The ground shook beneath their feet as the deafening roar tore across the Tatanka Plains. It was a sound that belonged to a world before memory, before time—a sound that carried the weight of eight hundred years of imprisonment and the fury of a god who had finally broken free.
Petra Ven's stonefish form rippled through the earth like a shark through water, her mottled grey-brown body surging forward with the speed of a frantic beast. Her thirteen dorsal spines lay flat against her back, but she could feel them twitching, ready to rise at the first sign of danger. Her bulging eyes swept the chaos around her, cataloging every threat, every potential escape route.
Topiaris Tidaltuff bounded beside her, his royal poodle form a study in elegant fury. His voluminous silver-white pompadour was somehow immaculate despite the chaos, and his light blue eyes blazed with indignation. His corded fur bristled with steel-wool armor, and his pearly teeth gleamed.
"This is an UNSIGHTLY MESS!" Topiaris barked, with refined, theatrical cadence. "The aesthetics of this retreat are—"
"Shut up and run," Petra's voice emerged from her stonefish form, flat and unamused. "We're not dying because you're worried about your fur."
Topiaris's pompadour bristled with indignation. "I am a ROYAL POODLE! I have STANDARDS!"
"Your standards are going to get us killed."
Behind them, Vice Admiral Auricha Uzumati's massive short-faced bear form thundered across the plains, his fourteen-foot frame a wall of muscle and fury. His dark brown eyes swept the commotion, taking in the destruction. His voice boomed across the chaos, with the weight of command.
"KEEP MOVING! GET TO OUR PEOPLE!"
Captain Beatrix Fern's gardening tools glinted as she bounded beside him, her wide-brimmed floppy sun hat somehow still in place. Her emerald eyes were fixed on the horizon, her voice flat and analytical.
"The sailors are retreating toward the coast. We need to cover their escape."
Rear Admiral Goma Maddon's lean, athletic frame moved with the fluid grace of a lifelong athlete, his dark brown eyes fixed on the madness above. His dual paddles spun in his hands, and a barrage of ping-pong balls whistled through the air, deflecting a stray bolt of lightning that had been heading toward a cluster of retreating Marines.
"Easily," he muttered, his voice soft and almost gentle. "This is nothing. Just... chaos."
Rear Admiral Jethro Cain's gaunt frame was a willow in motion, his round spectacles glinting with cold, analytical intelligence. The Bailiff, his man-catcher, was in his grip, and The Gavel, his custom-made flintlock pistol, hung at his hip. His voice was flat, toneless.
"Sir, what are our orders? We need a strategy. We need—"
Captain Joy Jenebe's jerboa form was a blur of sandy-brown fur and explosive speed, her massive ears twitching as she dodged a bolt of lightning. Her voice carried that warm, encouraging quality that made even the most dire situations sound manageable.
"We can do hard things, people! We've done hard things before! We can—"
Captain Sane Galedo's saiga form was a strange, almost alien silhouette, his massive, drooping snout hanging over his mouth, his amber horns gleaming. His voice was flat, thoughtful, with melancholic cadence.
"I suppose this is as good a time as any to die."
Joy's ears twitched. "SANE! THAT'S NOT HELPFUL!"
"I wasn't trying to be helpful. I was being honest."
Auricha's roar cut through the chaos, his massive head swiveling to fix on the retreating Marines. "RETREAT! THIS ISLAND IS LOST! GET OUR PEOPLE AND GET OUT OF HERE!"
The lightning was growing worse. Each bolt struck the earth with devastating force, scorching the grass, sending debris into the air. The sky above them was a maelstrom of blood-red and sulfur-yellow, the clouds churning with chaotic energy. Neku's massive form was silhouetted against the mosaic of demonic color, his golden eyes blazing with fury, his neck arched as he drew in another breath.
Beatrix's voice cut through, sharp and analytical. "The sailors are falling back toward the coast. We need to cover their retreat. If they're caught in the open—"
Goma's voice was soft, almost gentle. "They won't be. I'll buy them time."
Jethro's flat voice cut through the tension. "The Navy is retreating, but we're taking casualties. We need to coordinate."
Auricha's massive head swiveled, his dark brown eyes fixed on the mad god above. His voice was a roar, carrying the weight of command. "FALL BACK! GET OUR PEOPLE AND GET OUT OF HERE!"
The officers answered in unison, their voices carrying across the chaos like a single cry.
"YES, SIR!"
They split off, their beast forms carrying them in different directions. Each officer reached for their transponder snail, their voices relayed orders.
Beatrix's voice was flat, analytical. "All units, fall back to the coast. Retreat. Do not engage the serpent. I repeat—do not engage the serpent."
Goma's voice was soft, almost gentle. "Rear Admiral Maddon here. I'm buying time for the retreat. Keep moving."
Jethro's flat voice cut through the chaos. "The Navy is retreating."
Petra's voice was flat, deliberate. "Petra Ven here. I'm covering the eastern flank. Don't get in my way."
Topiaris's voice was sharp, theatrical. "Topiaris Tidaltuff here. The Grooming Squad is retreating. Get to the ports! Depart! Depart!"
Joy's voice carried that warm, encouraging quality. "Joy Jenebe here. We're doing this! Keep moving!"
Sane's voice was flat, thoughtful. "Sane Galedo here. I suppose this is as good a time as any to die."
"SANE!"
"I said I was being honest."
Auricha's voice bellowed. "ALL UNITS! FALL BACK! THIS ISLAND IS LOST! GET OUR PEOPLE AND GET OUT OF HERE!"
The lightning continued to strike, each bolt closer than the last. The earth was scorches and pocked with explosions as debris was propelled in all directions. Neku's roar echoed across the plains, and the sky churned with gathering energy.
The Navy was retreating.
The island was lost.
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