Chapter 343: Legends of Times Past Series: The Leviathan – Teaser

Manasong

One day I'll begin to slowly make these stories public once I re-review them like I'm doing with the early chapters.

Lina's POV, 22nd of the month of Prayer, year 69,000 of the Solar calendar, at Escanso's castle's game room.

After a long day in the forge room, then getting both of my sensitive bits stretched by Wolfy, followed by eating until my small belly gains a bump, all I want is to sit down and read something nice and pleasant.

Ciel is busy getting "molested" by Wolfy, by that I mean doing light non-consensual roleplay while he stretches her sensitive bits just like he did to me, so I turn to Roxanne and Hana, and the two give me mirrored grins.

"Come over here, Little Lina, we'll keep you warm and safe," Hana commands, but her fearsome gaze makes me feel like a virgin before an aroused orc.

But Roxanne reads my thoughts and immediately soothingly replies as she approaches me, "No, no, no, no. Your sister will keep you safe, and you'll soon understand that this big-titted woman over here can be just as cuddly as your wife."

She gently picks me up and carries me to the sofa, then she sits down beside Hana, putting me on her lap, but Osaria also comes and sits on our other side.

"Are we cuddling the sisters?" Wolfy's "milf" asks, her tone a mix of mischief and seduction.

And now it's Roxanne's turn to become fearful of Osaria's sexually aggressive gaze.

Hana pulls out her top, and her hand starts to suggestively rub my thigh while Osaria does the same, but to my "older sister."

I sigh and begin reading because I know that soon I'll be too wet and aroused to focus anymore.

I'd actually fallen asleep on Wolfy's lap the previous time I read this book, so I continue from the last passage that I remember.

A light was shined upon Artin's submarine, and he gawked in terror at the creatures surrounding it. The terrifying fiends immediately swam away, hiding from the light, but they weren't its target.

Artin looked up and saw a large lamp letting in a blinding light through the eye socket of the gigantic skull he was hiding under, then the skull was lifted, and the terror increased to the point his eyes thought he was going insane.

The being that stared down at Artin was impossible to describe as its visage refused to mark itself in his memories, but one thing was certain, it was beyond just a mere aberrant or animal, it was something "Grand."

It reached down with a huge, wide fin and swept his submarine off the floor, raising it up so it could take a closer look, and its many eyes bore holes through him like spears. Its gaze was so intense they could've killed a man of a lesser level.

A slit opened horizontally on its face, revealing a dazzling set of huge, sharp teeth in a spiral, ready to grind anything it ate into mush, then the mouth widened so much it was all he could see through the glass of his cockpit, but what came next wasn't the blissful darkness of death.

His view of it was suddenly blocked by a large, bright red tentacle, full of small, round protrusions that led him to believe it was actually a tongue.

It suddenly touched the dome of his cockpit and wrapped itself around it, then it rubbed slowly, as if the being was licking it in a very frightening motion.

After a few long seconds, the lick was complete, and the ship was unceremoniously dropped back on the floor and covered again with the skull.

The being turned around as it turned off its own light, and the elf managed to turn the ship back on in time to register the many dislocation waves that followed in its wake, but Artin remained frozen, too stunning to immediately react.

He had just witnessed the most amazing creature he ever laid his eyes upon just lick his cockpit, then it unceremoniously ran away. The absurdity of this situation had completely switched his fear into excitement because there's just no way that such a magnificent being was outright hostile after so clearly identifying and tasting him.

A being he couldn't identify, with a body so absurdly exaggerated that it could've only been imagined in a fever dream, clearly not a monster since he was still alive, and with a presence that screamed "ancient."

Artin was an avid lover of nature who studied its evolution throughout the ages. Unlike humanoids and monsters, animals and plants were born without a purpose, so they changed and adapted in an endless battle for survival, where the individual wasn't as important as the collective. A strong, but singular animal was only a mere wave in the endless sea of life and death that is the history of nature.

And so the question in his mind was, is that being a one of a kind, or are there more like them? And if it's the latter, why did he never hear rumors about anything like that?

His scholarly senses were tingling, his mind was in a storm as he considered all the possibilities, and his thirst to explore the unknown clouded his judgment.

In a fit of madness (for any normal person, at least), he fed his submarine's propulsion gem with as much mana as it could take, then he promptly chased after the incredible being.

His sensors could still pick massive waves created by the being displacing huge volumes of water as it swam away, but they consistently grew weaker and weaker as time passed. Even the submarine's top speed wasn't enough to catch up to it.

The endless piles of bones under him were the only indication that he was still moving forward as all else he could see was dark waters in all directions. The gigantic, absolutely dark rift he was in was the being's nest for Gods know how long, but he didn't see any sign that this was anything but the location that the being had chosen to have its meals.

The lack of any dwellings led Artin to suspect that the being was merely a dumb brute who didn't actually recognize him as a living person. His submarine had been licked, after all.

This realization dampened his excited mood, and a bit of sanity started to return to him. From absolutely terrified, to extremely curious, to wary and sober, all in the span of half an hour. To say that his heart wanted to rest was an understatement, he was exhausted.

The incredible being didn't seem to be slowing down, so his sensors soon stopped picking the displacement waves, leaving him completely in dark, quite literally, about the whereabouts of the being.

He remained in his course for a couple of hours, allowing him to calm down and rest a bit, then he decided to take stock of his situation.

His father's submarine is the only thing he inherited from the absent parent, who impregnated his elven mother, then left to… do whatever his occupation was, until he died, and his friends then delivered the submarine to Artin.

Though his father was a Thalanthro, they still benefited from having a dry place where they could do things, like cook food, heal their wounds, work on tools, and just safely rest safe from the cold of the deep waters. But even then, his father's submarine was so well equipped with survival tools that he must've definitely been a nomad, which would explain his absence.

But in an extremely utilitarian vessel, space was premium. The submarine was no bigger than a single inn room, and Thalanthro have slender and tall bodies just like elves, putting everything Artin ever needed perfectly within arm's reach.

His food stocks were always dangerously low because the area he was in had little that could be safely eaten, but he knew how to replenish it when needed. What actually troubled him was that the fuzzy leaves he used to cheapen the filtering of water and air were starting to disintegrate, and he needed to stop in a safe location for a couple of days to grow more. He could use [Conjure Water], but the filter was more mana efficient, and he didn't know any [Wind Magic] spells that could replace the air filter.

He also had already spent too much of his mana in this chase, so he needed an extra day to rest. Otherwise, mana overuse could start to build in him, a horrible condition for any mage. The submarine itself could also use some patching to reinforce its structural integrity, especially the sensitive tanks of compressed air he uses to go up or down, so he might as well go home and stock up on supplies instead of doing it all in the wild.

Filters and tanks of compressed air. If I remember right, this was before Sommerinsel was founded, so the mer should still be quite tribal, making this submarine quite advanced for the era.

Or perhaps it wasn't. Not all mer have gills, so this sort of knowledge could simply be common sense for them, and they do have a problem with writing down the knowledge and passing it to their children, as far as I know.

He updated his hand-drawn map of the area, then turned around whence he came.

He got out of the dark graveyard and came out at the bottom of a lava-rich rift, brimming with fluorescent plant life that could hurt his HP just by proximity. One of the most beautiful sights he had ever laid his eyes upon, and the location he had spent Gods-know-how-long happily exploring, mapping, and classifying.

His sensors didn't pick anything big nearby, so he believed it was safe to expose his submarine and let it ascend.

The animal life ignored the huge, white "sea pickle" husk, uninterested in trying to attack such a hard and prickly target, but a few small monsters came to harass him, which were promptly scared away with a discharge of [Lightning Bolt].

Artin's phallic-looking submarine had been given many nicknames, but "sea pickle" was the one he thought most inoffensive, so he even used it himself when it struck his fancy.

The rift was deep, but the submarine's ascension rate was one of its strongest points, so it shot up faster than any lurking monster could react to the sudden presence of a humanoid in their senses.

But going deep down into the sea has consequences not many are prepared for or even understand. All those hundreds of meters of water above one's person weighs down on their bodies, quite literally, and if you dive deep enough, then you can get simply crushed by the pressure that affects you from all directions and in every centimetri of your body.

Even the merfolk wouldn't survive at such depths, so they use something similar to the [Fly] spell to compensate for the high pressure: the [Water Magic]'s [Water Breathing] spell, but in a body-wide fashion, creating a "bubble" that holds back the weight of the water.

Ah, I see, it is common sense for them, and Wolfy's memories agree that tribes can be quite clever and ingenious, they just have problems passing that knowledge on for the following generations.

Artin was born with five levels in [Water Magic], which showed that he had a lot of affinity with the skill, so much that he even modified his [Water Breathing] by himself, allowing the "sea pickle" to reach depths that its structural integrity wasn't prepared for. Without the spell, his submarine would've been crushed as easily as an orc could crush a grape with their hand.

Since he was ascending and the pressure was easing up, he also reduced the intensity of the [Water Breathing] spell while he observed a cylindrical object that told him the pressure acting upon the submarine.

Exploration was all about extreme efficiency, so there was no wasted effort in the matter of conserving mana, which was essential for his survival in the wild, deep waters.

He soon left the colorful, glowing environment behind and got out of the rift, entering dark, open waters, so absent of any form of life that it was like he was in a complete abyss. This was the worst part of underwater exploration, but his sensors and his [Sense Presence] told him he was completely alone, so it was better to not dwell in this grim environment and ascend past it as soon as possible.

Just as a precaution, he turned off all lights in his submarine, but he didn't spend long in the dark as the sunlight eventually began to reach him from above, telling him that he was almost at the surface.

And in just a minute, he breached like a whale and his face was hit by the warmth of his friend, the sun.

Once his submarine stabilized, he opened the cockpit and smelled the salty air of the sea. After the nostalgic smell calmed his mind, he took a look around but saw nothing besides blue and white.

Blue waters, blue sky, white clouds, and his white pickle. There was nothing else as far as the eye could see.

He took a look at his compass, and it told him that the Everlasting Storm was to his right, so his home was directly behind him.

He promptly aligned his pickle, then set forth at full speed.

Before he saw the city of Granrionian itself, his view ahead was covered by the sails of countless ships occupying its port. This was a time before the empire, so those were all elven ships built for long-distance travel, ships that used the cheap, but relatively weak, natural power of the wind as propulsion rather than [Weaverism]'s "sliding," or the merfolk's [Water Tail] (both of which were present in his submarine).

Artin wished he could use something similar because propulsion was by far the most expensive function of his submarine mana-wise. He really didn't need speed unless running away or chasing prey, so something to decrease his mana expenditures during long-distance travel would be welcome.

As he approached the port, a few curious gazes were drawn to him. He wasn't a merfolk, yet he piloted one of their submarines, an odd sight that drew eyebrows, but nobody bothered him for that was not the elven way.

He stopped by the usual dock, and the dockers immediately recognized him then came to help him pull his submarine into his family's hangar. His step-father's ship was also there, so everyone should be home, a fact that made him conflicted.

He leisurely walked across the streets of Granrionian towards his birth home, drawing curious eyes from the onlookers, but also instantly recognizable to the regulars.

His skin was pale for a sea elf, and it had a subtle blue hue from his blood-father's side, which was a perfect fit for his silvery hair as it made him look rather exotic, but his disheveled appearance lowered his attractiveness considerably because elves are vain humanoids. You don't have many amenities in the deep depths of the ocean, but even sea elves found ways to remain pretty, and Artin's indifference to self-grooming made him feel rather estranged from his race.

Then he reached his home, a simple but sturdy cottage, and greeted his two young not-blood-brothers as they played with sticks outside.

"MOOOMS! ARTIN'S HOME!" They shouted in unison, and Artin rolled his eyes at their loudness.

"Why did children of siren have to be so loud?" He tiredly thought to himself. He had developed quite the reticent personality after spending so long in the mostly silent deep sea without anyone to talk to besides using [Animal Tongue] to mumble to stupid fish, so his step-brothers were sounded more like alarm bells than elves.

A mature dark elven woman with beautiful wrinkles peeked out of a window then immediately gasped and left behind a trail of silver as her hair followed her.

The door to his home swung open as his two mothers quickly came to greet him.

Calia, his blood-mother, immediately slammed against his chest and gave him a tight hug. She was used to his long trips already, but it still brought her extreme happiness to know that he came back alive, unlike his blood-father.

Behind her stood Inaria, his step-mother, who gave him a neutral nod of acknowledgment that gradually grew into a faint smile as she watched her sister-wife's cheerfulness. Inaria was younger, but not prettier, and Artin was glad that his step-father recognized that.

Before all of these silver elves with dark skin, his skin tone was rather eye-catching. They were a family of fishers, who spent most of their day on the sea under the harsh sun, and elves are known to tan easily, even when the days were much shorter than the nights.

Ah, right, this is before the God of the Sun was born.

He silently patted his mother's head as she raved about random things, and then he noticed step-father appear in the doorway holding his baby half-brother.

Saiouei was a male siren, one of the few races elves had little prejudice of due to their naturally high "Charisma." He was a merfolk yet looked quite similar to the average pretty elf, except that he had a greenish skin tone, and webbed ears, fingers, and toes.

He was a rather special mer for he also had shining amber eyes that stared at Artin with a composure unusual for commoners. And once the two step-relatives locked eyes, they shared a simple nod.

That was Artin's father, the man who actually raised him since he was a teen, yet he couldn't give up the submarine, the memory of his deserting blood-father.

Calia hurried him in and gave him a quick bath, then they all opened a bottle of strong Tatopa alcohol to celebrate.

"This is… unnecessary," Artin declared, but everyone laughed.

"A mariner coming back is always cause for celebration," Saiouei calmly replied, and Artin couldn't do anything but sigh and accept it.

His blood-mother tried to persuade him to stay, telling of all the young women who asked about Artin, and even the older ones who had salacious remarks to say about his skin tone.

"Your level is quite high for your age, and everyone knows you're a talented mage. If only you took a bit more care of your skin," she wistfully remarked and cupped his cheek, then she looked at all of the frayed ends of his long, silver hair and frowned. "Also your hair… and your eyebrows… and your nails… you'd be the prettiest man in the whole town."

"If they accepted coming with me on my trips…" Artin alluded with a wry smile.

And Calia's smile immediately fled her face. "Maybe if you came back regularly…"

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"You're just asking him to be cheated on," Inaria dryly stated, and Calia flashed her a glare.

"She has to want to come with me…" Artin insisted, his words starting to slur.

His father suddenly spoke, and all went silent from the gravity of his tone, "Just don't take a fish for a mate, there are plenty of mer in the sea you can steal for yourself."

"Steal" was the word he used because only savages lived deep underwater. Like his blood-father.

Artin nodded slowly, a wistful mood washing over him for he hated this topic, then he sighed and downed his cup. There isn't any alcohol in the depths of the ocean, so he might as well enjoy this opportunity.

But he didn't come back just to talk about love, or the lack of it, no, he came back to tell everyone about the amazing being that left such a deep impression on him. Pun intended.

"You won't believe what I saw…" He whispered excitedly, then proceeded to describe the encounter, but he only received horror in return.

"Ewww…" His two step-brothers moaned in sync.

"Are you sure you weren't hallucinating?" His blood-mother worriedly asked.

"That sounds like a horribly deformed and monstrous Scylla," Inaria remarked, her little nose wrinkled in disgust.

But his father remained silent, seemingly deep in thought, and his amber eyes stared at his step-son with a measuring gaze.

"You saw The Leviathan, son," he suddenly spoke, and the sister-wives stopped their moaning to listen. "It's a myth, a bedside story, and many find this topic very touchy, but nobody will believe you."

Saiouei didn't elaborate further, but he didn't need to for Artin understood what he meant the next morning.

As a scholar and mapper, Artin always brought his discoveries to the Scholar's Association of Granrionian to register them under his name, but when he spoke of The Leviathan, the Archivist was less than impressed.

"Did you acquire any sample or carcass for examination?" The old man dryly inquired.

And Artin instantly realized his mistake. "No…" He mumbled back, and the archivist simply snorted derisively, but then something suddenly came up to Artin, so he raised his head again and asked, "Did someone ever study my findings…?"

"No," the Archivist bluntly answered.

He frowned. "Never…?"

"See for yourself."

And the Archivist informed him of where his discoveries were stored. It was a dark, moldy, and dusty corner that had never been touched ever since its scrolls were first stored there.

Artin finally admitted something that he simply couldn't accept while he still held hope in his heart: elves have absolutely no care for the mysteries of the ocean.

They may rule the surface of the Elven Bay, but that was as far as their stubborn, prideful, closed minds would ever go.

Artin sat down on docks and observed as the orange sun slowly dived under the sea. It had been a short day, so a Long Night was about to come, and the town started to grow tense, dreading the harsh times ahead.

The glum atmosphere didn't help his mood, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, Artin felt like crying.

What even was the point of his life? Nobody cared, or believed, about anything that interested him.

Was he even an elf? Or was he just a merfolk born in the wrong body?

He hated his absent blood-father, yet he still wanted to live a life just like his. He couldn't help it, his heart yearned for the unknown and nothing else.

But he loved his family and didn't want to make them sad.

"There you are," Saiouei's deep voice caught him by surprise.

Artin didn't want to talk, yet he couldn't hide his melancholy, so he just kept his eyes ahead and decided to ignore his father if he decided to interrupt his depressive ruminations.

But what Saiouei said once again caught him completely unprepared, "Do you want to chase after the Leviathan?"

"Could he read minds?!" Artin shouted internally. He didn't want to admit it, but it had been days since the encounter, and yet the only thing he wished for was exactly that.

Artin's surprised and confused expression conveyed everything he needed, but didn't want, to say to his father, who laughed heartily and then explained, "It's on your face. You never looked as happy as you did when you told us your meeting with The Leviathan." Then his mirth died down as he received his step-son's full attention after mentioning the magnificent being. "I don't know much about it, but you're not the only one who I've seen act like this."

Artin silently nodded. He didn't need anyone explaining to him why one would desire to chase after The Leviathan. It was something that simply was.

And so they observed the sea without saying a word for long minutes, each ruminating on something important.

But Artin was still stuck in his dilemma, so Saiouei gave him the push he needed, "Go after it, son. Go after the Leviathan and be free. We'll always be here, waiting for you if you ever decide to come back."

His tone was so gentle, so earnest, that Artin couldn't find a way to argue against it, and like usual, he didn't know what to say, so after a moment of hesitation, he simply hugged his father. The call of the unknown was growing too strong, and his father's approval immediately solved the conflict brewing within him.

After fixing his submarine, Artin gave his parents all of the money he had slowly accumulated over his life, then he left Granrionian as soon as he could.

Tearful goodbyes didn't phase him, for he had finally begun to grasp a higher purpose for his life.

This is a good place to stop because Hana's fingers are slowly wiggling themselves into me, and even after being used by Wolfy, I'm already beginning to feel hot and bothered.

I get off Roxanne's lap and sit on Hana's.

"Hug me tight, red sister. Hug me and make me feel safe," I moan softly at her, and she immediately stops holding back then begins dominating me.

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