Chapter Seventeen: Into the Depths
The waters above the Sea Forest still shimmered with the remnants of the battle. Broken coral and kelp drifted in lazy spirals, signs of the chaos left behind. The Byakko, with its hull sealed and its propellers humming with wind-infused force, cut through the deep currents like a blade through silk.
Victor stood at the helm, soaked to the bone, his coat stripped away, revealing the deep scratches across his chest and arms. Haki still flickered faintly across his knuckles, trailing smoke as he lowered his fists. Beside him, Robin leaned against the side railing, her hands trembling but her expression steeled.
Neither of them spoke for several minutes. The silence wasn't awkward—it was necessary. The moment demanded breath, and understanding, and the quiet acknowledgment of survival.
It was Robin who broke the silence first.
"One of them mentioned a code... A mission called 'Abyssal Net.'" Her voice was hoarse, but focused. "Do you know what that means?"
Victor shook his head slowly. "No. But if Cipher Pol has moved into Fishman Island, it's no small operation. They're not after just you anymore. They're after knowledge. And they're planning something much deeper."
Robin looked at him, her brow furrowing. "Then we're not just running anymore, are we?"
Victor turned toward her, eyes hard. "No. We're diving in."
Later That Night - Deep Inside the Byakko
The ship had ascended slightly, floating between layers of bioluminescent currents that pulsed with shifting blue and green. In the quiet of the main quarters, Victor and Robin huddled around a set of ancient maps and old ship logs.
"There are rumors," Victor murmured, tracing one finger over the southern edge of Fishman Island. "Of a submerged temple. Older than even the Great Tree. The last place said to have housed a scholar's enclave before Ohara."
Robin looked up sharply. "You think it survived?"
"Possibly. Or at least, the World Government thinks so. Otherwise, they wouldn't send this many agents under the radar. They're afraid of something."
Robin's voice softened. "Or someone."
Victor paused. Then nodded. "They know you're not alone anymore."
A slow silence settled between them, not fearful, but resolute.
Robin reached for the scroll with steady hands. "Then let's find it first. Before they bury it like they did Ohara."
The Descent
With the Byakko cloaked beneath layers of compressed air and Victor's wind barrier, they made their way deeper, following sonar signals and long-forgotten sea routes. The sea grew darker, stranger. Enormous creatures passed in silence. Shapes both beautiful and monstrous drifted by.
Victor watched Robin as she scribbled in her notes, calculating angles and distances, comparing ancient lore to their real-time data. Her eyes glowed with a fire he hadn't seen since they met—a fire of purpose, not just survival.
"You're starting to enjoy the chase," he said, half-smiling.
Robin returned a rare grin. "It's more than that. For the first time... I'm not alone in it."
Their gaze held for a beat. Then the alarms chimed.
"Object approaching," came the ship's automated alert.
Victor moved first, crossing to the front panel. The holographic display showed a massive trench, and within it, a structure carved from coral and obsidian. But more pressing—a convoy of marine subs was closing in from above.
"They found it too," Robin whispered.
Victor's jaw clenched. "Then we move. Now."
The Temple of Silence
The Byakko dropped into the trench like a shadow. Stealth mode engaged. The propellers barely hummed.
As they approached, the temple came into full view—a crumbled colossus covered in anemones and time-worn glyphs. Doors long sealed creaked open at their approach, as if welcoming them.
They entered cautiously.
Inside was a vault of preserved scrolls, shattered terminals, and statues of scholars with unfathomable expressions. Robin gasped, rushing forward.
"These glyphs... They're pre-Void Century. This place... it must have been a sister site to Ohara!"
Victor stood watch as she poured over the documents, eyes wide, fingers trembling as she handled the ancient materials with reverence.
"They're fragmented, but this," she held up one page, "this mentions something called 'Poseidon's Call.' It might not be a weapon. It could be..."
The sound of boots echoed in the corridor.
Victor turned.
"Time's up."
The Final Encounter
A squad of ten agents, dressed in black diving gear, stormed the temple. The leader's voice rang out.
"Surrender the girl and the documents, and you may leave with your lives."
Victor stepped forward. "Wrong temple. Wrong time. Wrong threat."
Before another word was spoken, he exploded into motion.
Wind roared.
The narrow hall became a hurricane. Robin, protected by a dome of wind, watched as Victor moved with terrifying precision—each strike laced with Armament Haki, each movement a blur. He didn't need to shout, didn't need to roar.
He was the storm.
Robin summoned dozens of arms, forming walls, disarming agents, snapping weapons. She flowed like water behind his storm.
In less than a minute, it was done.
Ten agents. Down.
Victor exhaled slowly, the wind receding. Blood stained his fists, but none of it was his.
Robin stood over the scattered scrolls, breathing hard. "They won't stop."
Victor nodded. "No. But neither will we."
He turned to her, his expression softening. "Get what you can. We're leaving."
She looked around one last time, eyes shining with both sorrow and determination.
Then, they vanished back into the shadows of the sea, the Byakko rising through the currents like a ghost.
And the world above trembled, as the Phantom Hunter slipped once again from their grasp—with the Demon Child at his side, and truth clutched in their hands.