Page 25 of Taken By the Leviathan King

“Be careful, little queen,” he murmurs. “Your human recklessness concerns me.”

“Your overprotective hovering concerns me,” I counter, but there’s no bite in my words.

The waters grow colder and more turbid as we approach Rynor’s territory. Krak’zol and I swim side by side, our movements synchronized through the bond that pulses between us. His awareness, a warm, protective net, brushes against mine, searching the dark waters. I focus on the path, feeling the toxic currents like a physical pressure against my newly sensitive skin.

My transformation has given me abilities I’m still discovering—enhanced vision that cuts through the murky water, sensitive skin that detects minute changes in current and temperature. When a patrol of corrupted warriors approaches from the east, I sense them before I see them.

Three guards. Heavily armed. Moving in standard formation,I project through our bond.

Krak’zol’s response comes as a mixture of images and sensations rather than words—a hidden crevice in the reef wall to our right, the necessity of stillness, a warning about the guards’ enhanced senses.

We slip into the narrow space just as the patrol rounds the corner. The crevice is barely large enough for one Leviathan, let alone two. Krak’zol’s massive body presses against mine, his arm wrapping protectively around my waist to pull me deeper into the shadows.

The corrupted warriors pass slowly, their movements unnaturally synchronized. Their scales have a sickly green tinge, and their eyes glow with an eerie light that makes my stomach turn. Through our physical contact, I feel Krak’zol’srage building—these were once his people, now twisted into something unrecognizable.

Easy,I caution through the bond.Your anger ripples the water.

He responds by pulling me closer, his body curving around mine like a living shield. We remain motionless until the patrol disappears, communicating only through fleeting thoughts and impressions.

They’re changing the patrol patterns,he observes as we emerge from hiding.Rynor grows more paranoid.

Or more prepared,I counter.He knows you’ll come for the Heart eventually.

We approach the fortress from below, using natural formations in the sea floor to mask our approach. The structure looms before us—a grotesque parody of Krak’zol’s palace, all sharp angles and unnatural geometries that seem to hurt the eye.

Bethra will be in the central chamber,I relay, recalling Nira’s detailed description.Rynor keeps his most valuable prisoners close.

Krak’zol’s response is tinged with concern.You sense the corruption growing stronger here. It will affect you more than me.

He’s right. Even with my transformation, I’m still partly human. The corruption emanating from the fortress feels like static against my skin, uncomfortable but not yet painful.

I can handle it.My hand tightens on the heartstone blade, the smooth hilt suddenly slick with a nervous sweat. My breath catches in my throat; a cold knot forms in my stomach. What if this doesn’t work? What if I’m not strong enough? I shove the doubts down, but they linger like a bad taste.

We find an unguarded service tunnel—used for waste disposal, judging by the foul current flowing from it. The passage isnarrow enough that Krak’zol must fold his massive shoulders inward, his powerful tail propelling us through the darkness.

Inside, the corruption is palpable—a sick energy that coats every surface. Guards patrol in rigid patterns, their movements mechanical and their eyes vacant. We dodge between patrols, using our bond to coordinate perfectly without words.

We’re nearly discovered once when a guard changes direction unexpectedly. Krak’zol pulls me into an alcove, his body curving around mine protectively. His heart thunders against my back, a powerful rhythm that somehow steadies my own racing pulse.

The central chamber is exactly where Nira said it would be, but getting inside proves more difficult than anticipated. Four guards stand at the entrance, their weapons charged with the same sickly energy that permeates the fortress.

We need a distraction,I project to Krak’zol.

His response comes not as words but as a tactical plan—complete with timing and positioning. I nod, impressed by his strategic thinking.

Using the heartstone blade, I cut through a series of tubes along the wall—some kind of hydraulic system that helps regulate pressure within the fortress. Water begins to rush in uncontrolled bursts, setting off alarms that send the guards scrambling to investigate.

We slip inside the momentary chaos, finding ourselves in a vast chamber filled with containment pods. Most are empty, but in the center floats a single occupied pod. Inside is a female Leviathan who bears a striking resemblance to Nira—the same delicate facial structure and healer’s hands, but her scales have begun to take on the sickly green tinge of corruption.

Bethra, Krak’zol confirms through our bond.

I approach the pod carefully, searching for a release mechanism. The controls are unfamiliar, covered in symbols I can’t decipher.

Allow me.Krak’zol moves forward, his claws working quickly over the panel.

The pod hisses open, and Bethra’s eyes snap wide—not the warm amber of Nira’s, but a glowing toxic green. She lunges at me with unexpected speed, her hands curved into claws.

“Traitor queen!” she hisses, her voice distorted. “Rynor knows you’re coming. Rynor sees all!”

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