Grand Battle (S?) (Round 1: SUDDEN DEATH)

The Three-fringed Destined Shell Rider listened calmly. His Shell, his friend, had been disturbed early. The news was dire, but it rippled and rolled over his Ashadak-trained calmness bubble.

"Thank you for the news." He said, turning back to his room.

"b-but sir! There's more! We're having reports of intruders!"

"What?"

"They're around the-"

"No. Address me properly, Redfin."

The seasoned veteran caught on and rectified his mistake immediately.
"My apologies, O' Destined One. There seem to be intruders above water. Our patrols are being slaughtered! These intruders are not ordinary! Demons, I believe! We've already sent the Leviathan Squad, but-"

That caught the Three-fringed Destined Shell Rider's attention. Demons. Mighty Demons. He smiled grimly, and his bubble began wavering as his spirit shook. Noting the symptoms, he corrected himself instantly.

"Notify the Adjuncts. WE will ascend."

The Redfin veteran grinned as he ran to alert the others, leaving the Three-fringed Destined Shell Rider to his thoughts.

His friend had been awakened early. A ripple of worry crossed his bubble.
It means nothing. A simple variation that will be the start of our legend."
Yes, that was how it was. The worry ripple was cancelled by a resonance of confidence. There was no way his Destined Friend would have bonded anyone else. True, it was theoretically possible, but in actuality? Impossible. There were no beings but himself who could withstand the Shell Beast's bonding roar. Listening to that uncontrolled cry of life would kill all those within forty-eight furongs.

He exhaled softly, and the corals of the room jumped. Yes, the Shell Beast was destined for him.

He was the strongest Coral-breather in documented history.

The armor on the stand lurched through the water towards him, coiling onto his body. Thousands of twisted coral layers defined his form. Simply manipulating the Destined Armor required six hundred breaths of ability. The average Coral-breather had but one hundred. The Three-fringed Destined Shell Rider had two thousand.

To his shelf, he breathed the demand for his weapons. Ten spears flew at him, answering his pull. These spears were made of six times the coral a normal Fisher carried. Three-fringed Destined Shell Rider grabbed the first one out of its course towards his neck.

He was the finest warrior known in seven generations.

Gently, he deflected the other nine spears out of their fatal paths with four twists of the spear he held. Water crashed into the voids the Three-fringed Destined Shell Rider made as he performed his divine techniques. As if understanding they had been mastered, the spears guided themselves into place in their sheathes on the Destined Armor. They formed the shape of a fan along his back.

He was the Three-fringed Destined Shell Rider.

He exited the room, flanked by the thirty Adjuncts that waited outside his room. He smiled now. It was early, but today his, no, their legend began.

Wait for me, my friend. I'll be there soon.



Tom leaped to the Clam's back, and promptly lost his balance. He tried to right himself, but failed. The Shell Beast cooed worriedly. His balance was gone. His ears, his ears. They were damaged. From what? How far did the damage go?

Blood trickled from his nose. Oh, he thought. It was much worse than expected. Was he dying?

"I'll either die here, or drown, I suppose." He sighed, but it turned into a cough as blood came up his throat. He held his mouth, and looked at his bloody hands. "O-oh well. It is better than anyone else's blood, I suppose. I suppose this... is for the best."

Tom closed his eyes and rested on the Shell Beast. Survival Instinct surged through him. What was that? No, Tom had no survival instinct. That was a thing for living beings... Tom slipped out of consciousness.

"Do you think men have natures, Tom Jones?" His master said, facing the stormy night.

"I don't know, Sir." Tom replied.

His master laughed. A cold, unbalanced laugh. "Neither did I. You were my answer to that one."

"I do not understand, Sir." Tom replied evenly.

"That really just proves my point, you know." The man laughed again, accentuating the wildness in his eyes. "Actually, you don't know. Ha! Come, Tom Jones. I don't think we'll do any shopping today. Come, I want to test a theory. A friend explained to me how worms worked, you see, and I've made same worms of my own..."

Tom Jones dreamed- another thing only the living should be able to do. He dreamed and lay still.

Tome Jones, however, got up.
Can't hear, can't hear. Fix it. Hurt inside, fix it. Inside of Tome, the worms began to move. They slowly nibbled Tome's damaged parts, and regurgitated more basic matter that other types of worms could make use of.
Rushing water. Nearly full stomach. Too much water, will drown. On top of beast. Smell. Smells submissive. Submissive beast. Mine.
Tome hissed at the beast. Rise, beast. Get me out of here.

The Shell Beast complied. It began singing. Bits of coral around it wrapped itself around the clam, forming fins. Tome breathed deeply, readying himself for the dive. His lungs inflated enormously, protruding from the slits in the back of his suit as if he had two fleshy balloon wings. A hole in the wall formed, and the clam lurched through it, Tome in tow.

Like a turtle, it gracefully eased itself through the water, towards the surface. A moment later, they breached.

Survived. Good.[i]

There were other factors needing observation, like the several mermen retreating from the Shell Beast, or the Leviathan of a beast soaring away from him, but for now, Tome let out his breath in a howl of celebration. In mimicry, the Clam followed suit.

A terrible howling wail. The windows in the upper levels of the castle shattered instantly. The coral nearby began warping. The retreating mermen that were too close held their ears in pain, but it didn't matter. Blood leaked out of their orifices, and they hit the water like rain.