The seaman lay on the metal floor, curled into a ball, his head in his hands as he trembled uncontrollably.
The SS Varkhura submarine was sinking and Lieutenant Commander Rh’van, Weapon’s Officer, was all alone in the eerily silent hull. Well, not alone exactly; his friend and lieutenant was lying, deceased, in the sleeping quarters, his femur jutting out of a wet, meaty stump where his leg had once been.
Rh’van had no idea what to do. His wails and whimpers of sheer panic and terror would never be heard by another living soul. He knew death was inevitable and whilst nightmarish, he took some solace in the knowledge that he would never feel it. The crush would be quick and painless. He was going to be given a mercy that the lieutenant hadn’t received.
The capital city of Abermijah, Industrazia, had been tunnelling and drilling deeper and deeper into the desert underneath her streets in search of more and more oil for the ever-ravenous industrial machinery. They’d uncovered a giant underground cavern leading directly to the ocean. Rh’van had no idea why the military had been called in to perform reconnaissance in the cavern. There’d been whispers that the whole oil operation had been a cover and the discovery of X’ymatkha had been the goal all along.
X’ymatkha… The cursed city of legend. Every Abermijahn had heard the tales at some point in their lives; an ancient, proud civilisation had become too hedonistic, too brutal and decadent. In their quest for ever growing power, they’d turned to human sacrifice and desecration, and the old gods had struck them down, burying them deep beneath the waves, and Industrazia, the black jewel of the desert, had been erected over the civilisation’s corpse. Every sensible man had written the tales off as mere ghost stories intended to frighten the youth away from descending too deeply into the smog- choked depths of Industrazia’s oil fields and quarries. But no, they’d been wrong all along.
X’ymatkha was real.
The reconnaissance submarines had uncovered the ruined city and even some air pockets allowing people to safely traverse some of the streets.
It all started when the SS Varkhura was sent to the dig site as part of a convoy of theAbermijah-Nhavath South-eastern Ocean coalition. They were sent down the first time to transport a small team of eccentric and uptight academics and archaeologists – a motley crew that seemed straight out of the pages of an old adventure novel. While there, the crew of the submarine had been invited to explore the outskirts of the ruins alongside the ragtag band of white-haired knowledge seekers. They’d obliged, of course, with one sailor too nervous about the whole ordeal deciding to remain in the submarine and ensure the exterior bank of lights flooded the cavern with vital illumination.
As they cautiously set foot on the dry land deep below the Industrazia waters, their boots echoing throughout the tremendous cavern, he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. There were indeed structures here, but they weren’t the type of ruins he had expected to see. He’d imagined stone blocks vaguely resembling a child’s rendition of a building, if you squint your eyes of course. Instead, he was astounded by the most remarkable marble structures. Archways and pillars punctuated the walkway along the water side, as though they’d been built after the city was sunk. That was impossible of course but the positioning of them by the deep waters felt oddly purposeful. Fully intact buildings lined the left side of the stone floor, their marble facades glittering under the cool white lights from the sub. The sunken city was so beautiful, very different from the choking black smog and eerie LED lights of Industrazia above them. It was funny, Rh’van thought, that hell seemed high above them and yet here they stood in what almost felt like a heaven, many miles below the ocean.
As they wandered, awestruck by the sheer structural marvels they were witnessing, Rh’van couldn’t help but pay attention to the large statues that stood guard, towering over them high upon a row of arches. The marble sentinels were warriors, this much was obvious, and the dress they wore was absolutely Abermijahn, and yet…something felt off about them.
The childish part of his mind pondered if they were really statues or just sentinels waiting to pounce on them. Behind the row of warriors, a massive temple stood – it was difficult to discern as the SS Varkhura’s lights struggled to reach that far, but the flat roof with duo open archways, lined with pillars, was typical of old Abermijahn temples. He wondered how old this place truly was. No sooner had the question passed through his mind than the academics also noticed the temple – they began whispering excitedly amongst themselves.
Lieutenant Sura had been the first to see the shadows. He’d made a comment about seeing phantoms out of the corner of his eyes but when the rest of the unit jeered at him and played some pranks to frighten the poor man more, Sura’s mind had been put at ease. The men were right; of course, it was natural to feel uneasy in a place like this. No soul had walked these empty, ancient streets for centuries. Rh’van had been one of those mischievous men who’d helped ease his friend’s worries. He didn’t like seeing Sura being on edge; the older man was always stoic, to the point of blandness, but he was steadfast and reliable, much like the old tub he worked on. Still, for all the jovial wonder and excited whispering among the men, Rh’van shared Sura’s hesitancy, though he hid it well. It wouldn’t do for Lieutenant Commander Rh’van to show any sign of weakness among the hardened sailors and officers he kept company.
Rh’van was a by-the-books sort; everything had to be done to the letter and don’t even try to argue against him. He wasn’t well liked, and he knew that, but he was content: someone had to make sure corners weren’t cut. Complacency leads to bloodshed. He’d learnt this first-hand when the old bulk carrier he’d spent four winters on had split apart in the middle of the ocean, taking forty two of her forty-nine crewmen down with her. Rh’van had been the only engineer who’d survived: he’d gone above deck to gawk at the incoming waves when she’d shattered. The accident report confirmed the cause was negligence over much-needed repairs to the ship causing structural weakness.
Complacency cost lives: this was the motto Rh’van had lived by ever since that horrific night in the black, icy waters. The men may have thought he was uptight and too tightly wound up but one day they would thank him for his meticulous record keeping and watchful eye.
Nothing eventful happened that day, however. The academics left X’ymatkha with the sailors. Another expedition was scheduled back at port but one of the Varkhura’s sister subs would beresponsible this time. Rh’van overheard that the academics would be making a base camp this time and staying for a few weeks until the appropriate people were informed.
Sure enough, a few weeks later, they were called back from military exercises in the Southeast Ocean and sent back to port. To Rh’van’s surprise, he was informed they had an exceptional crew of passengers this time. The very High Khan of Industrazia herself, presiding ruler of Abermijah, would be accompanying them, alongside several high-ranking officials. Rh’van had made sure the sailors were on their best behaviour for the trip but again found this strange; that the High Khan would take such a deep interest in the ancient ruins. It furthered his suspicions that the discovery had been the true goal all along. Alongside the SS Varkhura, several other submarine vessels were scheduled to dive too, including archaeologists, historians, scientists, diplomats, one hundred or more souls, including the military men themselves.
Upon approach to X’ymatkha, it was realised that the marble hallways were already illuminated with torchlight – the flames flickered and danced under the eerie cool glow of the water’s reflections. No one thought anything of it; the second party of academics had made camp. Yet, something wasn’t quite right: the initial docking area was empty. There was no one to greet them, no signs of equipment or papers or anything that might indicate life.
The parties had disembarked and as one of the more rugged generals with a great scar wound marring half of his face barked out a debriefing, Sura had gently nudged Rh’van in the ribs.
“Something ain’t right,” the older man whispered, careful to not draw attention to the pair as they hung back at the edge of the crowd of diplomats. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
Rh’van hadn’t responded, instead pursing his lips, and giving Sura an irritated glance. Sura sighed, exhaling deeply through his nostrils as he began to shake his dark head.
“I know you feel it, man,” Sura grumbled before turning his attention to the debriefing.
After some time, the party began to move off into the outskirts, where Rh’van had traversed just weeks ago. He and Sura held back to keep an eye on the port along with some men from the other subs. They chatted idly among themselves, but Sura was silent. His knuckles were pressed against his thighs, clenched in tight fists as he kept his eyes firmly trained on the temple, where the party were making their way. As the chattering scholars and academics faded into the darkness, the cacophony of their sound dissipated.
As the men discussed what they were planning to do over the coming weekend, the conversation soon turned to X’ymatkha itself. Some of the sailors didn’t believe this was the city; some were hesitant but bordering on belief. Then came the ghost stories; tales of how theX’ymatkhans had sacrificed over three thousand people in one day at that temple on high. Rh’van chortled and asked the storyteller how he knew it was the same temple when this was the first time he’d ever seen it. With a defeated but playful grin, the younger man admitted he’d made that part up but the tales of sacrifice were indeed true.
It seemed like an eternity before the travellers returned to the idling men. They watched as the party of diplomats and their guard came back out from the temple, moving fast, in a controlled panic. The sailors were quiet as the party approached, moving with purpose down the stairs, under the archways, along the marble waterway towards the dock area. As they finally met with the sailors, Rh’van and Sura could see the crowd were visibly shaken. Near the folk closest to the marine vessels, they could see one of the older academics gripping her arm tightly, her white blouse seeping with a deep crimson like a rose blooming in the dusk. What on earth had happened?
“Remain calm,” called out the same rough-faced general from before, “we will leave in an orderly fashion. Do not panic.”
One of the SS Varkhura’s men, junior officer Ranna, came pushing through the crowd towards the sub, his hands twitching, fingers contorting as though his body just didn’t quite know what to do with itself.
“Need to get out of here, sir,” he stammered quietly, his normally bright and flush face now sullen. Sura questioned Ranna as Rh’van scanned the crowd. Where was the commander? The rest of the men?
“What’s wrong?” Sura asked, gripping Ranna by his arm as the young junior officer tried to push past them both to the sub.
“Found them, we did,” Ranna mumbled, his voice barely louder than a whisper, eyes wide and staring into the abyss, “Should have been quiet. They…they…” Ranna raised a trembling arm and began to prod at the side of his skull, “they listen, sir. Made too much noise. Woke them up. Should never have unsealed the cavern. They’ll find us all above sea. Need to reseal the-“
Ranna never got to finish his sentence.
No sooner had he spoken, than an ear shattering scream, deep and somehow almost mechanical, pierced the uneasy chattering of the cavern. Time stopped. Everyone glanced nervously at each other like cattle caught in headlights,unsure of what to do or how to respond. Then the chaos happened, like flood gates of terror opening and a rush of panic tore through the crowd.
Rh’van was frozen to the spot as Sura bolted to the sub behind them, working to get it open and give them a safe refuge from the coming storm. Ranna was still too, his eyes bulging as he kept banging his lanky finger against his skull, chanting the same thing repeatedly.
“Should have been quiet, sir. Should have been quiet.”
There was no chance for a mannerly evacuation. As Rh’van turned his attention from Ranna to the crowd to seek out his men and call for those who were travelling on the Varkhura to embark, something swift as breath swooped up into the heights of the cavern.
Another cry rang out before the great hulking mass of black plunged into the crowd. In seconds, people were torn asunder, their limbs shredded and torn to the water as the marble floors turned sanguine with such ferocity. Staggering backwards, Rh’van watched in agonisingly helpless terror as one by one, the people were…torn apart from the inside out, it seemed. It was happening so fast; he couldn’t make sense of what was attacking them.
No time to play the hero. Run.
He grabbed Ranna’s arm, but Ranna wouldn’t budge; he was frozen in place, his tapping turning into a frenzied punch as he attacked himself out of sheer despair. There was nothing else he could do but flee.
Turning, he bolted from the maelstrom of screams, feeling the hot spray of blood spattering over his back as more and more people were annihilated. He could only run, feeling his brain shut off as everything around him seemed to go into slow motion. One foot in front of the other, Rh’van; just keep moving. Back to the Varkhura. No sound. No emotions. Just a primal instinct, a deep desire to live. He had to.
As he tumbled into the metallic safety of the Varkhura, he was snapped out of his trance-like state as the tremendous bang of the hatch slammed shut behind him. He turned to see Sura crumpled on the floor, writhing in agony as he clutched madly at his left thigh.
That’s when Rh’van noticed it: his leg was gone. The interior of the sub was quickly being painted a sick sanguine as he realised with horror that Sura was bleeding out and fast. He tried to remember the little medical training he’d had back at base but the crew had always relied on the vessel’s actual sawbones, but gods only knew where he was. Rh’van slowly began to realise with even deeper dread creeping upon him and gnawing at his bones, that there were only two souls on board the Varkhura: himself and the mortally wounded Sura. Outside, he could hear the dull screams and cries of those who were still alive. A great pounding began against the hatch, but he didn’t dare approach it.
Suddenly, the banging stopped. He knew why.
He didn’t know when the tears began but he felt his cheeks hot and wet as he stripped off his shirt to try to make a tourniquet for Sura’s leg. He knew deep in his heart that it was futile, but Sura’s panicked screams soon fell silent as the older man drifted into unconsciousness. With each weakening pump of Sura’s heart, more blood sprayed out over the metal hull. He knew when Sura had passed over when the spurts ceased. It was all over in three minutes.
He’d dragged his friend into the sleeping quarters, laid him out on the nearest cot. He was alone now. He made his way over to the command panel as he began to hear claws and banging on top of the submarine. He knew that whatever was on top of his metal coffin was not human.
As he scanned over the instruments, he realised with even deeper despair that he was floundering to the depths below. Impossible…
Frantically, he hammered on the controls, turned the dials, but nothing. No response. A flashing warning light on the command deck informed him that there were errors with the ballast tanks but before he could get a full picture of the problem, the lights sparked and dimmed as the banging and clawing continued.
He crumpled on the floor for a moment, wailing in despair.
This sub, a place of joy and comradery, was going to be his steel coffin at the bottom of the ocean.
Shocked to the core with the knowledge of his inescapable death as he inevitably reached crush depth and the metal hull of the vessel would shatter under the pressure, he picked up the code receiver, hands trembling as he changed the frequency to the open air. It wouldn’t matter if the other nations received it. They had to know. They had to set their differences aside.
Before his warning, he closed his eyes, sending his love to his family. He shouldn’t have snapped at his wife the night before and ignored her that morning when she’d told him she loved him. He’d lived a good life and that would be his one regret. If only he could ask her to tell the kids that daddy had gone on a special mission. She could tell the girls that the gods needed him.
He entered his final transmission in Morse code before he reached the depths where his signals would be lost forever.
“You should prepare yourselves,” he typed, hands trembling and wet with tears.”They listen. Be silent. We couldn’t stop them. They will find you. I’m so, so sor-“
The transmission ended abruptly.