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King of the Seven Seas (EMH) Chapter 19: A Vow Made In Blood
🕑 Added 2025-11-30 02:23:23 +0000 UTC[Third Person POV]
As the Black Knight finished cutting down the last of the Mantamen, his blade sliced clean through the air with a final whistle, scattering crimson droplets across the stone before he flicked the weapon clean. With a practiced motion, he slid the sword back into its scabbard, his dark armor glinting faintly beneath the daylight that pierced through the drifting smoke of battle.
His gaze shifted, softened, as he caught sight of Arthur and Mera lying unconscious amidst the ruins. Their bodies laid bruised and bloodied, their hands entwined even in their unconscious state. The sight drew a flicker of compassion and urgency across the knight’s normally unshakable expression.
“Aragorn,” the Black Knight commanded, his tone grave yet swift, “let’s get these two to the castle—quickly.”
He bent down, carefully yet firmly gathering Arthur and Mera into his arms before hoisting them onto the back of his great black steed. The armored warhorse shifted beneath the weight but stood steadfast, its eyes glowing faintly with an otherworldly gleam.
“Every second counts,” the knight muttered as he mounted up behind them. He flicked the reins, his voice cutting through the chaos like a final order, “Fly!”
The horse answered with a thunderous neigh, its massive wings unfurling with a mighty snap. Dust and rubble scattered under the gale of its flapping wings as it broke into a gallop, hooves striking sparks from the cobblestones before it leapt into the air. With powerful beats, it rose above the smoldering ruins, carrying its riders through the sky. The town fell away beneath them, shrinking into shadow as they left Wales behind, soaring swiftly toward the distant spires of England.
For a while, silence reigned over the battlefield—until the ruins stirred.
A pile of shattered stone and timber shifted, trembling as something clawed its way free. From beneath the rubble emerged one of the Mantamen, battered and bruised, yet alive. It was the very same warrior who had been cast aside when the black steed barreled through the enemy lines.
Groaning, he pushed himself up, coughing dust from his lungs as he reached for his face. With a swift tug, he tore his broken mask free, casting it onto the blood-soaked earth. The face revealed beneath was strikingly handsome, his skin a rich, beautiful brown that gleamed even through the dirt and grime. But his features twisted with fury and grief as his eyes adjusted to the carnage around him.
The streets were painted in red. The stench of death hung heavy in the air. And then—his gaze froze.
High upon the broken wall, slumped lifeless against the stone, was Black Manta. Blood trailed down his chest, spilling from the dagger that had been driven deep into his heart. His once-terrifying presence was now reduced to a broken, dying shell.
The young man’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as his vision blurred with sudden tears. A knot swelled in his throat, choking him as his voice cracked out of him.
“Father!”
Stumbling at first, he scrambled across the rubble, desperation fueling his legs until he was sprinting. His boots slipped against blood-slick stone, but he didn’t care—nothing mattered except reaching him.
“Father! No, no, please, stay with me! You’re alright, you’ll be alright!” he cried, collapsing at Black Manta’s side. His hands shook violently as he lifted his father’s head, pressing his palm against the wound, trying desperately to hold back the flood of crimson.
Black Manta’s eyelids fluttered weakly, his voice a frail rasp. “David… is… that you? cough cough”
“Yes, it’s me!” David’s words came out broken, torn between hope and despair. “It’s me, Father. You’re still alive—that’s good. I’ll get you to water, you’ll heal, you’ll be fine!” His tears streamed unchecked down his face, dripping onto the broken armor of the man he idolized. Deep down, though, he knew the truth—the wound was fatal. His father was slipping away.
“No… wheeze… I’m not going to make it…” Black Manta whispered, his breath rattling in his chest.
“DON’T TALK LIKE THAT!” David shouted, his voice raw with grief. His entire body shook as he clutched his father tighter. “You’re the Black Manta! The strongest warrior of the seven kingdoms! You’ll make it—you have to… For me…” His final words trailed into a whisper, almost too broken to speak.
“I’m sorry… my son…” Black Manta’s voice quivered, fading with every syllable. “I am not the Black Manta anymore…”
With trembling strength, he raised his hand, his fingers curling around the dagger still buried in his chest. Muscles strained as he wrenched it free, the blade sliding out with a sickening sound as a torrent of blood spilled across David’s hands.
He pressed the hilt into David’s palm, forcing his son’s fingers to close around it. His grip was weak but determined.
“It is you…” he whispered, his words a final decree. “You are… the Black Manta now. It is up to you… to defeat… the Aquaman.”
His head slowly slumped forward as he gave his final words, his body growing heavy and limp. Blood still streamed from the wound, slowing only as his life ebbed away completely.
“Father!! Father!! No, no, you can’t—you can’t leave me like this!” David’s scream tore through the night, piercing the silence with pure anguish. He cradled his father’s lifeless body in his arms, rocking him back and forth as sobs wracked his chest.
He pressed his forehead to his father’s, whispering brokenly, “Please… don’t go…” But the warrior who had once struck terror across the seas would never answer again.
David’s cries echoed against the ruined walls, the sound of a boy stripped of his last anchor. His grief poured into the sky, raw and unrelenting, until it became a howl.
“AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!”
The new Black Manta’s tears streaked his face, his hands clutching the bloody dagger as though it were the only piece of his father left. His sorrow burned, twisted, and transformed into something darker.
His breathing grew ragged as rage eclipsed grief. His eyes, bloodshot and red from crying, narrowed with a searing hatred.
“Aquaman…” he growled, spitting the name as if it were poison on his tongue. “I’ll kill him for this.”
His voice rose to a thunderous roar, filled with nothing but hatred, aimed at the heavens themselves.
“YOU HEAR ME, AQUAMAN?! I’LL KILL YOU FOR THIS! I’LL DESTROY EVERYTHING YOU LOVE AND HOLD DEAR! I SWEAR IT—ON THE BLOOD OF MY FATHER!”
The vow was carved into the air like steel—unyielding, unbreakable, a promise of vengeance. The mantle of Black Manta had passed, and with it, a storm was born.
