Rain crashed endlessly against the ship while thunder shook the sky hard enough to rattle Vikram’s bones.
The wooden vessel groaned beneath monstrous waves as sailors screamed across the deck, pulling ropes, adjusting sails, and securing barrels before the storm ripped everything apart.
Vikram stood completely frozen as water slammed into his face and the ship tilted violently sideways.
Somehow, this was apparently his new “virtue test.”
“What kind of sadistic exam is this?!” he shouted into the storm.
Nobody answered.
A massive sailor carrying soaked ropes shoved him hard.
“Move, slave!” Before Vikram could react, the ship lurched violently again, sending his feet sliding out from under him.
“OH SHI—”
He crashed directly onto another chained slave sitting near the rowing section, more specifically, face-first into the man’s backside.
For one horrifying second, everything went silent.
Then—
“PFFFFFT.”
The slave farted directly into Vikram’s face.
For one horrifying second, Vikram’s soul genuinely considered leaving his body.
The nearby slaves burst into exhausted laughter despite the storm, and even one pirate nearby snorted.
Vikram slowly lifted his face, with rainwater and despair dripping equally from his expression.
“…I want to die.”
“Get up!” another slave barked quickly.
“Before the captain sees!”
Too late.
CRACK.
A whip exploded across Vikram’s back hard enough to send pain ripping through his entire spine.
“USELESS DOG!” the captain roared.
Vikram cried out instantly.
“AAAH!”
The captain towered above everyone like a monster carved from sea salt and rage.
His coat whipped violently in the storm winds while one eye remained clouded white from some old injury, and thick scars crossed his neck and arms as his boots crushed puddles across the deck.
Another whip strike landed immediately.
CRACK.
“You think the sea waits for weaklings?!
MOVE!”
Vikram stumbled upright desperately while clutching his burning back, his internal thoughts having already collapsed into regret.
Every decision, every single decision, suddenly felt like a mistake.
He should have stayed home.
He should have ignored Mayasabha.
He should have never gone to Delhi.
He should have never followed Power.
Now he was getting whipped on a pirate ship after receiving biological warfare directly to the face.
This was not how he imagined adulthood.
Around him, the sailors continued fighting the storm with terrifying precision despite the chaos.
Several climbed the rigging barefoot even while lightning exploded overhead, while others adjusted giant sails by reading the wind direction through tiny changes in rope tension and wave movement.
One old sailor dipped his fingers into seawater briefly before shouting, “Current pulling east!”
Another immediately adjusted the steering wheel.
“Starboard five degrees!”
The captain barked more orders nonstop.
“Tighten mainsail!
Secure lower ropes!
Watch the mast!”
Everything moved together like violent choreography learned through survival.
No compasses, no modern systems, only stars, currents, wind pressure, and instinct sharpened by years at sea.
Even in this nightmare storm, they navigated.
Barely.
Meanwhile, Vikram carried wet cargo crates while slipping every four seconds.
A pirate smacked the back of his head.
“Faster!”
“I’m trying!”
“Try harder!”
Another wave crashed across the deck violently, and several chained slaves nearly got swept overboard before sailors dragged them back using hooks attached to waist ropes.
Vikram stared in horror.
“This is deeply unsafe.”
“Less talking!” another pirate screamed.
CRACK.
Another whip struck his shoulder, sending pain exploding through him again.
Vikram finally snapped internally.
POWER.
Nothing.
POWER?!
Still nothing.
No sarcastic comments.
No smug observations.
No presence at all.
For the first time since receiving the Mudra, he felt completely alone.
A strange emptiness settled in his chest, and panic slowly followed.
“She’s not here…” he muttered quietly.
The storm swallowed his words instantly.
Nearby, one chained slave glanced toward him briefly.
The man looked thin and exhausted, perhaps thirty years old, with deep scars across his wrists from iron shackles.
“New one?” the slave muttered.
Vikram nodded weakly while dragging another crate.
The slave pointed quickly toward the ropes.
“When waves rise, lean opposite side.”
“What?”
“The ship’s balance,” the man explained quickly.
“If the weight shifts wrong, the mast breaks.”
Another older slave nearby added, “Watch the captain’s boots.”
Vikram blinked.
“What?”
“He stomps before major waves.”
Sure enough, the captain suddenly slammed one boot hard against the deck.
“Brace!”
Everyone immediately grabbed nearby ropes.
A gigantic wave smashed into the ship seconds later, and Vikram barely held on.
The older slave laughed weakly.
“See?”
“How are you people alive?!”
“No choice.”
That answer carried no drama.
Just truth.
The storm continued for hours, or maybe minutes.
Time lost meaning beneath endless rain and suffering.
The pirates treated the slaves worse than animals.
Weak workers received whips immediately, while anyone slowing down got kicked, beaten, or dragged across the deck by their chains.
One young slave collapsed from exhaustion near the rowing section.
The captain didn’t even look twice before stomping directly onto his back.
“MOVE OR DROWN.”
The boy forced himself upright, crying.
Vikram’s anger kept growing with every scream, every whip crack, and every humiliation.
He hated it.
Another older slave quietly whispered while tying ropes beside him, “Don’t look the captain in the eyes.”
“Why?”
“You want your teeth remaining?”
Vikram glanced toward the captain again.
The man barked orders nonstop while navigating through impossible waves with terrifying confidence.
“HOLD COURSE!”
“KEEP HER STEADY!”
“DON’T FIGHT THE WATER—FLOW WITH IT!”
Lightning illuminated the sea briefly.
For one second, Vikram saw how enormous the waves truly were.
Mountains of water surrounded them from every direction, making human beings look microscopic against nature.
The captain suddenly grabbed a terrified old slave struggling near the edge.
“You slowing us down.”
The old man immediately begged, “Please—”
The captain kicked him overboard.
Just like that.
No hesitation.
The old man vanished screaming into the black water beneath the storm.
Vikram froze completely.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he shouted instinctively.
Silence hit the nearby workers instantly.
Everyone stopped breathing for one second.
The captain slowly turned toward Vikram.
Bad decision.
Very bad decision.
The captain walked toward him slowly through the rainwater while Vikram’s instincts screamed at him to run.
Instead, he stood there, shaking with anger.
“You forget your place, slave?”
Vikram clenched his fists.
“You murdered him!”
The captain pulled a pistol instantly.
BOOM.
Pain exploded through Vikram’s leg.
He screamed and collapsed hard onto the deck, clutching the gunshot wound while blood mixed with rainwater beneath him.
“AAAH!”
The captain immediately stomped his face into the wooden deck, hard enough to make his vision flash white.
“LOOK AT YOU.”
Another stomp.
“You think the sea cares about fairness?!”
Another.
“You think YOU matter here?!”
Vikram tasted blood instantly.
The captain grabbed his hair violently.
“You are cargo.”
Rain poured endlessly around them.
“You breathe because I allow it.”
The pirates laughed nearby.
Nobody defended Vikram.
Because nobody could.
The captain finally released him with disgust before kicking his injured leg again, hard enough to make Vikram nearly black out.
“Back to work.”
Vikram lay there trembling, humiliated and in pain, very close to tears, honestly.
For several seconds, he genuinely wanted to curl into a ball and give up completely.
But nearby, one exhausted slave quietly extended a hand toward him.
“Get up.”
Vikram stared at the hand silently.
Another slave whispered quickly, “If you stop moving, they kill you.”
Simple.
Brutal.
True.
So despite the pain, Vikram stood again.
His injured leg shook badly beneath him while blood ran into his soaked clothes.
Every step hurt horribly, yet he kept moving, following orders, pulling ropes, carrying cargo, and slowly learning the ship’s rhythm.
The sailors navigated using storm gaps, wave timing, and star positioning briefly visible through lightning flashes.
One navigator repeatedly checked strange carved instruments made from brass and wood while calculating direction through currents hitting the hull.
No engines.
No technology.
Just experience fighting nature itself.
Hours later, something changed.
The rain weakened suddenly.
Waves calmed.
Thunder faded behind them.
The ship slowly emerged from darkness into peaceful, moonlit waters.
Vikram nearly collapsed from relief.
The sea ahead looked calm and silver beneath the stars, but behind them, the storm still raged.
Stationary.
Frozen.
An endless wall of black clouds and lightning remained trapped in one section of the ocean.
Vikram stared in disbelief.
“…What the hell?”
Even the sailors looked uneasy as they glanced backward.
The captain spat into the sea before muttering, “Davy Jones’ storm.”
One pirate crossed himself nervously.
“Still raging after all these years…”
Vikram limped toward the railing painfully while staring at the impossible sight.
The storm didn’t move or spread; it remained locked within one area of sea, endlessly roaring like trapped fury.
“Permanent?” Vikram asked weakly.
The captain glanced toward it coldly.
“Been there longer than most men lived.”
Lightning illuminated the black clouds again.
The captain’s expression remained hard.
“Sea cursed that place long ago.”
Nobody spoke afterward.
The crew simply continued sailing beneath calmer skies while the endless storm raged forever behind them.