Chapter twelve
KRAK’ZOL
Three days until the alignment.
The words echo through my mind like a death knell as I watch Imoogeen sleep.
My little queen lies curled on our shared bed platform, her transformation accelerating since our return from Rynor’s festering fortress.
Delicate scales, the color of a twilight sky, shimmer along her spine, catching the ambient light of our chamber.
They are smooth, cool to the touch, yet beneath them, I sense the heat of her human blood, a tantalizing contrast.
The scent of her is changing, too—less human, more.
.
.
mine.
A primal urge rises within me, a desire to trace the patterns of her new scales, to feel their texture against my own, to claim this beautiful, terrifying evolution as proof of our bond.
I fight the urge, knowing she needs rest, but the Leviathan in me roars to possess her, to complete what the Heart has begun.
Even unconscious, she radiates strength—this human female who dared to challenge a Leviathan king, who now carries part of the Heart’s essence within her.
And part of Rynor’s corruption.
I can sense it festering inside her—a parasite latching onto the connection between her mind and the Heart.
She fights it even in sleep, her brow furrowed, fingers twitching against unseen enemies.
The bond between us pulses with her discomfort, and I resist the urge to wake her.
She needs rest after what she endured to save Bethra.
Nira approaches silently, her healer’s eyes assessing Imoogeen’s condition.
“The corruption spreads,” she murmurs, placing a bowl of luminescent paste beside the bed.
“This will help slow its progress, but it cannot cure her.”
“Nothing can cure her except destroying the source,” I growl, my claws extending involuntarily.
“Rynor must die.”
“And yet you hesitate.” Nira’s gaze is knowing, uncomfortably perceptive.
“He is still your brother.”
I turn away, unwilling to acknowledge the truth in her words.
Memories surface unbidden—Rynor and I as younglings, racing through the thermal vents; teaching him to hunt the deep-dwelling kraken; standing together at our father’s deathbed as the crown passed to me.
“He chose his path,” I say finally, the words bitter on my tongue.
“As did you.” Nira gestures to Imoogeen.
“When you claimed her as your mate, you set events in motion that cannot be undone. The question now is whether you will see them through.”
Before I can respond, Imoogeen stirs, her eyes fluttering open.
For a terrible moment, I see a flash of toxic green before her natural color returns.
“How long was I out?” she asks, her voice raspy.
“Too long,” I rumble, moving to her side.
“The council grows restless.”
She sits up, wincing slightly.
Through our bond, I feel the shadow of her pain—a burning sensation where the corruption spreads beneath her skin.
“Did Bethra’s information check out?” she asks, all business despite her condition.
I nod.
“Zorath confirmed it. The alignment occurs in three days. The Heart will be at its most vulnerable—and its most powerful.”
“Then that’s when we make our stand.” She swings her legs over the edge of the bed, determination overriding discomfort.
“You should rest,” Nira protests, but Imoogeen waves her off.
“I’ll rest when Rynor’s dead.” She meets my gaze, a challenge in her eyes.
“Unless you’re planning to lock me away for my protection?”
A rumble builds in my chest—half amusement, half frustration.
“I learned long ago that attempting to confine you only results in more trouble.”
The ghost of a smile curves her lips.
“Smart king.”
The war chamber buzzes with barely contained tension as my commanders await orders.
Zorath stands at my right, Imoogeen at my left—a formation that has not gone unnoticed by the council.
Some approve of her elevated status; others remain skeptical of a human queen, transformed or not.
Vara, my fiercest warrior, kneels before us.
“The outer defenses are secured, my king. But our scouts report Rynor’s forces have grown. The corruption spreads faster than we anticipated.”
“How many?” Imoogeen asks, her voice carrying the authority of command.
“Three thousand at least,” Vara replies without hesitation.
Her immediate deference to Imoogeen silences any lingering whispers of dissent among the council.
“They gather at the edge of the Midnight Trench.”
I study the tactical projection before us—a three-dimensional map of the territories surrounding the Heart.
Rynor’s forces are positioned strategically, blocking all direct approaches.
“He expects a frontal assault,” I observe.
“He knows our traditional battle formations.”
“Then we don’t use traditional formations,” Imoogeen counters, moving closer to the map.
The royal markings on her skin pulse brighter as she focuses.
“The alignment affects the Heart, but it also affects the currents.”
She traces a route through the map—a dangerous path through thermal vents and unstable canyons that no sane commander would consider.
“The eastern passage,” Zorath identifies, his expression skeptical.
“It’s too volatile. The pressure changes alone would crush most warriors.”
“But not Leviathan royalty,” Imoogeen points out.
“The Heart’s essence protects us from such extremes.”
Us .
The word sends a surge of possessive satisfaction through me.
She truly sees herself as one of us now—my queen, my mate.
“It’s still a significant risk,” Vara cautions.
“And Rynor will have considered this approach, even if he deems it unlikely.”
“Which is why we don’t all go that way,” I say, the strategy becoming clear.
“We divide our forces. The main army approaches from the north—a direct challenge that Rynor will expect. Meanwhile, a smaller force, led by Imoogeen and myself, slips through the eastern passage.”
“A pincer movement,” Zorath nods, approval warming his normally stoic features.
“Rynor will commit his forces to the northern battle, leaving the Heart vulnerable to a smaller, more mobile attack force.”
“Exactly.” Imoogeen’s eyes meet mine, a perfect understanding flowing between us.
“But there’s more. The information I pulled from Bethra’s mind wasn’t just about timing. Rynor has developed some kind of parasite—a concentrated form of the corruption. He plans to implant it directly into the Heart during the alignment.”
Murmurs of alarm ripple through the council.
“Such desecration would poison not just the Heart, but all waters connected to it,” Nira says, horror evident in her voice.
“Including the oceans of Earth.”
The implications hang heavy in the water.
If Rynor succeeds, not only will my kingdom fall, but Imoogeen’s homeworld will lose any chance of salvation.
“Then we stop him,” I state simply, my decision made.
“Prepare the army. We move at first light.”
As the council disperses to carry out orders, Imoogeen remains at the tactical display, her expression troubled.
“What concerns you?” I ask when we’re alone.
“The corruption inside me,” she admits, one hand unconsciously touching the patch of discolored scales at her ribs.
“It’s connected to Rynor somehow. What if he can use it against us? What if I become a liability?”
I move closer, towering over her smaller form.
Not to intimidate, but to surround her with my presence, my protection.
“You are my strength, not my weakness,” I tell her, my voice low and certain.
“Our bond is stronger than his corruption.”
She looks up at me, vulnerability and strength warring in her gaze.
“You can’t know that.”
“I can.” I place my hand over hers, where it rests against her corrupted scales.
“Because I would tear apart the sea itself before I let him take you from me.”
Dawn brings no light to the depths of the Abyss, only a subtle shift in the bioluminescent patterns that mark the passage of time.
My warriors assemble in silent formation, their weapons charged with energy harvested from the Heart’s outer chambers.
Imoogeen stands before them, resplendent in battle armor forged specifically for her unique physiology—part human, part Leviathan.
The corruption has spread overnight, green tendrils visible beneath the translucent scales at her neck, but her eyes remain clear and determined.
“You should remain behind,” I try one last time, though I already know her answer.
“Not a chance.” She checks the heartstone blade at her hip.
“Besides, according to Nira’s research, we need both of us to neutralize the parasite. Your strength, my connection to two worlds.”
She’s right, of course.
The ancient texts Bethra referenced in her moment of clarity spoke of a ritual that requires the combined essence of bonded royals to purge corruption from the Heart.
A convenient truth that neatly eliminates any possibility of keeping her safely away from battle.
My fingers brush the royal insignia hanging from a chain around my neck—a ceremonial piece worn by Leviathan kings since the first Heart-bond.
On impulse, I remove it, the weight familiar in my palm.
“Kneel,” I command softly.
Surprise flickers across her face, but she complies, dropping to one knee before me.
The warriors around us fall silent, recognizing the significance of the moment.
I place the chain around her neck, the insignia settling against her chest.
It glows in response to her transformed essence, accepting her as its rightful bearer.
“By the ancient laws of the Abyss, I recognize Imoogeen Vance as my bonded queen, equal in authority and power,” I declare, my voice carrying to every warrior present.
“Her commands are my commands. Her strength is the strength of the Abyss.”
When she rises, something has shifted in the way my warriors regard her—not just as my chosen mate, but as their queen by right and ritual.
The formal acknowledgment settles something within me as well, a certainty that regardless of the outcome of this battle, she is truly mine now, as I am hers.
“Try not to die gloriously without me,” she quips, but I feel the depth of emotion behind her light words.
“I would not dare deny you the pleasure of witnessing my glory,” I return, earning a genuine smile that eases the tension between us.
We part ways at the junction of the northern and eastern routes—Zorath leading the main force while Vara accompanies us with a select group of elite warriors.
The eastern passage looms before us, a treacherous maze of thermal vents and crushing pressure zones that few have navigated successfully.
Imoogeen swims at my side, her movements fluid and confident despite her partial transformation.
Through our bond, I sense her discomfort as the corruption fights against her control, but her determination never wavers.
“Stay close,” I tell her as we enter the first pressure zone.
“The currents grow unpredictable here.”
She nods, her focus absolute as we navigate the dangerous waters.
Twice we nearly lose warriors to sudden pressure shifts, and once a thermal vent erupts without warning, separating us briefly from the rest of our small force.
Through it all, Imoogeen remains steadfast, her presence a constant reassurance through our bond.
When the corruption flares painfully within her, she grits her teeth and pushes through, refusing to become the liability she fears.
We emerge from the eastern passage to find the Heart’s chamber largely unguarded—exactly as we predicted.
Rynor has committed his forces to the northern battle, confident in the impregnability of the eastern approach.
The Heart itself pulses before us, a massive crystalline structure that throbs with the lifeforce of our world.
Its surface ripples with energy patterns that respond to our presence, recognizing the royal essence we both carry.
“It’s beautiful,” Imoogeen breathes, momentarily transfixed.
A slow clap breaks the reverent silence.
“How touching,” Rynor’s voice echoes through the chamber as he emerges from behind the Heart, flanked by his elite guard.
“The mighty Krak’zol and his pet human, come to save the day.”
Rage burns through me at the sight of my brother—his once-proud form now twisted by the very corruption he wields as a weapon.
His scales have darkened to a sickly green-black, and his eyes glow with unnatural malice.
“It’s over, Rynor,” I growl, positioning myself slightly ahead of Imoogeen.
“Your forces are engaged in the north. You are outnumbered.”
“Am I?” He smiles, revealing teeth that have sharpened to needle points.
“Or perhaps I wanted you here, brother. Perhaps this was always the plan.”
With a gesture, he activates something within the chamber.
The water around us shimmers with toxic energy that targets Imoogeen specifically, latching onto the corruption already within her.
She gasps, doubling over as green light pulses beneath her skin.
Through our bond, I feel her agony as the corruption surges, fighting to take control.
“You see,” Rynor continues conversationally, “your little queen has been carrying my insurance policy. A direct link to me—and through me, to the parasite.”
He holds up a pulsing green orb—the concentrated corruption he plans to implant in the Heart.
“She’s the perfect vessel. Already bonded to the Heart through you, already partially transformed. When the alignment comes, I won’t need to breach the Heart’s defenses at all. She will do it for me.”
“Never,” Imoogeen grits out, fighting for control.
Her eyes flash between their natural color and toxic green as she struggles against his influence.
I move to her side, one arm supporting her as she sways.
“Fight it, Imoogeen. Our bond is stronger.”
Rynor laughs.
“Such confidence! Let’s test it, shall we?” He makes another gesture, and Imoogeen cries out as the corruption surges again.
Through our bond, I feel her slipping away, her consciousness being overwritten by Rynor’s control.
In desperation, I press my forehead against hers—the most intimate gesture of my kind—and pour my essence into our connection.
Stay with me, little queen.
I need you.
Her response comes faintly through layers of pain and corruption.
The ritual.
We have to complete it now, before the alignment.
She’s right.
We can’t wait.
If Rynor gains full control before the alignment, all is lost.
“Vara!” I call to my warrior.
“Defend us. We begin the ritual.”
Understanding dawns in Rynor’s eyes.
“Stop them!” he commands his guards, but Vara and our warriors move to intercept, forming a protective circle around us.
I guide Imoogeen to the base of the Heart, where its energy flows most directly into the surrounding waters.
The ritual requires both of us to enter a trance state, making us vulnerable while we work to separate the parasite from both Imoogeen and the Heart itself.
“I can’t hold it back much longer,” she warns, her voice strained.
The corruption has spread visibly, green tendrils reaching up her neck toward her face.
“You won’t have to,” I promise her.
“Trust me.”
Around us, battle erupts as Vara’s warriors engage Rynor’s guards.
The water fills with energy discharges and the sounds of combat, but I focus solely on Imoogeen and the ritual.
I place my hands on the Heart’s surface, feeling its ancient power respond to my touch.
Imoogeen does the same, her smaller hands beside mine, the royal insignia around her neck glowing in resonance with the Heart.
“Together,” I murmur, and we begin the ritual chant Nira taught us—a sequence of sounds more felt than heard, vibrating through the water and into the crystalline structure before us.
The Heart pulses in response, its energy flowing into us and through our bond.
I feel Imoogeen’s consciousness merge with mine more completely than ever before, our thoughts and emotions becoming indistinguishable.
Through this perfect union, we trace the corruption to its source—the parasite within the orb Rynor holds, connected to smaller seeds planted throughout the Abyss, including the one growing within Imoogeen.
The effort of maintaining the trance, of holding our minds as one against the tide of Rynor’s poison, is immense.
A burning cold sears through my veins, a perversion of the Heart’s pure energy.
Sweat, alien to my deep-sea existence, beads on my brow despite the chill of the surrounding water.
I feel her pain, sharp and invasive, mirrored in my own flesh.
Yet, intertwined with it, is the intoxicating rush of her—her thoughts, her will, her very essence blending with mine.
It is agony and ecstasy, a terrifying, exhilarating union.
Without breaking her focus on the ritual, Imoogeen reaches up and gently wipes it away—a tender gesture amidst chaos that strengthens our connection.
Through our merged consciousness, we begin to isolate the parasite, severing its connections one by one.
I provide the strength, she provides the precision—her partially human mind able to navigate the corruption in ways my Leviathan instincts cannot.
Behind us, the battle intensifies.
Through fragmented awareness, I sense Vara taking a serious wound, feel the disruption as our protective circle begins to falter.
Imoogeen feels it too, her concentration wavering as concern for our warriors penetrates the trance.
“Focus on me,” I command softly.
“Only me.”
Her consciousness realigns with mine, our bond strengthening as we push deeper into the heart of the corruption.
We find its core—a twisted piece of the Heart itself, corrupted by Rynor’s jealousy and ambition.
“You can’t save it,” Rynor’s voice penetrates our trance.
He’s closer now, having broken through our defenders.
“You can’t save her. She’s mine now.”
“She is not my weakness,” I respond, my voice steady despite the strain of maintaining the ritual.
“She is the reason I will win.”
With those words, I channel every ounce of my strength into our bond, giving Imoogeen the power she needs to excise the corruption.
Through our merged consciousness, I feel her precision as she separates parasite from host—first within herself, then reaching outward to the seeds scattered throughout the Abyss.
Rynor screams as his connection to the corruption is severed.
The orb in his hand destabilizes, toxic energy discharging in violent bursts that fill the chamber with chaotic currents.
Imoogeen gasps, her back arching as the corruption is purged from her system.
Green tendrils withdraw from her skin, drawn back toward the orb as if pulled by a powerful magnet.
Through our bond, I feel her relief and exhaustion in equal measure.
The ritual complete, we break from our trance to find Rynor collapsed before us, the corrupted orb pulsing erratically in his weakened grip.
His guards lie defeated, Vara standing bloodied but triumphant over them.
“It’s over, brother,” I say, rising to my full height.
“Surrender, and you may yet live.”
Rynor looks up, his eyes clearing as the corruption’s influence fades.
For a moment, I glimpse the brother I once knew—proud, brilliant, but always in my shadow.
“Too late for that,” he rasps, clutching the unstable orb to his chest.
“Too far gone.”
Before I can react, he crushes the orb against himself.
Corruption floods his body, a last desperate attempt to maintain power.
But without its connection to the Heart, the concentrated corruption has nowhere to go but inward.
Rynor convulses as the corruption devours him from within, his form twisting grotesquely before collapsing in on itself.
Within moments, nothing remains but dissipating energy and the echo of his final scream.
Silence falls over the chamber, broken only by the steady pulse of the Heart.
I reach for her, my hand, still trembling from the strain of the ritual, finding the smooth curve of her cheek.
The green tinge is gone, the corruption purged, leaving only the luminous beauty of her transformed skin.
She leans into my touch, her eyes—no longer clouded by Rynor’s poison, but clear, sharp, and fiercely hers —meeting mine.
A silent understanding passes between us, a shared exhaustion, a shared triumph, a shared grief .
The weight of what we’ve done, what we’ve lost, settles upon us, but in this moment, in this shared touch, there is also a profound sense of peace.
The bond between us, forged in battle and sealed by the Heart, pulses with a steady rhythm, a promise of a future we will face together.
Imoogeen moves to my side, her hand finding mine.
Through our bond, I feel her mixture of horror, relief, and grief on my behalf.
She says nothing, understanding that no words can ease the pain of watching my brother destroy himself.
Instead, she simply presses her forehead against mine in the Leviathan gesture of deepest intimacy.
In that moment of connection, I feel her promise—that healing is possible, even from the deepest wounds.
The alignment begins above us, three moons forming a perfect triangle that sends shafts of refracted light through the water to dance across the Heart’s surface.
But instead of making it vulnerable, the alignment now strengthens it, the corruption purged by our ritual.
The Heart pulses with renewed vigor, sending waves of healing energy throughout the Abyss.
I feel it flowing through me, through Imoogeen, through our warriors—repairing damage, cleansing the last traces of corruption.
“What happens now?” Imoogeen asks softly.
I look down at my fierce, transformed queen—neither fully human nor fully Leviathan, but something gloriously unique.
Through our bond, I sense her uncertainty about the future, about her place in my world and her responsibility to her own.
“Now,” I tell her, my voice low and certain, “we rebuild. Together.”
The royal insignia glows against her chest, accepting her as its rightful bearer.
My queen.
My mate.
The one who fought the darkness and won.
In the light of the aligned moons, surrounded by the Heart’s pulsing energy, I make her a silent promise through our bond—wherever she goes, whatever she chooses, I will be at her side.
The depths of the Abyss or the distant shores of Earth—it matters not.
She is mine, as I am hers.
And together, we are unstoppable.