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King of the Seven Seas (EMH) Chapter 12: The Prince's Decree
🕑 Added 2025-11-30 01:53:13 +0000 UTC[Third person POV]
Mera stood still in the water, her gaze fixed on the small wrist device secured to her arm. The screen shimmered faintly with a holographic projection of the globe, tiny blue indicators pulsing over the dark waters. From the readings, it was clear—they were still deep within the North Atlantic Ocean, swimming between the coastal waters of Ireland and France. Their trajectory pointed them directly toward the United Kingdom.
“We’re about to reach land,” Mera finally announced, her voice calm but tinged with focus. “Someplace called Wales. From there, we’ll need to travel quite a distance inland before we can even hope to reach Glastonbury.” Her eyes traced the path displayed on the screen, mentally calculating the hours it might take.
Arthur swam beside her, both slowed their pace as the sandy outline of the coast came into view. In moments, they breached the waves, water cascading off them as they stepped onto a beach dotted with sunbathers.
The air was warm, filled with the mingling scents of salt and sunscreen. Families sprawled out on colorful towels, while children ran laughing along the shore, tossing bright beach balls back and forth. Their sudden emergence from the sea drew immediate attention—particularly Mera, whose striking armor and regal bearing stood out against the casual attire of the beachgoers. Conversations hushed, and curious eyes turned toward the pair.
“So… where exactly now?” Mera asked, glancing down at her watch again, though her expression hinted she already knew she wouldn’t like the answer.
Arthur grinned slightly, adopting a nonchalant tone. “Now? We just walk forward, ask for a ride, and hope for the best. The ol’ surface dweller way.” He lifted a hand and gave a thumbs-up for emphasis.
Mera exhaled slowly through her nose, her lips forming a thin line. “I have this nagging feeling this trip will be far from easy,” she muttered, already imagining the obstacles ahead.
—
Far away, in the dim-lit expanse of Atlantis’ royal hall, Orm sat rigid upon his throne. His fingers were steepled before his mouth, his sharp gaze fixed downward toward the two men standing below the dais—Ryus, his head bowed with grief, and Vulko, whose expression remained unreadable save for the tension in his jaw.
Ryus kept a hand over his face, his shoulders trembling. His lips quivered as if words struggled to form, but none came. His pain was evident—his daughter was gone, or so he believed.
Vulko’s face was composed, but his hands, hidden neatly behind his back, were clenched into fists so tight that the knuckles whitened. Beneath the mask of his calm exterior, rage simmered. He drew in a deep, quiet breath and thought bitterly, ‘Forgive me, my lady… I failed to protect him.’
The heavy double doors to the throne room burst open with a sharp clang. “Your Majesty!” a young Atlantean soldier called out, his voice urgent. He swam quickly into the chamber, saluting before continuing. “I bring news—urgent news!”
Orm’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “This interruption had better be worth my time. Speak.”
“We have detected signs of movement from Lady Mera. She appears to be alive—her biosignatures are stable. Current tracking shows she is en route toward the surface world… specifically the continent known as Europe.” The soldier presented a shimmering hologram, the seas and continents lit in vivid blue, with a pulsing beacon marking her location.
A stunned silence washed over the room. Then Ryus’ expression broke into one of astonished relief. “My daughter… she lives!” His voice cracked with emotion. “Praise the gods for their mercy!”
Orm’s gaze lingered on the glowing beacon, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he leaned back in his throne and muttered, “If Mera lives… then that must mean the half-breed lives as well.” His tone was calm, but the click of his tongue carried irritation.
Ryus, noticing the shift in Orm’s mood, stepped forward. He lowered himself to one knee, his voice earnest. “My lord, your majesty, I beseech you—whatever fate you have planned for the half-breed… I only ask you spare my daughter from the same.”
Orm’s stern face softened into a faint smile. “You worry too much, Ryus. Mera is my betrothed. I would never seek to harm her.”
Ryus bowed his head, relief evident. “I am grateful for your mercy, my king.”
Orm gave a small wave of dismissal, his voice suddenly hardened, “Guards, I have new orders. First, detain Vulko.”
Vulko’s eyes widened, but the guards moved instantly, seizing his arms and forcing them behind his back. “What is the meaning of this, Your Highness?” he demanded, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Orm started tapping on the silver and blue helm beside him, fins pointing out from the side. “Tell me, Vulko… do you take me for a fool? Did you think I would not notice your allegiance lies not with me, but with my half-breed brother?” His gaze stopped before the restrained advisor, his voice turning cold. “I am well aware of the games you play. And to be frank, I am disappointed. You are meant to serve the King, to advise with wisdom… yet your counsel is clouded by misplaced loyalty. I will not tolerate such weakness in my court.”
“Guards—take him away,” Orm ordered coldly, his voice echoing through the throne room. “But make sure he’s given a clear view. I want him to see firsthand just how much of a fool he truly is for believing in my brother.” He dismissed them with a sharp wave of his hand.
The guards tightened their grip on Vulko’s arms, dragging him toward the grand doors. The older man didn’t resist physically, but his gaze remained locked on Orm, unyielding.
“If my judgment was right or wrong,” Vulko began, his voice steady despite the tension in the room, “remains to be seen… young prince.” The emphasis was deliberate, his tone laced with quiet defiance. “But mark my words—as long as Prince Arthur lives, you will never truly be the King of Atlantis.”
The guards shoved him forward, silencing him. His footsteps echoed off the coral-lined walls until the heavy doors closed behind him, sealing him away from the throne room. Orm’s eyes lingered on the door for a long moment, his jaw tightening.
Then, turning toward Ryus, he spoke with a low, calculating tone. “Gather your forces. When word spreads that my brother still lives, there will be those who doubt my claim to the throne. I’m done waiting for them to see reason. If they refuse to acknowledge my rule willingly… we will make them submit by force. Once that is done, our focus will shift to the surface world.”
“As you command, my lord.” Ryus gave a sharp nod of acknowledgement before spinning on his heel. His long ceremonial cape trailed in the water behind him as he swam swiftly out of the hall.
The chamber fell into silence, Orm leaned back against his throne, bringing his wrist close to his mouth. “Black Manta,” he said into the communicator, his voice carrying an edge. “Report to me at your earliest convenience.”
He closed his eyes, waiting. Minutes passed. Then, with a deep mechanical hiss, the throne room doors slid open. A tall figure clad in segmented black armor stepped inside, the massive helmet on his head glowing with menacing crimson optics. His every movement was precise, deliberate—a predator in his own right.
“To what can I be of service to the throne?” Black Manta asked, his voice distorted through the helmet’s vocoder, but his tone respectful.
“I need you to do a job for me,” Orm replied vaguely, his gaze hard.
Black Manta exhaled audibly through his helmet. “No disrespect intended, but I’m at the age where retirement is long overdue. I’ve been training my son to take my place. Can this… wait until that is done?”
Orm’s voice sharpened. “No. It cannot. Your priorities should be what the King demands of you. You may retire after your task is complete. Do you object?”
There was a brief pause before Black Manta spoke again, his posture shifting ever so slightly. “Again, no disrespect. But the Black Manta serves Atlantis—not the King himself. Your position on that throne is not yet absolute… so I could decline your request if I wished, little prince.”
Orm’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “So you are declining me?”
“That,” Black Manta said, tilting his head slightly, “depends on the mission.”
Orm stepped forward, his voice dropping to a dark growl. “I need you to eliminate my brother while I secure the stability of my kingdom. I want him dead—permanently removed from the equation.”
“I see…” Black Manta’s tone grew thoughtful. “Very well. I won’t decline. I would hate for my son to one day be forced to take orders from a surface dweller—even if he is only a half-breed.”
He gave a curt nod. “I’ll prepare my men.”
As Black Manta turned to leave, Orm’s voice rang out again, colder than before. “Oh—and one more thing. If you encounter Princess Mera with him… kill her. Make it as slow and painful as possible.”
Black Manta tapped two fingers against the crown of his helmet, giving a short, almost mocking salute. Without another word, he walked away, the sound of his armored steps fading into the distance.
