The ones I'd been hoping for—they were coming.
I saw them first as shadows in the distance, shapes far too large to be real. Even reduced to scale by distance, they towered over the ocean like mountains with movement. I knew them. Or at least, I knew the idea of them. Leviathans. Not the ones I'd already seen clawing at the ship's hull, not the hungry children of the deep—but the parents. The elders. The ones that made nightmares look like lullabies.
They were close enough now to disturb the water even from afar. But something blocked their path.
The swarm.
Dozens—hundreds—of lesser sea-beasts. Things that had gathered for the brick. Their hunger wasn't reasoned. It was instinct. Zealotry. And it was enough to slow even the titans.
I could see it: the frustration of the leviathans. Even their colossal size didn't help them push through. Not at first. The sea was thick with bodies—scaled, fanged, slick with blood. The great ones snarled in the water, jaws opening wider than the ship itself, and then—
They began to eat.
Fury guided them. They weren't hunting anymore. They were consuming. Anything in the way was food. Anything that moved was meat. The creatures that had clawed at my ship, that had chased my raft, were nothing but stepping stones to them now.
And it didn't stop there.
The ones in front were devoured by the leviathans.
The ones behind them?
They devoured the leviathans in turn.
The ocean was a red spiral of gluttony. Flesh tore. Bones cracked. What had once been blue turned to rusted yellow, then to red. The kind I'd grown too familiar with. The kind that didn't fade.
The brick pulsed against my ribs. Not warm, not cold—just awake. It recognized what was happening. Recognized the blood. The flesh. The storm beneath the sea. And for the first time, the blood inside me stirred with hunger.
It wasn't like when it devoured humans. That was surgical. Calculated. But now it wanted. It had an appetite.
Not for me.
Not for the girl.
Not even for the demon.
But for them—the monsters in the water. The ancient flesh. The marrow of old gods.
I smiled.
The blood had cravings.
And cravings could be understood.
I knew what the bricks were. Or close enough. Tools. Seals. Keys.
But the blood? That had always been the mystery.
Now, though—I had direction. A thread to pull. The appetite told me what I needed to know. It wanted back what was once its own.
And that changed everything.
I turned and walked to the railing, back to the demon's head.
He was still nailed there, his eyes fixed on the water. He'd seen it. All of it. The creatures. The leviathans. The chaos. And his expression was no longer arrogant or mocking. No more hate, no more fire.
Now it was just two things:
Fear.
And surrender.
He knew.
He knew he wasn't a match for what was coming.
I knelt beside him.
I took my time pulling the nail. Not quickly. Not cleanly. I worked it back and forth, twisting it, making sure every rusted thread scraped against bone. It cracked the edge of his skull open a little. He convulsed. Twitched. Couldn't scream. Didn't matter.
Pain was the only language I knew he understood.
Then I touched his head with the brick.
And it responded.
The brick grew smaller in my hand—drinking from him. Feeding. His skin lit up with that old, terrible glow. Not warmth. Not power.
Zeal.
For a moment—just one—his face changed again. His eyes sparked. There was excitement in them. A flicker of purpose. Of worship. Like touching the brick had brought him home.
I leaned closer. Looked him dead in the eye.
Then I turned his head toward the ritual site.
Then toward the churning sea.
His eyes widened.
He understood.
Whatever clarity the brick gave him… it told him what was coming.
Good.
I raised the wooden splinter—the one I'd promised would end him.
He saw it.
I drove it into his head.
Once.
Twice.
A dozen times.
Quick, brutal thrusts. Each one followed by a pulse of blood that healed slower than the last. His eyes thrashed. The light inside him flickered. The blood in him was running out.
Just like he was.
I slammed the splinter one final time into the crown of his skull, and I held it there—pressed down with both hands. Felt it slide in like a key into a lock. Felt it stop moving. No more blood. No more twitch.
And I whispered:
"You won't come back."
Then I threw him.
Like a javelin.
Out over the railing, over the churning chaos of the sea. His head spun in the air, splinter still sticking out like a mast, and then—
He hit the water.
A silence.
Then all hell broke loose.
Every creature turned. The moment he touched the blood-slick sea, the things below went mad. They surged toward him like he was the last light in a dead world. They fought each other for him—snapped teeth, broke bones, flayed flesh. His touch on my brick had changed him.
He wasn't meat.
He was holy.
And they wanted holiness like starving animals want heat.
I stood on the deck, the ship tilting, the blood beneath me boiling, and I smiled.
Because I saw it.
The sea parted in waves of violence, and there it was.
The one I'd been waiting for.
The Apex Leviathan.
It rose like a god. Like a mountain wearing flesh. Its form was shadow and hunger. Its mouth was an absence. Its eyes were not eyes, just depth.
And it saw me.
Not the ship. Not the blood.
Me.
And I smiled wider.
"Come on." I whispered, my voice lost in the wind.
Come and complete the last piece of the ritual.