attack. However, no response came from the N33. After a tense minute had passed, a spotter entered the bridge, his terrified face barely concealed by the hood of his raincoat.

“The destroyer is in critical condition!” he began to explain. “Their radio is down, so we can only communicate through signal lamps! The bridge reports serious damage, Captain Haikonen has lost consciousness, and there is flooding below deck!”

“Curses! Order them to return to port immediately! I won’t lose a ship to a storm.”

“What about the men overboard?” Auno inquired.

“Have the N38 search the area, and then have them escort the N33 back.”

“Aye, captain. But I must say, that was no ordinary wave… It must have been fifty meters tall, maybe even more!”

“Noted. The rest of you, return to your posts!” for a somber moment, it seemed as if there was a return to normalcy. This proved to be a mere façade however, as paranoia had begun to take root throughout the ship. Sailors from every compartment were now praying for protection, hoping that whatever evil has taken notice of them would retreat back into the cold depths, back to the dark world from which it emerged. There was a saying among Sunkarian seamen, an old warning from the early days of the Age of Sail: "keep your curses away from the wind". Perhaps the greatest folly of modern man, is the notion that he alone is the master of nature, the sole ruler and shaper of the universe. Ancient man knew it well not to cross paths with the unknown, lest he fell victim to it.

Lasse anxiously replenished the tobacco in his pipe, attempting to distract himself from the whole ordeal by fidgeting with the dry, bitter leaves. As he inhaled the smoke, there was a moment of clarity, a few precious seconds of much-needed peace that washed away the tension in his body. It was a shame that he could not savor it for longer.

“Captain!” without warning, a spotter from the starboard side rushed onto the bridge, his voice filled with panic and trembling with terror. Before Lasse could even form a response, the ship shook as if it were being toyed with by a giant. Some of the men fell to the cold steel floor like powerless ragdolls, colliding with guardrails and equipment, while others managed to grasp onto something just in time. The sound of something being dragged beneath the cruiser’s hull deafened the crew, and many assumed they had run aground thoughtlessness. In the ensuing silence, the truth finally revealed itself, as those looking out the starboard windows froze in fear.

“My God, what the hell is that?!” screamed one of the witnesses. In an instant, those who were still standing rushed outside to witness the petrifying sight. Under them slithered a colossal serpent-like monstrosity, twice as wide as the cruisers and longer than anything the men had ever seen before. Its back poked out of the water, allowing rain to wash down its dark purple scales, alongside the spiked fins that ran along its spine. Lasse watched in terror as the creature began to make its way toward the N39, one of the two destroyers still part of the formation. He watched helplessly as the thing swam beneath the ship and raised its hideous back against the hull, only to quickly descend back into the abyss like a shadow.

“Battle stations!” he shouted without a moment's hesitation. The Lajpatta’s crew were quick to jump into action. Soon alarms blared throughout the interior of the cruiser, prompting the men on board to ready her deadly weaponry. Despite the heavy rain and the freezing winds, each sailor was prepared to fight in battle within minutes.

“Captain Timonen, what about the civilians?!” asked Auno, whose eyes, though shaken, were still filled with determination.

“That beast poses as much of a threat to them as it does to us! And our mission dictates that we must protect those innocents at all costs!”

“But this is madness! How do we know that this thing is really after us? And the way it lifted that destroyer…”

“Get a hold of yourself, Auno!” the captain placed his hands on the officer’s shoulders and stared into his soul. Strangely enough, Lasse’s expression shifted from a frightened one, to a face which spoke of excitement. “We couldn’t fight the Commonwealth this day, but to our fortune, the Creator has still blessed us with a battle. We must win this fight, no matter the odds, for it is still a battle for our people! So hear me, sons of Sunkaria! The head of the serpent must be cut! Death before dishonor!”

Broken, tired, and fed up with the shame in their hearts, the bridge crew cheered loudly upon hearing Lasse’s words. Soon enough, his message was broadcast to the other ships as well, whose sailors shared their leader’s enthusiasm. They steered southward, cutting through the waves like a pack of watery bloodhounds, while the symphony of their horns signaled that the hunt had commenced.

 

For a reason well beyond the men’s understanding, the serpent has remained relatively close to the surface. Spotters on each ship kept a close eye on their slimy enemy, measuring it and following every step of it with iron discipline. There was still some fear within their minds, although the numerical superiority of the imperials has calmed their nerves to a degree.

For reasons beyond the men’s understanding, the serpent has remained relatively close to the surface. Spotters on each ship kept a close eye on their slimy enemy, measuring it and tracking its movements with iron discipline. Although some fear lingered in their minds, the numerical superiority of the imperials has calmed their nerves to a degree.

Lasse’s strike group pursued its prey in their usual formation with the two cruisers up front, followed by the two destroyers. A thunderous volley fired from the Lajpatta’s and the Kalskin’s main guns echoed throughout the sea, their shells splashing into the waters with deadly accuracy. Yet what would have been a quick fight if fought against human opponents, was taking far longer than anticipated. After three salvos from the six fifteen-centimeter cannons, there was still no blood in the water, no broken scales drifting among the foamy waves. The hunters had to adapt.

With brute force out of the picture, Captain Timonen was compelled to adopt a more tactical approach. He ordered the Kalskin and the N39 to split off from the main force, and head west. While the cannon fire was to persist, the new target was the open waters near the creature's left side, instead of its center mass.

“Do you know how reindeer are hunted, Auno?” he asked while making a large cloud of smoke with his pipe.

“No sir. I grew up in a city.”

“You are supposed to dig a pit from which they cannot escape. Then, you chase the herd toward it, so that you can trap and finish them off. We will force this beast into a trap of our own, encircle it, and pierce through its miserable hide!”

Soon enough, as Lasse had planned, the serpent grew weary of being a target. Whether through instinct or perhaps thanks to an unseen force, it recognized just how dangerous the cruisers truly were.

“Target its changing course to 225 degrees. It’s heading towards the Kalskin!” reported a lookout.

Timonen could do nothing but smile. After so many defeats and the loss of countless lives, he finally saw his forces victorious upon the northern sea. He smiled with confidence as he watched his ships surrounding the beast like a pack of sharks stalking their prey.

“All guns, fire at will!” giving the command filled him with even more satisfaction. A small chuckle escaped his lips as every naval and anti-aircraft gun opened fire towards the center of the killing zone. Tracer rounds lit up the air above the dark waters, illuminating the area reminiscent of a city’s neon lights. Yet among the thunderous symphony, Lasse could hear one of his officers reporting something unusual.

“It’s gone. No visual contact.” said the man while peering through his binoculars.

“Order everyone to cease fire. Be on the lookout for blood, guts, anything!” with that, the melody of war came to a halt, and for a tense moment, all anyone could hear was the wind, and the absence of rain.

“We can’t see anything, Captain. Not a single thing.” reported a spotter.

“I think it submerged.” explained Auno.

“Aye. The bastard is trying to hide from us. No matter. Have the destroyers mine the area. It may be flesh and blood, but it cannot withstand our ordinance!” Lasse crossed his arms, eagerly awaiting his scaled nemesis to show its disgusting face. Submarine hunting was still in its infancy at that time, and living three years before the advent of sonar made the captain tired of this game of cat and mouse. Playing the hero felt liberating; it was waiting that he despised.

Then it appeared again. Not with its usual sneaking elegance, but headfirst and soaring straight toward the sky. To the dismay of everyone present, the horrid underwater abomination propelled itself into the air, revealing its hundreds of thin, elongated teeth, turquoise underbelly, and a pair of ghostly white eyes. It let out an indescribable, bloodcurdling shriek, the likes of which none of the sailors had ever heard before. No gun was fired during those terrifying seconds. The gunners on each ship were frozen in fear, their bodies unable to move from witnessing the hundreds of meters long terror. To many, this was their worst nightmare made manifest.

The men watched as the serpent came hurling down from the heavens. With a weight of several tons, it hit its armored chin against the waves, creating a deafening splash which woke up the paralyzed men. The following shockwave of unimaginable power was then focused towards a single direction, defying the laws of physics as it generated a single, gigantic wave.

“It’s attacking the N39!” shouted an officer, causing panic to erupt across the bridge. Lasse stared at the unbelievable scene with an open mouth, while his men scrambled back to their posts, awaiting further orders. But the captain could do nothing but watch as the N39 was struck by the wave, narrowly avoiding capsizing thanks to its speed. Despite its proximity to the serpent, the destroyer had already moved enough so that only its stern was affected. The impact was still severe, however. Her crew lost the ability to steer and to operate the three turrets located at the rear, alongside finding the entire warship thrown off course. As reports of leaks in the aft engine room started pouring in, Lasse clenched his fists in rage.

“That wretched beast was the one that attacked us before! It has been stalking us for God knows how long!” he shouted furiously while biting down on his pipe. “Have the Kalskin keep its distance and increase our speed! Let’s see how this thing will react a torpedo salvo!”

The Lajpatta surged forward with the N31 following closely behind, racing after their scaled prey toward the south once more. Whether it was dazed from its attack, or exhausted from the chase, the serpent began to slow down, opting to conserve its energy for dodging the incoming gunfire instead of escaping. Captain Timonen ordered the torpedo tube mounts amidships to prepare for an attack, once he was sure that the retreating Kalskin wouldn't be caught in friendly fire. It came as a sudden yet pleasant surprise when, for seemingly no reason, the creature abruptly turned about.

“Launch them! Let them loose!” immediately, the torpedoes flew out of the launch tubes with great speed, soaring through the waves with their electric engines and deadly payload. However, as the crew aboard the warship had noticed before, the serpent always seemed to be one step ahead. It began to descend at a moment’s notice to evade the incoming torpedoes, much to the annoyance of those who fired them. Out of the four warheads, only one managed to hit its target, and even then, it failed to detonate.

“A dud!” came the report. Lasse - like any man who would have been in his position - cursed the creature loudly, his face as red as a tomato. Was he being punished for his sins? Had he doomed not only himself but every man under his command? Perhaps. But all he knew in that moment was that it was now too late to turn back.

Meanwhile, the serpent approached the N31, raising its wicked head above the surface. It rammed the destroyer with its thick, bony head, crashing against the steel plating with unrelenting force before snaking away to safety.

“Captain, the N31 reports negligible damage. However, some members of the bridge crew appear to have gone mad from witnessing the beast.” explained a radioman.

“As long as that bucket of bolts can move and fire, it is fit for battle. Change course immediately and hunt it down!”

“Captain, its going towards the Kalskin again!” those in the lookout tower could see it clear as day when the serpent began to thrash violently along the surface. Soon, two monstrous waves began to form in its path, much like how a wake would form behind a boat. Satisfied with the wall of deadly seawater it had created, the beast retreated into the abyss before the Kalskin could unleash her storm of lead.

To say that there was panic onboard the Kalskin would be an understatement. Men on deck began to flee into the ship’s interior at the first sight of the waves, trampling over each other in a desperate race against time. Those unfortunate enough to be struck directly died in an instant, as the incredible mass of water hit with the force of concrete and the speed of a nimble boat. Many were thrown overboard into the frigid sea, shouting for help and praying for salvation as their limbs turned numb from the cold

Yet the cruiser continued to fire her guns, regardless of the losses incurred. The surviving gunners were quickly rushed back to their own posts or those of their fallen comrades, resolutely continuing the fight against overwhelming odds. The men's spirit was yet to be broken, for they knew it was either victory or death.

Lasse’s group was now swiftly closing the gap between the other warships, but it seemed to be in vain. The serpent had vanished once more.

“Tell everyone to be prepared; it might jump into the air again.” said the captain.

“I don’t know, sir. This thing… it seems too smart and vicious for a wild animal. It must have realized that a few waves won't be enough to bring us down.”

The gunners of the Lajpatta stared at the dark waters, their adrenaline-fueled paranoia heightening as they awaited the enemy's emergence, fingers twitching in anticipation. Her anti-aircraft batteries scanned the surrounding waters eagerly, longing for the moment when they could unleash a barrage of lethal 37 mm fire upon their slithering foe. Meanwhile, the crew inside her turrets prepared another salvo. Every man on board yearned to avenge their comrades, only to freeze in fear when the serpent suddenly surfaced beside the RSS Kalskin without warning. It was in that moment that its hideous appearance was the most conspicuous, as it bathed in the few rays of sunlight that pierced the dark clouds above. Those who survived to tell the tale would never forget the sight of its wicked, jagged fangs or the sickening color of its shiny scales.

With no one brave enough to risk hitting the allied cruiser, the creature hastily wrapped its slime-covered body around it, coiling itself as if trying to choke its prey. The metal screeched underneath the coiling mass of flesh, causing widespread panic aboard the two remaining combat-capable ships. A few brave souls fired their guns however, hoping that the pain they inflicted would deter the serpent and loosen its grip. But this only sped up the inevitable. Now bleeding, the creature began to sway from side to side, trying to pull the Kalskin over its tipping point.

“Fire with everything we've got, God damn it! I’d rather damage that ship than lose seven hundred men to that thing!” Lasse’s order rang throughout the bridge, but it was too late. Just as the turrets began to turn, the serpent lunged forward and capsized the Kalskin, turning the entire cruiser upside down.

“God help us!” shouted Auno before falling onto his rear in fear.

“Pull yourselves together, men!” Lasse quickly grabbed the officer by the collar of his jacket and yanked him up in anger. “Blood is a sign that an enemy can be felled! And with wounds like that, this thing cannot hold on for much longer! I hereby order all officers on deck to muster their courage and whip the crew back into shape! Any sailor still capable of fighting but unwilling to do so will be shot!”

“Aye-aye, Captain!” came the reply from those whose spirits had yet to be broken, despite witnessing horrors not meant to be seen by man.

“We have not only our honor at stake but also the lives of innocents! How can we rest at night, knowing that we allowed such an atrocity to occur? To arms!”

Aside from the few unlucky souls whose sanity has been tarnished by the creature’s terrifying deeds, swaying the remaining sailors to return to their posts was relatively easy. The will to fight still lingered within their tired bodies, but truth be told, hunting monsters was not a task they were prepared for. Many of them had grown up on the safe streets of seaside cities and towns, where life was free from the dangers of threats both natural and unknown origins. The only experience most had with such forces came from the older generations, whose minds still recalled the time before the first factories emerged, when hunger and fear were far more common. A time, when men stilll fell prey to forces beyond the veil of this reality.

The guns fell silent as both sides caught their breath. Onboard the Lajpatta and the N31, the gunners returned to their deadly tools in an orderly manner, their spirits bolstered by the sight of the serpent’s blood staining the waters around them. However, this brief peace did not last long; soon enough, the enemy revealed itself once again. The serpent rammed the destroyer several more times, either to test its weaknesses or in an attempt to scare the men onboard into submission. Each time its leathery fins surfaced, the deafening roar of gunfire filled the surrounding area, only for the creature to evade every shot with astonishing agility. Yet, within its repeated attacks laid a chance for victory, as the destroyer’s crew began to learn the timing of the attacks, along with the angles and directions from which the strikes were coming from. By the time the N31 reported minor flooding within her hull, her sailors had begun to time their torpedo launches with great accuracy, scaring away their opponent and buying themselves precious time in the process. But, as with all things in the world, this game could not last forever.

After the third torpedo salvo came an awfully quiet minute. The wind howled against the hull of the N31 with unrelenting force, carrying the scent of salt and blood, alongside a sense of unease. Her spotters surveyed their surroundings, baffled at the sudden disappearance of further serpent sightings. It was clear that trouble was brewing below the surface; they had learned that much by then.

When the next blow struck, it struck hard, and most unexpectedly, directly beneath the destroyer. The Lajpatta’s escort found herself stuck between the beast’s reeking maw, like a fish caught by a predator. In just a few heartbeats, its fangs began to embed themselves into the warship’s steel hull, while the vessel was lifted dozens of meters into the air. Realizing that its needle-like teeth could not pierce the destroyer’s belt armor, the N31 was released, discarded by her scaled hunter. The serpent hit her center just as her belly splashed against the waves, the impact from its thick chin nearly breaking the vessel in half. Soon after, it began to bite into her hull in an attempt to tear the destroyer apart, which, although fruitless, sent the already broken crew into a state of hysteria.

“Turn, turn!” Lasse ordered upon receiving the news. “As long as it stands still, we can shoot at it! Aim as many of our guns at that thing as we can!”

The men stationed at the Lajpatta’s helm were quick to execute their captain’s wishes, but due to the tonnage of their ship, changing course was too sluggish for Lasse’s plan. It did not help either, that those manning the rear turrets were reluctant to fire so closely at the N31, citing that there were still too many men on and below deck. Nevertheless, the maneuver was not a worthless effort, for as luck would have it, one of the AA guns aboard the Lajpatta landed a shot on their dreaded opponent. The twenty-millimeter shell burst its left eye, akin to how a needle would pop a pimple. As a gruesome mixture of white matter and blood erupted in a foul cavalcade of fluids, a horrid sound deafened the sailors. The serpent screeched in agony for a few seconds before disappearing beneath the waves, bringing hope back to those who had witnessed the blow.

“Captain, the N31 is sinking!” came the dreadful report shortly thereafter.

“They have done their part. Send out an emergency signal requesting someone to pick up the survivors and maintain our current course! That beast will be coming for us next, so prepare yourselves, brave sons of Sunkaria!”

What followed was the deadly dance that the N31 had dance moments before her doom. Knowing that the serpent would charge at them, the crew of the Lajpatta fired furiously at any unusual wave, often scaring it off before it could attempt one of its bold attacks. So confident and enraged were the remaining gunners that the barrels of their guns began to melt, and most tragically, began to deplete their ammunition at an alarming rate. Still, the barrages continued, even when some of them resorted to using small arms fire.

At one point, the serpent realized it could not strike from the sides and opted to attack from below instead. However, unlike before, it found itself unable to lift its prey, prompting Captain Timonen to let out a hearty laugh.

“Hah! Try all you want, worm, but you have no hope against ten thousand tons of northern steel!”

As the minutes passed, the strikes from below began to dwindle, mirroring the beast's waning strength. The battle had raged for a good thirty minutes by that point, and no matter what powers it held, it could not fend off exhaustion. For a while, the souls aboard the Lajpatta could rest their weary bodies, unaware that in the somber silence that followed their storm of fire, the enemy was doing the same.

When the serpent threw itself into the air again, it did so with bleeding wounds and dulled strength. Its leap toward the cloudy skies now lacked virility, and its strike against the sea created a wave less powerful than the ones before. It was almost as if the creature was turning desperate, forced into using old tricks that the sailors no longer feared. To Lasse, it seemed that his moment of glory was soon at hand.

“Wave incoming! Portside!” shouted a spotter before whispering to himself in terror. “God preserve us…”

“Turn this bucket towards it at once! It will take more than one to sink us!”

“Captain, you are out of your mind! The N31 is sinking; we must abandon this chase and rescue the survivors!” Auno could no longer stand his commander’s attempts to play the hero. He was a man reason, a young, but talented officer whose sense of duty did not overshadow his will to live.

“If you do not wish to be my brother in arms, then jump into a lifeboat and paddle your way back to shore! Now, brace for impact!”

 

The Lajpatta embraced the deadly wave at an angle that softened the blow, but it was not enough to completely negate the damage. Alongside the casualties on deck, the rushing seawater broke through the bridge’s windows, sending shards of glass flying everywhere. Lasse himself had gotten injured, bleeding and grunting in pain as he discovered a glass fragment embedded in his left arm. First aid was administered quickly but had to be halted when news arrived from a lookout, and a trail of smoke appeared in the distance.

“Captain! The serpent has resurfaced and is heading southeast.”

“Praise be to the heavens! Our fury has driven that monstrosity away! May it bleed from its wounds like the wretched beast it truly is!”

“That’s not all, Captain. We have spotted smoke trails… it’s the civilian vessels.”

Lasse’s eyes widened in realization. He pushed away the sailor who was bandaging his wounded arm and, with a voice filled with fury, shouted to those around him.

“Full speed ahead! It’s targeting the merchant fleet!” with hearts racing from adrenaline, the bridge crew quickly executed his orders. The Lajpatta surged forward gracefully, her engines belching black smoke into the air in a desperate attempt to save the innocent. Yet, despite the best efforts of both the ship and her crew, the wounded creature seemed to be too fast, too agile to be caught. In one final attempt to avenge their fallen brethren, the cruiser’s frontal battery unleashed its full might once more, aimed directly at its target’s despicable head. A shell narrowly grazed the creature’s neck, shedding its scales and causing it to roar in agony for the second time. However, such a fortunate shot seemed to enrage the beast, causing it to turn around and speed towards the Lajpatta with its mouth agape, ready to finish off its prey once and for all.

“Ramming speed!” shouted Lasse without hesitation, recognizing that his moment of glory had just unveiled itself before his very eyes. Now was the chance for him to prove his worth, to show the world that even against all odds, even after enduring crushing defeat after crushing defeat, his spirit remained unbroken. He knew that even if he were to become a martyr, it would show the world that Sunkaria was going not down without a fight, and that the importance of grit still endures, despite the rise of machines and science.

Auno protested against his actions, desperately begging him to abandon this dangerous game, but it was too late. As the serpent raised its body above the water, the Lajpatta’s bow burrowed itself in the beast’s soft belly, flooding the decks with its dark red, ichor-like blood and the stench of its exposed guts. Yet, in its final act of desperation, or perhaps contempt for mankind, the serpent pushed its body forward, and smashed its chin against the cruiser’s bridge. A loud bang reverberated through the surrounding waters just seconds later, as the frontal battery delivered the final blow, mercilessly bisecting the powerless abomination. Its first half fell into the water with a tremendous splash, signaling the end of the nightmarish battle.

 

Captain Lasse Timonen’s mangled corpse was said to have been smiling when it was discovered, crushed by the very steel he once commanded. Those who knew him understood that he died a fulfilling death, fighting tooth and nail, face to face against a foe devoid of logic and reason. His sacrifice, along with that of all who perished that day, set an example for the rest of the nation, a call to arms against all forces that opposed the people of Sunkaria. During the captain’s funeral, not a single person was struck by sorrow; instead, the people present were determined to carry on his legacy.

Only Auno felt conflicted about the entire ordeal. Having lost only an arm, he was considered one of the few lucky survivors of the Lapjatta’s bridge crew, and one of a few hundred souls who lived to tell the tale of “the great northern serpent hunt”. To him, Lasse was bold, foolish even, a man whose dreams of chivalry cost the lives of many. Yet, he had to admit that, in the end, regardless of how it transpired, his captain fought for a just cause. Now all he had to decide was who the true victor was.