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King of the Seven Seas (EMH) Chapter 15: The Black Manta Attacks (1)
🕑 Added 2025-11-30 02:05:43 +0000 UTC[Third person POV]
Arthur and Mera woke the next morning in a rather compromising position. Arthur lay flat on his back, head tilted slightly to one side, while Mera was draped over his torso — mostly across his chest — her cheek resting where his heartbeat was slow and steady. For a few seconds, they simply stared at each other in groggy silence, eyes blinking at the same sluggish rhythm, until awareness hit them both and a faint heat crept into their faces.
There was something oddly captivating about the sight before Arthur: Mera’s usually immaculate hair was now an untamed mess, fiery red strands jutting in every possible direction.
“Morning…” Arthur greeted at last, a stiff grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Morning to you too…” Mera replied, her voice soft but laced with embarrassment. Her hand, still on his chest, tensed slightly before she pushed herself upright, settling in a seated position atop his stomach.
“We should probably… get ready,” Arthur murmured, though his eyes hadn’t moved from hers.
“Agreed,” she said with a nod, before quickly lifting herself off him and heading for the bathroom. Her movements had an uncharacteristic haste, and Arthur couldn’t help but notice the faint pink in her cheeks.
“I’ll use the bathroom first,” she added over her shoulder.
“Go right ahead,” he said, his tone casual but his gaze following her all the same. Mera, feeling the weight of it, became even more flustered and hurried along.
Just before closing the bathroom door, she poked her head out with narrowed eyes. “No peeking, Mister.”
Arthur scoffed, folding his arms behind his head as he leaned back. “Honestly, that sounds more like an invitation than anything else.”
Her face flushed a deeper shade of red as she glared. “I was being serious!” she snapped before slamming the door shut.
“So was I…” he muttered with a growing smirk.
“I heard that!!” she shouted from inside.
Arthur broke into laughter, shaking his head.
…
A short while later, Mera and Arthur were ready for the day but were delayed as Arthur was smoothing out the duvet.
“Why are you making the bed?” she asked, brow raised. “There are servants for that, aren’t they?”
“There are,” Arthur admitted, adjusting the pillow, “but it’s how I was raised. Just because there are people assigned to do the work doesn’t mean we can’t make it easier for them.” He stepped back, dusting his hands. “There — perfect. Exactly as we found it.”
BOOOOOOM!!!
The wall behind him erupted in a deafening explosion, the impact rattling the floor and sending a cloud of debris across the room. The blast punched through the stone like paper, and before Arthur could even turn, a black-armored figure came crashing through the opening.
Black Manta swung in with brutal precision, driving a heavy kick into Arthur’s back that launched him forward like a ragdoll. He smashed through the opposite wall and tumbled into the adjoining room, landing upside down beside the bed with his legs in the air.
“Arthur!!” Mera cried, shielding her face from the spray of dust and rubble.
“Rise and shine, Aquaman,” came the deep, menacing voice. The glowing red eyes of Black Manta’s helmet cut through the swirling dust like twin beacons of death.
“Black Manta!!” Mera spat, her own eyes narrowing. “To think Orm would be so desperate as to send you.”
“No hard feelings, princess,” Manta said coolly. “But I’ve been given orders by the one who now sits on the throne.”
Without warning, his eyes lit up and unleashed twin streams of explosive red plasma. Mera rolled out of the way just in time, the beams carving through the hallway wall behind her, which burst into flame.
Arthur’s voice bellowed from the other room. “I just made the bed!! Couldn’t you wait five minutes until we were outside before starting this?!”
In a blur, he charged through the dust and slammed his fist into Manta’s helmet with such force that sent him rocketing backward, out into the open air. Manta twisted mid-fall, his rocket boots flaring to life, holding him suspended as he glared down at Arthur.
“No,” he said, his tone sharp as the blade he now drew from his side — a massive obsidian combat knife that caught the morning light. “I have a mission to complete.”
He launched forward in a deadly dive.
Arthur slid back into a ready stance. When Manta’s blade came arcing toward him, Arthur caught the mercenary’s wrist mid-swing. Their arms locked, muscles straining, as the crimson glow of Manta’s eyes began to intensify again.
Arthur kept his grip firm on Manta’s knife hand, twisting it outward. With a sharp pivot on his heel, he turned his back to the mercenary, pulled hard, and flipped him clean over his shoulder. Manta hit the floor with bone-rattling force — hard enough to break through it entirely — and crashed into the level below, stone and wood splintering around him.
Without hesitation, Arthur slapped his elbow repeatedly, then dove down through the hole. He came plummeting with his elbow aimed dead center, landing it squarely in Manta’s midsection with a brutal thud.
“Ughhh!!” Manta groaned, the impact vibrating through his armor. The weakened floor beneath them gave way again, sending both of them tumbling into the hotel’s main lobby.
The crash echoed through the wide space, drawing screams from startled guests. People shoved each other in a desperate rush for the exits, scattering like startled fish while chunks of ceiling rained down.
Up above, Mera peered through the jagged hole — but before she could leap down, the ceiling above her gave out. Soldiers in sleek black armor, their visored faceplates glinting, dropped down in a coordinated descent.
“Of course,” she muttered darkly, eyes narrowing. “He wouldn’t come alone.”
The first soldier lunged. Mera slid low, sweeping beneath his legs, then came up behind him. In one fluid motion, she seized his arm, twisted sharply, and hurled him into another assailant. Both men went crashing into the bathroom, shattering tiles and breaking the porcelain sink in an explosive spray of dust and debris.
Her eyes flared a vivid blue. She thrust out her hand, and the pipes beneath the walls burst open, spewing streams of water toward her. The liquid coiled and solidified under her command, forming writhing tentacles around her arms. With them, she lashed out, wrapping soldiers in crushing grips, whipping them through the air, and slamming them against each other like ragdolls. Then, in a powerful pull, she flung herself through the broken wall and out into the open courtyard.
Meanwhile, Arthur and Manta were already back on their feet. Arthur moved first, swinging a low, sweeping kick toward Manta’s legs. Manta leapt clean over it, landing in a crouch before unleashing an optic blast. The ground hissed and cracked as molten heat scorched across it, Arthur barely rolling away in time.
Manta surged forward, knife raised. Arthur crossed his forearms beneath Manta’s, trapping the stabbing motion, but Manta shifted his grip, hooked Arthur’s arm under his own, and used the leverage to flip him over. Arthur slammed into the ground hard enough to rattle the building, grunting from the jolt.
Before he could recover, a searing plasma beam ripped across his stomach, burning through his shirt and sending him into a cry of pain. Manta followed it up with a savage kick to the ribs that sent Arthur hurtling sideways, through the hotel’s glass façade. He smashed into a parked car outside, the metal caving in under his weight with a metallic whump.
Groaning, Arthur clutched his abdomen. His shirt was scorched black, skin beneath red and peeling, soot clinging to the burn.
Manta emerged through the ruined hotel wall, the faint glow of lingering heat still visible at the edges of his visor. “Come now, young prince,” he drawled mockingly. “Sharing a bed with your brother’s fiancée? Tsk tsk tsk… I would’ve thought you knew better. Or maybe…” He tilted his head in feigned thought. “…that’s just some surface world culture I don't know about.”
Arthur glanced briefly to the side, catching sight of Mera in the midst of her own battle — soldiers in black armor thrashing helplessly inside water-filled faceplates as she slammed them into the pavement.
Then his gaze shifted back to Manta. He let out a long breath, shoulders slumping.
Manta chuckled. “Admitting defeat already? Honestly, how sad.” He ignited his rocket boots, streaking forward in a blur. “Oh well… retirement, here I come.”
Arthur’s eyes flicked to the dented car beside him. In one swift motion, he grabbed it by the chassis, swung it with every ounce of his strength, and caught Manta mid-charge.
“Urghh!!” Manta choked out as the force sent him sailing backwards, through the hotel wall, out the other side, and crashing across several walls before skidding to a stop in the street two blocks away.
Arthur’s glare was sharp enough to cut steel. “I agree — to retirement you go.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Maybe there you’ll learn not to unmake a freshly made bed.”
