The seventh of the Serpentine Isles was largely the same as the sixth: ruined in just about every way, reduced by the forced eruptions of its volcanos into an archipelago of bare, lifeless black stone.
The Legion took little time to explore the place. Leon’s guess that Jormun had retreated all the way to the final island seemed to bear fruit, as the tracking spell indicated that the pirate wasn’t here.
As the fleet moved on, only once sending back reports of their movements to Basina and Theuderic who were finally moving on from the third island, it began to rain once more.
And it rained quite hard, the black clouds sending great sheets of water crashing into the sea, seemingly seeking to submerge the shattered remnants of these islands below the raging waves of the Endless Ocean. Lightning was soon terribly frequent, striking the seas, the rocky spires of the broken islands, and even a few of the bigger Legion ships enough times that even with the storm clouds blotting out the sun, the sea was never dark for long.
Leon spent nearly all of his time above deck, accompanied not even by Maia. The sailors and marines who would’ve otherwise been going about their duties had to retreat below as the winds picked up and the rain grew worse, but for Leon, he couldn’t think of a place he belonged more in these last relatively peaceful moments. His blood rushed through his body, carrying his visceral joy to every corner of his being; the power of the Thunderbird within him flared and danced in ecstasy with every drop of rain that hit him, every gust of wind that blew past him, every lightning strike that illuminated him, lifting his spirits and banishing the dread and darkness that had infused his mind ever since he’d found the ritual site on the second island.
Despite everything going on, as he stood at the bow of Sigebert’s flagship, completely alone, in the dark, soaked to the bone and buffeted by winds, illuminated only by lightning strikes, he felt like the happiest person alive. Within that storm, it felt almost effortless to switch from lightning magic to wind, then to water, and then back to lightning. With the power of the storm suffusing his being, he could dry himself with water magic, switch to wind to weaken the wind battering him, and then switch back to water to erect a rain shield before another drop could touch him.
He didn’t do that after the first hour or so. He felt better with the wind in his hair and the walls of rain slamming into his body. He was a seventh-tier mage; this storm was powerful, but it wasn’t a threat to him. He let it hit him with its terrible wrath, and his blood sang in response.
And yet, even with all of this joy, he never forgot the reason that this storm had appeared, and he was greatly looking forward to finally encountering Jormun again. With the amount of magic that his body was absorbing and producing with the storm all around him stimulating his blood, he felt like he could take on Jormun’s entire fleet singlehandedly and win. Everything that Jormun had done to conjure this storm would be rendered meaningless, even ironic, as it filled Leon with the power to defeat the pirate.
The storm didn’t weaken one lick as the fleet slowly approached the final of the Serpentine Isles, the looming shadow in the distance that was the broken corpses of the mountains that once proudly rose from the waves; majestic; stark; beautiful; dreadful. This island’s husk was bigger than the previous two, though no less navigable by the Legion ships. There were just so many more places for Jormun or his ships to hide, and to plan ambushes and traps.
Although, on the surface, as Sigebert’s ship drew closer and closer, bringing the island within range of Leon’s magic senses, he could see that Jormun didn’t seem to be bothering with duplicity. There were dozens of ships making their way to small lakes and sailing into and out of small caves scattered across the archipelago, more than Anshu had told them about—Jormun had clearly hidden some things from those that had allied with him, or he’d called up more people to bolster his last stand after Anshu had been taken captive. Whatever the case, their numbers still paled in comparison to the Legion fleet that was descending upon them.
About five miles from the northernmost reaches of the island’s remnants was one of the large lakes that had clearly formed in the caldera of a huge volcano, completely separated from the rest of the ruined island by the caldera’s walls. Within that lake were more than three dozen additional ships, including Jormun’s own, which was docked at a huge stone pier. Set into one side of the inner walls of the caldera that proudly rose from the crashing waves were dozens of large stone barracks that looked they could house twenty people apiece.
Most notably was the center of the lake, which, strangely, had a small island in its exact center. Given how perfectly centered this island was in the lake, Leon couldn’t possibly imagine that it was natural, and it was more than big enough for a large, plain, two-story, boxy building to have been built upon it. It was warded against magic senses, but emanating from that building was an aura of such…
Leon found himself unable to describe what he felt when his magic senses brushed against that building. The building itself was devoid of art or architectural flourish, being nothing more than a square, roughly two-story construct built out of the same black stone as made up the rest of the archipelago, but when Leon felt the resonance in his spine and perceived that boxy structure, he almost felt like he was in the midst of drowning in magic. Such a deep, rich tapestry of magic twisting and swirling around itself; Leon could sense traces of all the elements within that cloud-like aura, though he noted that lightning was the least represented, and darkness and water combined made up perhaps three-quarters of what he could feel.
He had little idea of what to make of that, and when he asked Nestor and Xaphan, neither could give him much insight without getting a look at what was going on within that building. The only thing either of them could say was that Jormun was probably playing with powers far beyond those he should have, if he were involved with whatever had created that aura—there was no doubt in Leon’s mind that he was.
With a sigh, Leon scanned the archipelago one last time before carefully walking across the soaked deck of the ship. His reverie was over, and it was time to get to work. At the very least, the raging storm had ensured that he was not only topped up on magic power, but he felt almost invincible.
He was ready to face Jormun. He couldn’t possibly be in better shape to confront the pirate.
---
Leon’s report to Sigebert was received with much gratitude. With the storm outside making the seas particularly treacherous, the lighter scout ships were having more than a little trouble just sailing out to the archipelago to see what was going on, let alone communicating with the flagship. Leon’s magic senses were saving the fleet a great deal of headache coming up with ways to head in and secure the shattered island.
And there was no longer any doubt that it had to be done. The ominous storm was enough already, but Leon’s report just emphasized to every doubter that Jormun had to be stopped. Whether anyone thought he was still trying to unleash an ancient god or not hardly mattered, the powers he was invoking were scary enough already.
As Sigebert began to deploy the fleet according to Leon’s report, the entire command staff moved with a sense of great urgency that Leon wouldn’t have expected just a couple days ago after they’d found Prince Octavius’ exsanguinated corpse.
The fleet moved quickly—or at least, as quickly as they could given the still-raging storm—and began to advance in three groups upon the archipelago.
A smile broke out onto Leon’s face as he watched their movements. It was only a matter of time before the fleets clashed with the pirates, and he had to get his retinue ready for the fighting ahead.
---
In a dark stone chamber deep enough underground that the storm outside could hardly be felt, Jormun knelt before a circular pit so deep that even for his seventh-tier eyes, he could not see the bottom. It was utterly abyssal, with nothing but pitch-darkness to be seen within its depths.
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The room itself was completely bare, with the pit the only notable thing within. There were no guardrails, only a walkway about five feet wide running around the entire circumference of the circular room, and then the pit.
Jormun himself was dressed in simple white clothes, though those clothes had been stained with countless drops of blood. His hands, too, were covered in the stuff, as was the empty metal container just next to him. The container wasn’t that big, relatively speaking, but it had been more than sufficient to transport Octavius’ blood.
If he were of a mind to do so, Jormun might’ve smiled at the thought of breaking that young Prince as he’d done, but his mind was focused on other tasks. The sound of slithering filled his ears, and hiss of the Serpent was closer now than it had ever been.
His power was close. His reward for fulfilling the pact so close at hand. The only thing left to do was to bring Leon to this place. Once that was done, everything he’d ever wanted would be his.
As he knelt before the pit, he heard a door opening in the distance, and then the unmistakable sounds of someone descending the stairs to this chamber.
He knew it was Friga. No one else would dare to disturb him at this time. And if she were coming down here, then it could only mean that the Bull had finally arrived.
A few seconds later, Friga reached the bottom of the stairs, her body clad in dark grey steel, her blade of golden fire at her hip. She wasn’t playing around anymore, she was breaking out all the aces up her sleeve.
Jormun smiled in appreciation as he turned to regard the only other seventh-tier mage left in his fleet.
“They’re here,” Friga said as she locked eyes with Jormun. “Everyone has assembled. The allies will hold them off for a time, but they’ll reach this place sooner rather than later. How much more is there to do?”
“Not much,” Jormun said with a wide-eyed smile. “Just a few hours more, and then the Serpent will rise. We’re so close, Friga. Can you feel it?”
As Jormun spoke, his voice filled with more passion, but he kept himself restrained.
Friga hesitated a moment and glanced back over her shoulder.
“I’ve come this far, I wouldn’t have stuck around if I didn’t feel this,” she said. “No one would’ve. We’ve all seen what’s going on outside. The plane is preparing to submerge the nations of the land. The world of the Serpent is close at hand.”
“Yes,” Jormun replied with quiet, breathy excitement. “We’ve lost much to get this far. But all our sacrifices are about to pay off. Let’s go speak with the others.”
Together, the two walked back up the stairs, each step in the dark, lightless stairway echoing in their ears as if to impress upon them the importance of this moment. With each step, the sound of the storm outside grew louder.
Jormun smiled again as he heard the thunder steadily getting louder, as if heralding the god that was about to rise. It made it only fitting that Leon would be the last key to this puzzle, the last piece he’d have to move into place before everything was right where it should be.
Jormun felt energized. The Serpent hadn’t yet granted him the knowledge and power that he’d done all of this to obtain, but that wasn’t to say it hadn’t granted him any power at all. The original promise he’d made had been fulfilled: all of the seals had been unlocked or destroyed. After the sacrifice of Octavius, Jormun had been granted even greater command of the seas than he’d already possessed.
That fleet was sailing to its doom. They couldn’t stop what was coming. Perhaps it would’ve been sufficient to stop him if they’d played their cards better at the fourth island, but they hadn’t, and now, Jormun had won.
The two seventh-tier pirates reached the top of the stairs, and Jormun pushed open the huge door that they were confronted with. It easily swung open, revealing to them the inside of the boxy structure at the center of the great lake. The doors they stepped through were set into the back wall, right behind the huge room’s grand stage. The rest of the massive chamber was bereft of furniture, but filled with hundreds of people.
They were an eclectic bunch, wearing armor and wielding weapons from all over the planes. Some of these accoutrements had been pillaged and stolen from various parts of the world that Jormun and his people had raided. Others had been the possessions of Jormun’s followers from before they’d joined him. His people came from everywhere, representing the men and women of every corner of the plane.
The warriors of Samar; the knights of the Halcyon Federation; Eskellion raiders; former Talfar cataphracts; Han crossbowmen; members of a defeated horde of nomads from the Kyron Steppes; even former soldiers of the great Indra Raj; and, of course, those of his crew that shared his homeland, the Serpentine Islanders, with their chainmail and their sword, axes, and bows. There were individuals from even further places, too, from the fractured Pegasi States; the enigmatic Forest Watchers; the heavily-tanned tribes of the Menomonee Valley; and even a few fellow pirates from the Selkies of the Sakura Archipelago, all drawn to this place by the word of Jormun, by the promise he’d made to them.
Once the Serpent rose and broke the world, it would rebuild it as it saw fit and then turn it over to them, making these reaving bastards and outcasts into Kings and Emperors.
All the eyes in the room turned in the direction of the two seventh-tier mages as they walked out to the front of the stage. The room was already as silent as it could be, with only the thunder from outside echoing within its walls.
“My friends…” Jormun began, speaking loudly enough that everyone within the chamber could hear him above the thunder. He spread his arms in a gesture that was both welcoming and triumphant, and continued, “We all know why we’re here. Our reasons are many, but our goal the same! We’ve assembled within this holy place for one reason: to free the Great Horned Serpent!”
Jormun’s declaration was punctuated by the rumble of distant thunder.
“By the end of this day, the Serpent will be unleashed upon the world! All the seals have been undone, all the locks opened, all the requirements met! Even now, as I speak, the door that imprisons the Great Serpent is swinging open!”
The room erupted in a great cry of triumph, but as it died down, the world seemed to respond with another blast of thunder, this time just a little bit closer.
“We have great cause to celebrate!” Jormun continued. “But we must not grow complacent! Celebration can come later, but right now, the Bull has come to our doorstep! They’ve come to stop us! They’ve come to deny us the spoils of our victory! And they will fail! How many have come before them? The mighty fleets of the Imperial Coalition could not stop us in the Argonaut Sea! The dread vessels of the Sky Devils only slowed us down! The Indra Raj even paid us to leave them be! And compared to us, the cities of the Halcyon Federation were like babes in their cradles!”
Another roar of triumph, and another blast of thunder. Each now seemed of equal volume.
“Compared to these fearsome foes, what is the Bull to us?! What might can their King call down upon us that we have not already met and repulsed?! We have the favor of our god, and soon, it will rise, and the seas will rise with it!”
Again, the roars of Jormun’s followers, and again, a blast of thunder. This time, the thunder was definitely louder, the lightning that had precipitated it striking the highest point of the caldera’s walls.
But Jormun continued on, only letting the sound of the cheers and the thunder infuse him with manic energy.
“My friends! Fear not these men and women of the Bull’s Legion! They will fall just as all others have before us! Remember to guard yourselves against complacency! Return to your ships! Prepare to defend this place with everything we have! This is the place where the chains of the Serpent first began to slip loose! This is the place where the last seal was broken! This is the place where the Serpent will return from! These interlopers must never be allowed to tread upon this holy place!”
The roars of Jormun’s followers turned fierce and violent, and many shouted that they would be the ones who would hold off the Bull, that they would single-handedly prove their worth to the Serpent. Jormun smiled again. These people were good pawns, and that they were so willing to throw themselves to their deaths in vain attempts to win the approval of the Serpent entertained him to no end. They hadn’t even started fighting the Bull, yet, and already they were competing to see who could promise the Serpent more blood.
Before his large coalition could turn upon itself, Jormun shouted, “Fear not, my friends! The Bull has blessed us with a great fleet to burn! There will be glory aplenty for each and every one of us! Now return to your ships! Prepare for the final battle! Prepare yourselves to be the first to witness the majesty of the Serpent as it rises! Prepare to celebrate its coming by bathing in the blood of the Bull!”
Jormun’s followers screamed the loudest they had yet, shaking the room with their volume. Many raised their weapons, roaring their devotion to the heavens that, even now, continued to pour endless amounts of water upon the archipelago.
Many of the pirates began to stream out of the chamber and make their way through the storm back to their ships. They moved with great confidence even as the strong winds threatened to blow many of them over, even as the rain threatened to drown them with every breath, even as lightning arced across the sky.
Soon enough, Jormun and Friga were left alone in the chamber. The crew of Jormun’s personal ship would have it ready soon enough, and the allies that Jormun had raised would hold the Bull off for a while; they had no need to hurry.
“That was… quite the spe—” Friga began, before a tremendous bolt of lightning fell from the sky and struck the top of the audience hall. The hall shook upon impact, sending a great cloud of dust falling to the floor as the loudest blast of thunder yet shook the entire island upon which the hall had been built.
As the completely unfazed Jormun looked up, he saw that the ceiling had been cracked, and a few drops of rain were already seeping inside and falling to the floor.
Jormun smiled for a final time. This was a sign. Leon and the Bull would fall upon them just as that bolt of lightning had upon the audience hall. Just like the hall, they would crack, but they would stand firmly upright when it was over.
“All right, Friga,” Jormun whispered. “The last battle. The last fight. Are you ready?”