Chapter 63 - Sinking of the Leviathan
The obsidian scalpel remained embedded in the junction box at the base of Vance’s neck, discharging frantic sparks of blue and gold. The forced harmonic lock shattered instantly. The blinding white glow radiating from his chest flickered out, replaced by a warning strobe of erratic crimson.
Marco collapsed forward into the rushing water, coughing violently as air dragged back into his suffocated lungs. I grabbed his tactical vest, hauling his head above the freezing tide that was now lapping at our waists.
*“HULL COMPROMISE CRITICAL,”* the automated siren wailed, the voice distorted by waterlogged speaker circuits. *“CENTRAL CONTAINMENT INTEGRITY AT ZERO PERCENT. TOTAL INUNDATION IN NINETY SECONDS.”*
Above us, the massive steel ribs of the Leviathan shrieked as hundreds of thousands of tons of Lake Michigan water pressed down upon the buckling shell. Rivets shot out of the bulkhead like high-caliber bullets, pinging off the metal walls.
Vance stood in the center of the flooded sanctum, reaching behind his neck to tear the scalpel free. The movement was ragged, jerky—the severed neural conduit was disrupting his motor functions, causing his left side to spasm violently.
“You have prolonged the pain, Laura,” Vance said, black fluid trailing down his pale neck. “Nothing more. The Leviathan does not die alone. If the Harvest Engine cannot have you, it will swallow the city above.”
He reached toward the central console, his trembling fingers smashing down a physical emergency override encased in yellow glass.
A deep, subterranean hum vibrated through the floorboards—a sound so low and powerful it rattled the marrow in my bones. It wasn't the sound of a sinking ship. It was the sound of massive ballast doors blowing open in the sub-keel, flooding the core to trigger a pneumatic launch sequence.
“The escape conduits,” Marco wheezed, his arm wrapping around my shoulders as he struggled to stand. “He’s purging the hyperbaric pods into the subterranean trench.”
“He won't make it to them,” I said, watching as a torrent of black water burst through the ceiling directly above Vance.
A multi-ton section of iron plating collapsed under the crushing pressure of the lake, smashing downward like the hammer of an angry god. Vance didn't even have time to scream; the debris crushed the console and the platform into a mangled heap of iron, burying him beneath the deluge.
“Move!” Marco shouted, his hand gripping mine with desperate strength as our bi-ventricular tether rekindled, pulsing a furious, protective purple. “Before the suction drags us down with him!”
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We turned and scrambled toward the breach, fighting the brutal current of water that was sweeping every piece of equipment, every scrap of technology, toward the abyssal grave in the center of the room.
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