Just as the Black Pearl fled into the Atlantic, another terror returned to these waters—the Bermuda Vortex!
While the world's attention was fixed on Luoshu, the Vortex had slipped away through the undersea fissure. Ravenous in its growth phase, it encountered an Ohio-class nuclear submarine on its journey and—almost as an afterthought—swallowed it whole.
This act of gluttony inadvertently aided Luoshu.
When the New World Navy realized one of their submarines had vanished, panic ensued. How could a nuclear-armed Ohio-class sub disappear without a trace in their tightly controlled Caribbean blockade? The only explanation: Luoshu had destroyed it.
The Navy scrambled to search the area, thinning their submarine coverage elsewhere. Though Luoshu took the blame, he reaped the benefit—fewer subs patrolled his path to the Atlantic that night.
Now, both the Black Pearl and the Bermuda Vortex had escaped to the North Atlantic's Bermuda Triangle, the Vortex's ancestral home. Once a realm of vanished ships and planes, its legends had faded after the Foundation contained the juvenile Vortex and exterminated its predecessors.
But today, the legend roared back to life.
The Vortex wasted no time. Within hours:
A container ship vanished beneath its maw.
A passenger plane spiraled into its depths.
The Bermuda Triangle—a vital shipping lane for a dozen Central American nations—was now a death trap. Global headlines screamed:
"The Bermuda Triangle Returns!"
"The Devil's Sea Awakens!"
"The Atlantic's Scourge Begins!"
With each meal, the Vortex grew stronger. Now unshackled, it churned a 200-meter-wide maelstrom, hurling water spouts into storm-wracked skies. Fog smothered the region, rendering satellites blind.
Seizing the chaos, the Black Pearl surfaced.
Luoshu, exhausted, slept through the commotion. Unsupervised, Negro Perta reverted to old habits:
"The great King of the Caribbean returns! Tremble, mortals, as your ships kneel before me!"
Thus, the Black Pearl joined the Vortex's feast of terror.
A Reign of Chaos
The Triangle became a nightmare. Ships caught between:
The Vortex: Instant annihilation.
The Black Pearl: A "kinder" fate—cannon barrages, boarding parties of skeletal pirates, but at least some survivors.
Two cargo ships, their crews slaughtered, now drifted as ghost vessels—autopiloting toward ports with decks stained in blood.
A third victim—a Panamanian-flagged megaship (owned by a Taiwanese firm, built in Korea, crewed by Indians)—found itself under siege. As terrified sailors hid from undead raiders, Luoshu finally awoke.
He summoned Negro Perta, furious:
"Who said you could attack these ships?"
The bottle ship sulked:
"Master, it's just... professional instinct! But they're poor! No gold, just giant metal boxes full of junk!"
Four centuries of cultural disconnect left Negro Perta baffled by modern freighters. It missed the Spanish treasure galleons of its heyday.
Luoshu glared. "And the deaths?"
"Deaths? Pah! Just some East Indies monkeys."
Luoshu paused.
(Historical context: "East Indies" was a Dutch colonial term for Southeast Asia. The British later repurposed "India" to name a fabricated nation, muddying geography forever. Columbus, thinking he'd reached the East Indies, mislabeled Caribbean natives as "Indians"—hence Negro Perta's disdain for the term.*)
Regardless, Luoshu forbade further attacks. Innocent lives were non-negotiable.
As the Black Pearl resumed its journey, Luoshu remained oblivious to the Vortex's rampage. With no comms equipment (and no desire to alert the Foundation), he couldn't know his second anomaly was ravaging the Atlantic.
His focus shifted to Europe—and which of the nine Foundation Sites to strike first.