They were under attack.
Somehow, someway, they had managed to walk right in to an Octopian nest, and they obviously didn’t like that.
Mari was pressed between Ambrose and Deimos, and he was thankful. The more coverage she had, the better. He could sense her fear, her confusion, and it only spurred him on.
He would not make the same mistake that his father had. Adrenaline pulsed through him, gearing him up. He could feel the same with Deimos. The creature gave him a fleeting glance, and a nod.
The signal to begin.
“Take her,” he snarled at Deimos, ignoring Mari’s confused questions.
“Ambrose? What’s happening—No! Get your hands off of me!” she shouted as Deimos wrapped his thick arms around her waist. He turned and stared at Ambrose with those soulless, blood-red eyes, and right then, he could only pray that Mari stayed safe.
Taking her away from the fight would essentially cause half of the Octopian pack to follow them, and that was what he wanted—even though it put Mari in a danger he had never wanted her to be in.
Deimos shot off with a screaming Mari in his arms, going faster than any other being could in the ocean. As the Octopians revealed themselves, inky smoke began to clog his vision. He knew their attack plan and stared through it.
It wasn’t poisonous and wouldn’t damage his eyes—all it did was leave him vulnerable for attack. Long, black tentacles slithered into his view, and through the ink, he counted seven figures.
Ambrose cast a glance over his shoulder, in the direction that Deimos had taken off in. Five had followed them—which was just what he needed. Deimos could take them out with no problem and get Mari to safety, and Ambrose wouldn’t have to worry about her at all.
He willed his akrina to come to his side, which had already begun forming throwing blades, a spear, and a thin sword. He took the blades, which were bound together with leather in a strap, and quickly slung it over his shoulders.
From around him, he could hear the eerie creaking. It could have been a sunken ship, flowing back and forth in the water, but it wasn’t. It was the death call of the Octopians. They had adapted the sound when their first attacks were only drowning passengers.
It didn’t fool him. Cold determination and deadly intent coursed through his blood, jacking up the anticipation of a kill. He was more than ready for this. Ever since the death of his parents, he’d made it his goal to track, maim, and kill every single Octopian he could. They were the sole enemy of the Atlanteans and as many as he could kill, the better.
The ink cleared slowly, and by that time he had all of his weapons strapped on. The akrina wrapped around his body, consuming him, covering him in thin armor. Shoulder blades were covered in red, while the rest was stark onyx. He didn’t take the helmet—it only left ink to get trapped inside of it and cloud his vision more.
He narrowed his eyes through the blackness, and in seconds it was completely cleared. Staring at him like a meal long awaited, were seven of the second most deadly creatures in the sea, Deimos being the first.
There was a very slim chance that he would make it out of this untouched. While he had the help of his akrina and years of experience with hunting and killing, there were seven of them.
Each had eight tentacles, ranging in color from black to a dark violet. They slithered around each other’s bodies, creating a barrier against him. He only grinned.
They all looked the same. Stringy black hair, thin chest, stick-like arms, fangs growing out of the side of their mouths. Their stomachs were caved in from starvation, which made the situation all the more dangerous.
Ambrose took it as a good sign.
The tentacles began at the hips. With ancestors half Atleantean and half octopi, they were the epitome of power and revulsion. He knew the story of how they’d come to be, which was something that most Atlanteans didn’t know. In part, the Octopians were almost his family.
One of the Octopians surged forward, bearing it’s fangs and cackling. He stayed where he was, waiting for them to become more aggressive. The second that happened, he would attack.
Whoever made the first move was more likely to win.
It was something his father had ingrained into his memory. Hit first, hit hard, and cripple—which was exactly what he planned on doing. Ambrose clenched his fist around the hilt of the blade.
“The heir?” one of them hissed. The voice wrapped around his head like a vice, scratchy and high-pitched. Despite their tentacles, their screams were the next worse things.
“A treat for ussss all, indeed!”
“Our pack will be pleasssssed.”
Ambrose smirked, shrugging his shoulders. “That is, if you can get to me. How has your sister pack been doing? Last time I checked, they were at the bottom of the ocean.”
Instantly, the smugness dropped from their ashen faces. “You mongrel! For doing that, you shall pay.”
“Maybe,” he said, “you should learn how to drop a grudge.”
“It was you who killed so many of our ssssister packs! Basssstard! You will die today,” another one snarled.
Ambrose rolled his shoulders, loving the cool metal on his back and hefting the sword. “Have at it.” For threatening Mari, you’re all going to die.
The barrier of their black tentacles loosened, the long appendages slithering in the water. On the far right, the Octopian at the end began to make its move toward him. Before it could attack, he slammed his tail into the ground and shoved himself forward, turning the blade of his sword at a precise angle. Using the momentum that his tail gained him, he released the blade and watched it go through the chest of the closest Octopian.
Instantly, black blood began to pool at the corner of its mouth, streaming upward.
Chaos erupted. All at once, the Octopians surged forward, their screech combining into one so loud that his ears nearly bled. The akrina was on it though, extending its oily paws over his ears and forming a sound-blocking foam. By the time the first Octopian was in striking distance, the screech was a dull buzz and his dagger was slicing through the water.
Before the creature even had a chance to get out of the way, Ambrose had his blade buried into the thing’s chest. Shocked, oily black eyes stared him in the eyes. Two of the other Octopians surrounded him, the remaining three standing back. He eyed their tentacles.
That was the real threat. The ink they were slowly leaking was clouding his vision again because they were obviously sensing that he was a greater threat than they had anticipated. The akrina sizzled around him, heating up his armor.
He willed it to calm, and as he did, he felt it sigh. It was a soft, barely-there sensation that blew past his hair. It carried away the ink and blew it back in their faces.
The three that stayed back narrowed their eyes at him.
He grinned, surging forward. A tentacle wrapped around his arm, jerking him back, and he slammed his back into it. The akrina, at the same time, took control of one of his throwing blades, shooting the sharp dagger straight into the base of the tentacle that had grabbed him.
The Octopian was close enough that the screech it emitted became more high-pitched than the buzz he had heard. Ambrose growled, reaching out with his fist.
He caught the bloody, screaming Octopian in the face, and its head snapped to the side. Ambrose wrapped his hand around its neck, taking another one of his daggers out. Then, before the thing had a chance to wrap it’s tentacles around him, cut a nice little pattern out of the front of its body.
He felt the swoosh of water from behind him, right before another tentacle wrapped around his chest, jerking him away from the already dead Octopian. He slammed his head back, catching the offender in the nose. Another muted scream shot into his ear before Ambrose shoved away from the weakened appendages, turning his body horizontal and banging his tail into the Octopian’s side.
“Did Ceto send you?” he growled, catching the last active Octopian by the neck as it came flying at him. His hand tightened around its neck as the three bystanders began to move. Purple veins popped at the Octopian’s temple.
Pained, black eyes widened and it struggled in his grasp, gurgling. “No! That bitch issss banned. We do not talk to her!”
He felt something brush along his leg and narrowed his eyes at the simpering creature. Immediately, the tentacle removed itself and the surrounding pack stopped all movement.
The dead Octopians were lying motionless on the ocean floor, their bodies quickly decomposing before everyone’s eyes. The tentacles detached from their bodies, floating off into the gentle current of the ocean, leaving them with just their torsos. Disgust rolled through him at the sight. Their thin skin was being pulled from the skeleton frame, papery patches hanging on by threads.
All of the creatures of Atlantean descent in the ocean died like that. Quickly and effortlessly. It happened so fast and completely, that it was essentially impossible for mortals to wander upon a dead body.
The other’s eyes followed his, and the fury that came over their face would have been terrifying to a lesser. But, alas, Ambrose was not a lesser—if anything, it got him going.
“Attack!”
Ambrose heard the cry and smiled with relish. The first couple kills had been done easily, but now all three of the Octopians were coming at him at once? He almost chuckled, tightening his grip on the thin neck before grabbing the thing’s stringy hair.
The knowledge that he was going to die flashed in the Octopian’s gaze right before Ambrose shoved the neck holding hand backward and ripped the hair holding one forward.
The head popped off with a dull snap.
Meeting each of the Octopian’s gazes, he threw the head to the side.
He smiled. Slowly, dangerously.
The head floated to the bottom of the sea floor, passing his fin as it went. Flicking out his tail, he knocked it away from him like a ball.
It crashed into the face of the Octopian floating before him.
They all began to screech, and he laughed.
The fight began.