BLOOD IN THE WATER » namor

[11]

[11 - THE LIBERTY OF ESCAPE]

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The tresspasser twitches once. Twice. His writhes are timed to his unmistakable howls of pain. And he plunges to his knees, his head in his fisted hands.

The swathing dirty bandages disperse in a flash, the angular cowl vanishes, and what's left behind is an unfathomable man. Just a surface breather struggling to tap into his consciousness. When he manages a glance up at Namor, his wide eyes are haunted and sleepless. He attempts to move, but it's like he's been disconnected from his psyche. He falls back to the floor.

"My mission... needs me," he rasps, rubbing a hand down his face. His posture gets hunched like he has just taken the world's greatest beating. 

"You play games with a king!" Namor reacts, threatened by his audacity. His aggressive tone makes Mira shrink, her hands tight over the skin on his neck. 

"Okay, shit. I'm sorry about the... that—that wasn't me." He shuts his eyes, mortified. When he opens them, he is doubtless. He knows what he wants. "Look, my name is Marc Spector," the trespasser announces, his eyes flickering to Mira tactfully. "And I am, technically, the Fist of Khonshu. I am here to bring about an—your understanding of the situation." His flick is almost unnoticeable as if a voice had just yelled a curse in his ear. 

"Peacefully," he presses.

"You don't speak of peace and take the law into your hands, Marc Spector," Namor warns, testing the name. "These are still my lands, my seas, and the child you want is one of my people."

"I know, I know." Marc pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. "But it's not like you guys have a telephone around here. I couldn't exactly drop a line to a subterrene cave—"

Namor raises an impeding hand. Marc clicks his jaw close, nodding.

"Alright, great. We're understood." He, then, motions to the baby. "The girl. She's the complication. She isn't protected here. I need you to give her to me—hey, back off. Can we all, please, just...? I don't want to hurt anyone."

Attuma appears from beyond the hut, his hands bearing his immense axe, cleaving through the tension. He bares his teeth at the intruder behind his rebreather, putting himself in front of his king to bear the brunt. 

"This foolish worm has come to die," he growls in his mother tongue. Marc has his arms lifted in defence, assessing the commotion and observing the king. Namor doesn't move a muscle. 

"Wait, wait, I know you're angry. Just please hear me out. I know the kid's mother," Marc says, breathing out loud. "Kinara Emani. I know her, okay?"

"That's my ma!" Mira instantly elates to Namor, his first step in placing faith. She is smiling wide while Marc tilts his head in awareness. He waves at Mira hesitantly with a quiet 'hi'.