[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/FY5rjft.png?1[/img]

[color=gold][h3]Scylla and Charybdis[/h3][/color][/center]

Arthur entered the water, and all his doubts and fears subsided. They didn't disappear entirely, but they did lessen considerably. It was always this way for him, his problems slipping from him as soon as he began swimming, as if he was capable of doing anything once submerged. That said, he was going to need that confidence considering he was about to match his brawn against two score hungry flesh rippers. Hell, he'd need every advantage he could get.

The Atlantean prince edged slowly around the Reef Raider, careful not to give away he position to early. Not that he needed to worry unduly. The Trench were single-minded in their determination to get at any prey, their attention fully fixated upon Vulko and Mera in the vessel. The voracious little monsters would be hurling themselves at the front observation window, heedless of injury to themselves. That crack in the glass would spiderweb out, and like a spiderweb it could spell only doom for the Atlantean's trapped inside. They had only one hope now.

He could see the shoal now, though they still hadn't spotted him, hidden in the shadows of the Reef Raiders contures. Thankfully they were still outside the Raider, though he didn't think he would have long. He gripped his hook blade tight, readying himself for the work at hand. 

If there was one thing a lifetime of fighting had taught Arthur, one golden rule that he held above all others, it was this; When the time comes hit the other guy hard and hit him fast, preferably before he even knows he's in a fight. Maybe not the most honorable advice, but then he'd never seen honor stop a Trench from tearing a man's throat out and eating their entrails.  Nah, let the poets and storytellers worry about who had honor. Let the warriors worry about how to survive. Hit first, always hit first. 

Without waiting any longer to second guess himself he took off, swimming faster than a torpedo fired at an unsuspecting target, aiming for the center of the Trench shoal. He was on them before they knew he was there, swinging the hook-blade this way and that, staining the water with their brackish blood. Three were dead before they had realized what was happening. You fight a reasonable opponent and put down three of them all sudden like without them mounting a defense then they might be less inclined to attack you, might even be halfway convinced to turning tail themselves. Not the Trench though. They were anything but reasonable. All they understood was the hunger.

They fell on him en-masse, getting in each others way in their eagerness to sup on this easy meal that had delivered itself to them. He used the confusion, striking out at one with his free hand, damn near caving its skull in, then swimming free through the gap in the Trench lines. They were hot on his tail, though with any luck a few of their number would stop to devour the bodies he had left in his wake. The legendary hunger of the Trench didn't allow them to stop and discern what they were eating, be it fish, Atlantean or other Trench. 

Now Arthur's second piece of invaluable advice comes into play. If that first hit doesn't put the other guy on his arse straight way, don't be afraid to run. After all, running meant living to fight another day. Many a young warrior had ignored that, and ended up a dead warrior because of it. Usually that whole [i]'honour'[/i] thing getting in the way again. Besides, here he wasn't making a full blown retreat, just getting himself some breathing room, with the added benefit of drawing the flesh rippers away from the princess and Vulko.

He was opening a lead on the Trench now, none among them able to keep pace with the Golden One. If he was of a mind he could keep running, string them out until the fastest of them was so far ahead of the slowest that he could end them piecemeal, one at a time at his leisure. He still had a few tricks up his sleeve before it came to that though, and he'd rather get this over with quick as possible. When there's one Trench shoal in the water there's usually more, and he didn't want to inadvertently run into more. 

He stopped his flight suddenly, and turned a one eighty on a pinhead. The first few Trench behind him proved less maneuverable than the Prince, their momentum carrying them careening past. He caught one, hooking his golden chain under it's chin, holding it tightly around the neck and man-handling it in front of him like a shield. No sooner had he done so than another of the flesh rippers came hurtling for him, talons outstretched and teeth bared snapping. It's jaws crunched down on it's captured kin's shoulder. The captive squealed, then began swiping at it's aggressor. Arthur let them both go, and the two began tearing at each other, their common foe forgotten as they're primordial hunger made them feast upon one another. The Trench really weren't known for their brains. 

He ignored them, charging at the oncoming shoal. His hook jabbed and stabbed, trailing dead and dying flesh rippers, and were he left bodies other Trench forgot the battle and began feasting on their brethren. The Prince never stopped, continuing on through the flesh rippers, and swimming on into open ocean. If he tried to face them head on their numbers would eventually wear him down. No, this would be a game of attrition, fall back a short while then attack. He'd repeat that until the job was done, or the Trench learnt their lesson and he had to shift tactics. More likely the former than the latter though. The Trench made poor students. 

He pulled it off two more times, slowly whittling down the Trench numbers while earning himself only flesh wounds in the process. He began to allow himself hope that he might actually pull this off. It was on the third pass that things went sour.  

He was deep in the shoal, moving and cutting, never presenting a static target. The Trench were getting in each others way, each as desperate to sink their sharp little teeth in his as the  next, not a thought spared to teamwork. Then [i]it[/i] loomed in front of him, rising up like an abomination of the deep. The daddy of all Trench, some unholy work wrought in the deep places of the world, come to plague the works of man and Atlantean. Seven feet tall if it stood upright, it was as perfectly formed and heavy with muscle as the regular Trench were ill-formed and gangly. Bone plates and spines adorned his frame, gifting him a natural armour. It would take some doing to drive a blade through those. His eyes were small and beady, orbs of red that possessed a base cunning the other Trench lacked. Arthur could have sworn his mouth, filled with those sharp, needly teeth, was fixed in a mocking grin. 

The Prince didn't like this, not one bit. In all his years he'd never heard of a creature like this strange Trench, and when unknown monsters like this appeared it usually meant something bad was on the horizon. Nothing for it now though. Swallowing his misgivings he streamed forward, letting the hookblade lead the way, aiming for the monsters belly, less heavily armoured than the rest of his body. The beast waited until the last moment, the sharp golden edge mere inches from his flesh, before flowing under the blade, showing an understanding of combat beyond the standard Trench [i]'attack, attack, attack'[/i].

Arthur reversed his grip on the hookblade, point held downwards like an assassins knife, and slashed again, and again the big Trench floated just out of reach. His speed was amazing, and yet so casually utilized that Arthur was assailed by the uncomfortable thought that he was being toyed with. Things got a lot more uncomfortable when one of the regular Trench sank it's teeth into the back of his thigh.

The Prince squawked, more surprise than pain. His skin was tougher than other Atlantean's, making him a tougher chew than what the flesh ripper was used to. Still drew blood though, just wasn't crippling. The Golden One tried to shake the Trench off, but the little monster held tight. Before he could get rid of his [i]'passenger'[/i] the rest of the shoal caught up with him, clutching at him, clawing at him, tearing at him. Even as tough as he was he couldn't last long. Already he could feel their paralytic toxin's trying to overcome his constitution, his efforts to shake loose becoming more and more sluggish. He spat and cursed, wailed and flailed, but he just couldn't get loose. Couldn't even see the open water anymore, too many Trench. Just a grey scales, sharp teeth and black eyes. Behind it all he could swear he could hear a grating chuckle, a sound full of malice and hatred. But that couldn't be right. Trench didn't chuckle. 

Suddenly the chuckling was replaced by a [i]'whooshing'[/i], getting louder and louder. Shortly later the sound of great force striking soft flesh, the breaking of bones and the squeeling of injured Trench. Then something hit him, sending him careening through the water, spinning head over feet, losing all sense of direction. The last of the Trench still holding him lost grip, and when he finally righted himself he had lost his aggressors. Turning back to the battle he seen the one thing he really hoped he wouldn't. 

Mera. 

She was there, outside the safety of the Reef Raider, red hair haloed around her head, looking like some divine Goddess of retribution, directing furious torrents of water at the flesh rippers, jet-steams so powerful that it sent them rag-dolling through the deep. She'd taken them by surprise, just like he had earlier, and just like earlier the Trench were marshaling themselves, charging heedless for the Princess from all directions. She couldn't stop them all, and when they reached her they would tear her apart. 

[COLOR=gOLD]"Mera!"[/color] He croaked, swimming towards her, though he knew he'd be too late to help. He was too hurt, too slow, the Trench's poisions thick in his veins. She was going to die, and he'd be forced to watch. At least he wouldn't have long to live with the shame, as he'd be next on the menu. 

"Back, back you monsters!" He could hear her command, though they took knew heed. One came on her from behind, and though he urged his muscles to propel him faster he knew there was nothing he could do, save watch as those jaws clamped down on her unprotected neck. To his surprise the flesh ripper merely gripped her with it's webbed hand, and began dragging her backwards. She tried to fight it off, but soon more Trench joined it, all of them attempting to drag the Princess away. The whole thing was so un-Trench like that he almost slowed in confusion, before realizing this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. If they weren't killing her then more fool them, because he wasn't going to give them the same chance when he caught up.

But he'd forgotten about the big Trench, the monster that had heralded his down fall. It came from behind, wrapping it's big, musclebound arms around his neck before he realized it was upon him, legs locking around his torso. It began squeezing, lowering it's mouth to his ear, ready to tear his throat out. He tried to struggle, tried to throw it off, but it held fast, squeezing all the harder. Hard to think how he was going to get out of this.

"Confused, Atlantean?" It whispered in his ear. "You should be. Dark days lie ahead, and at the end of them waits your doom. The doom of Atlantis. And there's nothing you can do to stop it." 

[color=Gold]"Whaaa...?"[/color] Arthur stuttered, his struggling ceasing almost immediately as he went limp with surprise. Trench don't speak, Trench never spoke. They were hunger made flesh, no reason and no intelligence. [color=gold]"What are -"[/color]
He never got to finish before his world exploded in white and pain, before fading to black.