Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or its characters, nor do I own the characters Eileen Kirkland and Holleigh Burnside. They belong to Britannia Angel and __THE N3KO of GaiaOnline respectively.

Chapter Summary: Arthur and Eileen board the missionary ship Papillon and prepare for a month-long trek across the North Atlas Sea. Unfortunately, it's not going to be smooth sailing for the entire trip…

Chapter Cast: Arthur Kirkland (England) and Eileen Kirkland (Wales)


The missionary ship, Papillon, was due to depart the next morning and embark on a journey that would span the entire month. Although it was the fastest mode of transportation, such a lengthy trip left a bad taste in Arthur's mouth. The wizard was in fact in a terrible hurry, and this detour to Aonaichte was going take up a hefty amount of his time. He could only pray that Nordheim would be stalled in some manner or it would spell doom for Noregr and any other city that the rogue necromancer happened to pass through on the way. Though, perhaps this was fate. After all, haste was never a good ally when battle was at hand.

They had packed light, but efficiently when the two siblings left their homes that foggy morning, not wanting to make the long journey that much more cumbersome. When they boarded the grand, tall galley, Arthur took a look around him and felt a little misplaced. Young men and women who were priests, nuns, and clerics under Loegria's Church of Kord bustled about the vessel, lively speaking of their destination. The beryl clad young man looked down at himself and wrinkled his brow in thought as the damp air tousled his tawny hair. He wasn't sure if it was just paranoia, but he felt like he stood out like a sore thumb. He did not believe in the philosophies or teachings of any deity and he was afraid that if the current passengers knew of this, they'd surely toss him to the greedy sea.

Once the ship slowly began to drift from the dock, leaving his homeland behind, the novice sorcerer soon forgot about this uneasy feeling and instead began to feel somewhat lost. He had not left the shores of Loegria in quite some time; in fact, he couldn't remember the last time he traveled elsewhere. His viridian eyes flickered to his sister, wondering if her church duties had offered her more opportunities to travel. Her hazel eyes held the same expression as his, and instantly, he did not feel so out of place. Brother and sister stood beside each other, watching in an almost hypnotic fixation as their home rapidly retreated from their sight until it was nothing more than a speck on the horizon.

For the experienced sailors, the trip had been going rather smoothly—the water was calm and the winds were more than generous—but for a particular spellcaster, it was nothing short of miserable. Apparently, Arthur's stomach was not accustomed to the rocking motions of a boat, and for the first few days he could barely keep his meals down. He was rather embarrassed about this fact, as he considered himself to have quite the fortitude, but it appeared that none of that fortitude was of the intestinal kind. Eileen had been worried for her brother, fearing that he would not be getting the proper nutrition if he kept this up, but near the end of the first week, Arthur was sauntering around the Papillon as if he was born squawking on the deck of a galley.

During the course of this long journey, the two learned a great deal from both the crew and the passengers. Originally an adamant atheist, Arthur gradually began to open his mind to the idea of religion and its values. Of course, he remained faithless, but now his views were much less harsh. Eileen, who had never so much as touched a cooking utensil in her life, was not an accomplished cook. Her hearty stews could warm a man from the inside out and keep his belly full for the entire day. The Kirkland siblings were growing comfortable with life on the vessel, and as they neared the second week of travel, neither of them could imagine walking about on land where the air lacked the salt of the sea and was missing the gently rustling of the waves.

Unfortunately, they would soon come to learn that the sea was not always so gentle…

On the dawn of the thirteenth day since departure, the golden rays of sun were nowhere to be seen. The normally crystalline blue skies were being choked by foreboding blackness, and the sea beneath them churned in dismay. If the ominous aura of the number thirteen could ever become tangible, it was surely this day. The air was cold and filled with static, but otherwise unsettlingly still. It was as if the sky was holding its breath and waiting, but what it was waiting for was anyone's guess. The otherwise gentle rocking was now jerky and unstable, and for once since the beginning of the trip, Arthur felt that familiar queasiness clutch at his stomach once again.

By midday, the tension amongst those aboard the Papillon was suffocating, and no matter how hard they tried, the passengers and crew just could not shake the lingering unease. The deck was deathly silent, save for the angry roar of the ocean as it forcibly pushed against the hull of the galley. It was not long before the captain ordered the missionaries to retreat below deck, and the silence was overridden by the anxious murmurs of the adults. Arthur sat in his room, eyes staring intensely at nothing, his thick brows knitted together in worrisome thought. "It's not natural… this kind of weather," he muttered to the hovering form of his sister, eyes not even so much as flickering to her. Eileen merely nodded to this, her own hazel gaze fixed on the gray and white spray that rushed against the porthole window.

Time was incalculable, now. The skies had darkened in such a way that no shadows could be cast, and it was almost as if the ocean had been cast into perpetual night. There was no possible way that the day had passed already, but no one could be entirely sure. With this newly settled darkness, the tenebrous clouds finally exhaled, letting rain pound against the wooden vessel like a steady and relentless staccato. As if unable to compete with the rhythm of the rain, the wind died down completely, letting the water fall straight down from the heavens. Now, the grand tall galley was being tossed around like a toy boat in rapids. None of this was right; any sailor worth his salt could tell you this.

Suddenly, the sound of panicked scrambling could be heard above deck, and those below held their breath in expectant fright. Urgent shouts were muffled by the wind, which had returned with a vengeance, and Arthur watched with fearful eyes as the candle sitting upon his bedside table toppled over and slowly rolled off the edge. His cabin had obtained a steadily increasing tilt, and soon the table followed the candle, dangerously sliding across the wooden planks. The ship gave a terrible lurch, making it extremely difficult for anyone upon it to stand upright. The Kirkland siblings exchanged glances and then quickly clambered to the surface with the rest of the passengers.

Clinging to whatever upright surface they could, Eileen and Arthur emerged onto the deck, bewildered eyes curiously glancing about. The wind and rain stung the eyes, making it necessary to squint or duck one's head down against it. The fledgling wizard observed the chaos caused by roaming cargo, wincing with each loud crash as crates, barrels, and equipment slammed against the railings of the ship. The icy rain stinging his eyes, he lifted his arm to protect his face, only to be startled with a sudden and violent change in wind direction. He watched with startled fascination as the rain struck his hand on a completely horizontal path. Wasn't rain normally carried on an angle? "Eileen, look at this!" He shouted over the clamor, turning into the wind in attempt to face his sister, but she was paying no attention to him or the rain. Her attention was on something much more alarming.

Amidst the flurry of blackened water and vicious white foam, was the source of the Papillon's steep incline and the reason for the tumultuous panic on-deck. The beginnings of what was going to be an immense maelstrom had already pulled the galley into its largest circumference, and it was rapidly gaining in power and depth. The two stared into the swirling abyss as if they were being sucked in themselves while the captain and the majority of the crew grappled with the helm. Seven men fought against the powerful draw of the whirlpool and the only thing they gained from it was a gut-wrenching snap; the rudder quickly disappeared into the void.

It did not take long for the maelstrom to reach full potential, its center reaching the very bottom of the North Atlas Sea, and an immense for rose from its origin as if summoned by a snake charmer.

The creature's body undulated grotesquely as it writhed toward the tenebrous sky, as if that were its ungodly destination, and once it was mostly emerged, it hovered in its pointed position. Its luminescent eyes turned to the pitiful form of the Papillon, and its maw opened and it let loose a hellish roar. Screams tore from the throats of both the crew and the passengers, and a few were stuck in dumbfounded silence. "Leviathan!" A voice yelled over the turmoil, but it took Arthur a moment to let the word fully sink in. He knew what a leviathan was—there wasn't many people who didn't—and he found it very difficult to grasp that that was exactly what he was gawking up at.

The leviathan was a legendary terror of the sea: a sea snake that dragged sailors into the depths of the icy ocean to feast upon their souls. The creature would often utilize the pulling power of a maelstrom, waiting in the center like an oceanic antlion for its prey to be delivered to it. That was exactly what it was doing now, and there was nothing that could be done to stop it.

There was something unique about this behemoth, however. The sorcerer tilted his head in morbid curiosity, having noticed a strange writhing movement throughout the beast's body. It appeared as if its scales were squirming, thrashing against the leviathan's very being, almost like they were trying to escape. Being a pursuer of knowledge, even in such a dire situation as this, Arthur reached into his robes and retrieved a spyglass. Ignoring the protests of his sister, peered into the eyepiece and scrutinized the monster that would likely end him. "M-My god…" After a single drink of the leviathan's appearance, the wizard's mouth was hung agape and the spyglass dropped from his limp grasp.

The writhing, thrashing scales that lined its body had faces—moaning, contorting faces. Hundreds of thousands of squirming corpses composed this gargantuan beast, forming its entire snake-like being. Sinew and seaweed roped the bodies together, restricting any major movement, and where the creature's spines rested, they were impaled. Its teeth were sharpened fragments of bone, and the interior of its mouth was lined with heads and skulls, chattering and screaming every time the hellish animal opened its maw. This leviathan was certainly not the one of legend; this thing was an abomination that in no way could naturally occur in any waters except those of the underworld.

Arthur's mouth had gone completely, eyes wide, and he felt sickening cold grip his gut as he gaped. His sister had been beckoning him to the entire time, saying something about the mast, but he just could not tear his eyes away from the beast. It took the rough grasp of the captain to shake him free of his trance, and he soon found himself being tied to one of the masts beside his sister. "W-What the bloody hell is going on!?" He cried, frantically glancing to his sister for clarification, but was surprised to receive it from the captain, who stared at him in despair.

The haggard man finished tying the not that would secure the Kirkland siblings and others to the main mast, wrinkling his brow as he tried to remember if it was a wet knot. "She's lost her rudder, mate. There's nothing we can do but try to keep everyone onboard and pray that we surface." And with that, he stepped back and gave Arthur a half-hearted salute, then disappeared into his cabin where he would remain regardless of what happened. The inexperienced spellcaster called out to him, struggling against his binds, but his muffled cries went unheard.

No matter how fast the current carried the grand tall vessel, it seemed to those onboard the Papillon that they would never be swallowed up by the whirlpool. It was torture; with each full circle, the ship tilted into a sharper incline until it was completely on its side. By this time, the screams of terror and the muttering of prayers had died down and the deck was once again silent. Everyone aboard the galley had accepted their fate, and that fate was likely death. Green eyes flickered to the sullen form of the blond cleric-woman, empty and lost as they beheld her. She was silent and completely limp within the ropes that confined her, just barely keeping her head up. Arthur moved his arm as much as he could, and just barely managed to wrap his fingers around his sister's hand. He gave it a tight squeeze, a faint spark of warmth returning to him when she responded meekly.

All eyes were skyward as the leviathan gave one last hellish screech and slowly began to retreat into the center of the maelstrom. Soon, they would follow and the icy sea would claim their bodies while the monster claimed their souls. The walls began to close in on each other at an alarming rate, and the passengers and crew took one last breath as the two sides of the vortex slammed into each other, pinning the vessel helplessly in between. As the walls met, it resulted in a spectacular upward spray of water, appearing to any above the waves as if a depth charge detonated beneath the surface. With the disappearance of all evidence the Papillon's voyage, the sea and sky calmed to their original blues, and the world continued its natural progress.

Meanwhile, beneath the deceivingly calm surface, the dozens left aboard the ship were in an icy, watery hell. The violent undercurrents dragged the galley against the rocky structures near the bottom. The pressure caused by the rapid movement and the depth kept all those aboard pinned to the masts, and breathing was nonexistent. With each ill-timed gasp, the frigid seawater rushed into Arthur's lungs, its alien consistency burning his lungs and throat until it felt as if they were on fire. The world around him was fading as darkness encroached on his vision; it appeared as if the craft was adamant about staying below the surface and would not allow its passengers the luxury that was air. Before he completely lost consciousness, the wizard could have sworn he saw a great light, but perhaps this was the proverbial white light of death—though, this light was blue…