BOTICAN PENINSULA

ANCIENT HIVEMIND WARSHIPS RISEN FROM THE DEEP

AGAIN by Maria Gabriela Orellana

Darkness has always been equal to silence. And only the darkness of the bottom of the ocean could bring this sort of despair, this loneliness, this fear and this rage. This…hate towards everything else. Towards every living creature. Even towards his fellow brothers and sisters that kept surrounding him in the surface. Even towards himself. Everything was reduced to flesh, bones, wood, and metal. Among the whole myriad of materials, what could be seen was bronze. Especially bronze.  But all these were mere nouns that hardly carried any significance when they were mentioned alone. But whenever two materials started getting nearer to each other, the picture got clearer. The image got formed. The painting got painted. 
Everything has been nothing but feeling the flora and fauna of the hadopelagic zone. Everything that surrounded the bronze, the remaining metal, the almost degraded ropes, and the unaesthetic corroded reactor, was despicable. It was intolerable to feel the fin of a blind bioluminescent fish, or the touch of any species of the algae, or the greenish lichens. It was even worse with the deposits of the plankton that was about to be eaten, as it attracted even more creatures

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

while giving the food chain a very depressing beginning.
How would it be possible to fall so low, literally and metaphorically? The Botican Peninsula has been governing the seas during thousands of years, since he could remember. The early history was starting to be written at that very moment for every living species. Except, of course, for the mere monsters of the Axonate, who seemed to be more ancient that history itself, like anything inherently evil.  Monsters, they were. Even feeling the touch of an octopus could make Zrocall, the Silent Shadow’s blood boil, if blood was what circulated through his vessels. It enraged him to be reminded of those fiendish creatures. Those sticky and disgusting tentacles ruined every sediment they touched. They were carving for crab, snails, starfish, shrimp, slugs, and mollusks. Some were alive, some were absolutely dead. But the mere idea of those tentacles made it an unbearable thought for his consciousness. They reminded him so much about those…things, the Abyssals. Those monsters only knew how to spread destruction, they lived because of chaos, they lived because of the most extreme entropy.
But they were gone. Now, they were finally gone. Their shadows left the environment about a while ago. It was almost unbelievable at first. He would be able to rise up again. Finally. The wood and the metal would become ground, ceiling, barrels, reservoirs, spikes, chains. The putrefaction of the flesh from the remaining creatures would rise again as his fingers, as the branches of a tree, as the neurons of his brain. He would create them, cultivate them, keep them alive; they would be able to think by themselves, to feel, to work, and most importantly, they would be able to obey his orders. The days of staying immobile in that merciless pitch-black pitfall of despair were about to be gone forever.  
The general cracking of the materials started as a carefully planned melody, but it eventually became the most strenuous cacophony. Steel, aluminum, bronze, silver and gold were clacking, all at the same time. Rods, tubes, pipes, sheets, flats, pulleys, channels and bands started colliding, reinserting, crashing, and reconstructing themselves into more complicated pieces, which then let to both modest and intricate mechanisms. Every piece was getting wherever it should be, assembling perfectly, like a god-like prodigious puzzle. The Silent Shadow could already feel how, driven by rage itself, the reactor initiated his reactivation, the ropes started to get tied, and the oceanic waste of organic matter started to either get cleaned up completely from his surface or started rising as barely humanoid figures. More metallic than organic, these were going to be those who would make his wishes become real.
Many emotions did the Silent Shadow feel; a variety of feelings crossed his mind since he was been sunk by Abyssal folk, thousands of years ago. But this time, he would be the winner. This time, he would be the one to command the whole of the Botican fleet. No other Botican could be compared to his magnificence, his glory, his fire power, and his desire to conquer everything that could be called an “ocean”. And this time, he would prevail.

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