She took a step.
Another.
Walking on the bottom of the Black Sea, Kore moved toward the ancient male. Her every line etched with the kind of deliberate, predatory grace that belonged to the Deep—fins along her forearms flaring wide, chromatophores rippled across her scales in violent flashes of violet energy.
Her grey-gold eyes were fixed.
To him.
Only him.
A king whose name she did not know and did not care to learn.
He was just another male threatening to take her baby.
That was all she needed.
Behind her, Nyxarion made no move to stop her. No protective coil. No warning rumble or dangerous thrum.
But she could feel his grin. That potent, savage delight where it spattered against her back. Guarding her and edging her on,all at once. Prickling her skin and scales with a feral intensity that drove her forward. Something voltaic and bright.
The reef felt it first.
Polyps retracting, pulling rubbery fingers back inside calcified tubes with a series of soft, wet pops that plinked against her eardrums.
"I have come," the old king continued, oblivious to the danger, "to execute you, girl. As is my duty. As the Accord demands. To maintain the ocean's balance and put an end to this farce."
Misreading Nyxarion’s retreat for submission, the ancient king flicked his claws toward the Threnakar scholars flanking him.
They oozed from the shadows as if sharing a single mind. Snaking through the throne room toward her.
"After I have harvested what belongs to Threnakar,” he said, droning on in the dreary tone of one accustomed to being obeyed, “your remains will not be wasted.” Fingers fluttering, eying her belly, he said, “It will be preserved. Studied and dissected. Some of your internal structures, I’m told, may be rather…novel.”
The word dripped with revulsion.
Gills flaring wide, filaments trembling as she dragged breath after breath through oxygen-rich water, Kore stood tall. Pulse roaring behind her eyes. A ribbon of violet light shot through her veins, firing in an erratic burst.
They hadn't come to offer counsel. Didn’t arrive to examine her pregnancy or to help her baby.
They had come for a specimen.
Something to dissect. Study.
Meant to carve her baby from her womb and toy with her corpse.
Something vicious splintered and broke. A crack in that spot that had been hollow but was now overflowing. Rage and terror and something far,farolder blended into a wave of voltage arcing beneath her skin.
Tilting his massive head toward the two scholars, the ancient king offered a single, bored nod.
They moved to take her.
But Nyxarion made no move to protect her—he retreated to a safe distance.
And that should have been a warning ringing loud enough to clear the trench.
Both massive Abyssari scholars descended from the dais with purposeful strokes. Snaking through the water toward her.
Kore didn't retreat.
