ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀɴɢᴜɪɴᴇ ᴇᴍᴘʀᴇꜱꜱ | Bakugou Katsuki

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

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This world is held by the strings of fate by a group of people far beyond the mortal plane.

You knew this to be true. 

But as distant as they were, they were not unreachable. Not with that eye of yours, at least. You could tear through the veil of illusion and reach them upon their crest of light and deity.

As the old tales proclaim, the eyes are the windows into the soul, and your soul boiled with an incomparable drive to seek out the mysteries of the world. The sea was no exception. Matter of fact, you found solace in that one place where you often ventured with your twin. 

That's why you turned to the ocean and gazed upon its vastness—it bore an even greater tragedy than you would ever know. But through its calming ebb and flow, you lay to rest your worries and allowed yourself to grow larger than your despair. You only wished you could have seen your brother at the time; what kind of a face he had made while looking at the sea. Perhaps it was that blue eye of yours that blinded you or the mortal one—but you would never know now.

And yet, even if you could not, the sea could. The ocean saw everything; the waves felt everything and knew everything. The waters of old would consume it all—all that was good and bad and merciful. No one would be left to tell the tales of old, except for those who lived beneath the surface of the sea. It would listen to the cries of those pershing to the perilous waters, seeking out the olds gods with reaching hands—only to gaze into the dark void, receiving only the echo of their silence as answer. 

Even the mightiest of mortals have wished for much, have flown too high like Ikaros, only to be cast down when the sun of truth blazed down on their waxen wings of freedom.

The world was unspeakably cruel like that; cruel to mortals, but kind to Gods.

But could you blame them? Mortals were greedy, lustful, and prideful; unsatisfied with what they had, wanting more, and easily tempted by the darker forces. 

They sought out light, craving it, demanding to wield its powers—knowing little of their mortal limits. 

Their eyes sought much, but their heart knew the dreadful truth. And on the eve of their deaths, they were shown as much. 

Even you, for all your power, were weak to the whims of mortals, as was often the way with individuals like you...

You wondered why someone like Prometheus would grant mortals the flame of truth. Perhaps he was disillusioned by their purity—perhaps he believed that they weren't inherently evil and that the darkness was nurtured through external forces. But how could he know that? After all, he was the one to mold them. He never took into account what the truth might reveal in the hearts of the pure...

But maybe, just maybe, he saw what a mortal eye could not. 

The Jaded Whale, a pub somewhere in the Caribbean...

A stout fisherman had one elbow propped on the weathered surface of a bar counter to balance the weight of his body as the other was used to lift a bottle of rum to his lips. The coarse substance ran down his throat like liquid fire, and he squeezed his eyes and lips into a tight 'o', before popping them back open with a satisfied hiss. The other fisherman by his side did the same, taking a long swig of his own drink before he promptly leaned in to elbow the other; a twinkle of nervous excitement blazed through his eyes like liquid courage.

"Have ye' old salts heard of the tales?" The first said with a tone far more serious than the others had expected or would have liked. They were here to have a good time. Not to listen to words of an old seadog.

"There are many tales, Will. Yer' going to have to be a bit more specific." The other said with a dismissive wave of his hand, his eyes elsewhere, tracking the movements of a tavern wench.

Will's eyes grew alight with rapt anticipation. He turned a patched eye to the flickering tar candle on a brass plate, ignorant of his companion's wandering eyes. His breath grew heavier with each second, and the air seemed to grow thick and stagnant from the heat of the other attendees as he swirled his glass of rum between his fingers.

"Oh, I mean the tale of the beasts that lurk in the sea just yonder these tides." He raised his cup again and emptied the contents of it into his mouth. Swallowing the vile liquid, he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before emitting another ahh of content. His eyes lifted again, only this time they shone with something other than excitement; it was dark and full of wary, and something else the other men couldn't pinpoint. Whether that be terror or wrath, they did not know, nor did they look too far into for fear that they too would be roped in by the sheer fear that gripped the old sailor.

"And what beasts are ye' referring to? Sharks? Eels? Well, damn it, man, spit it out!"

A static buzz settled over the thick air.

Will leaned in, this time with a bit more aggression as he hissed low under his breath, "No, Billy. Not sharks, nor anything our kind has encountered before. Not for a good while, at least." His throat bobbed with fear, and the reflection of the tar candle glittered in his darkened eyes.

He cleared his throat, leaning in ever closer.

"I'm talking about beasts with claws as long as swords and teeth sharper than steel. Monsters capable of tearing into you with the speed of a shark. Do you know what I speak of, Billy? It is not sharks or whales, or jellyfish that I fear. Nor the depths of the sea. It's the monsters beneath the surface that I fear -- those that linger in the dark, waiting and watching."

Suddenly, Billy's eyes grew alight with understanding, but his fingers closed around Will's wrist in warning.

"You don't mean mermaids do ya', Will?" He laughed, "You seriously don't believe they're real, do ya'?"

Will's face went taut with seriousness, and for a moment he was silent. A clap of thunder ensued somewhere in the far distance, and it lightened the interior of the dim tavern for a second, illuminating Will's grim expression. He was clutching his empty eye, almost cradling it, and the look on his face told of countless nights of terror spent mulling over the creature that had cursed him with such abundant fear.

"Not mermaids," Will finally corrected, looking up to lock eyes with the rugged sailor, "Mermaids are just tales woven by little girls with fantasies of delusion in their minds. What I speak of are the Devil's of the sea, monsters with the bewitching beauty of a seductress and the voice of an enchantress, but with the wrath of Ares. They have sent many men to Davy Jones Locker with just a single tune from their bedeviled lips."

Will took hold of Billy's shoulders, and hissed out with a quaky voice, "I speak of sirens, Billy."

Another thunderbolt cracked in the distance, shaking the skies with its fury, and a torrent of rain showered down from the parted clouds, angrily covering the sodden grounds with their humidity as passing residents made for cover under the nearby buildings; worriedly looking to the sea across them.

Sirens...