Sol's Hunt

393 AC - How long have we been playing cat and mouse? But the roles of predator and prey have constantly switched… Fleeing turns to an ambush, the hunter becomes hunted. I know some people find mutual respect in this kind of game – a recognition that there's no predator without prey. But I'm not the kind of person to indulge in such romantic musings. I don't care what the Muna Hellequin or amateur hunters say. When you're face to face with the beast, respect is useless. There's only one outcome: Kill or be killed. No sentimentality, just a cold, hard truth, a cruel and pragmatic inevitability, which is the only language the Leviathans know. It's survival of the fittest.

So I tighten my grip around the handle of the harpoon. I need a steady hand. Below, the explorers of the Expeditionary Corps have been deployed in the ruins, and they're at the mercy of the monster. Halua's lobes are already emerging from his fins, crackling with blue energy. It's a sign that he's getting ready to discharge his plasma and raze everything in his way. He's not afraid to dive into the Sea of Clouds and the Tumult beneath. He's gorged himself and licked the plate clean. Drifting on my jet board, I conjure as much Mana as I can. I need to reach him before he finishes concentrating his own. I summon fire. I summon fury. I summon Red. And then I leap.

SOLEDAD