Blackness Marine Novels & Stories

’Good morning staffs, I would very much like to make this meeting a very short one’ The manager tells us. ‘For the new staffs who do not know the boss, this is mr. Jones Black, C.E.O of Mars private hospital, which you all know has branches all over the continent’. The manager says, addressing the fine piece of art beside him. Mr. Black just waves at us, a light smile on his lips which makes my breath hitch. I know I am sounding like a hopeless romantic right now but I can’t deny the attraction I feel towards this man. ‘Oh. My. God! He looks even more stunning with that smile’. Goldie says, twisting a strand of hair around her finger as she stares dreamingly at Mr. Black.

The marina was a symphony of clinking rigging and the low, expensive hum of engines. The Obsidian Star lived up to its name, a massive, predatory silhouette of black steel and glass that dwarfed the surrounding white cruisers. As they stepped onto the polished teak deck, the air was already thick with the scent of sea salt, expensive sunblock, and chilled alcohol.

The torrential rain hammered against the vantablack deck of the Acheron, feeling less like water and more like a barrage of icy shrapnel. The sheer, terrifying scale of the stealth ship became apparent as Dante and Elara were marched forward, flanked by half a dozen Vanguard mercenaries whose matte-black armor seemed to absorb the meager light of the storm. The vessel possessed no superstructure, no visible bridge, and no exterior lighting; it was a sleek, geometric nightmare designed to slice through the ocean while remaining entirely invisible to radar. The deafening roar of its massive, submerged propulsion system vibrated through Dante’s bruised ribs with every step he took across the no

"I've always been curious about who chose that name. Why Black Queen?" Picking up the knife on the table, I twirl it around in my hand "Because my heart is as black as coal. Have you seen the American show that goes by 'Once Upon a Time?' the evil queen who coincidentally goes by Regina too has a black heart. The difference between us is that I'm not trying to be good. I won't hesitate to stick this knife in your throat and watch as you take your last breath" "Why does that turn me on?"

the Marine shouted, “are you Director Blakeney?” “I am,” he confirmed, sounding tired. The Marine nodded and eyed the ragtag group. “We’re your ride home, sir. Does anyone need immediate medical attention?” Blakeney pointed at Oliver. “This young man has some burns on an arm and a large cut on his forehead. Probably a concussion, too. The rest of us can wait. Oh—” He stopped the NCO. “There should be a navy blue Mercedes about a half-mile to the southwest and a small Fiat around here as well.”

Forty-eight hours. The countdown to the end of the world began not with a roar, but with the synchronized thrumming of a massive, joint-force armada crossing the Arctic Circle. It was a sight that should not exist in nature. A fleet of state-of-the-art, nuclear-powered icebreakers from the Blackwood Corporation, painted in matte-black tactical paint, plowed through the twenty-foot-thick glacial ice, creating a path of dark water. Behind them sailed the Crimson Court’s ancient, reinforced war galleons, their black sails bearing the silver crest of the bleeding bat, looking like ghost ships emerging from the endless fog.

He was young, yet his enthusiasm resonated through the ship, lifting the morale of the crew even as the enemy surged forward. As the melee unfolded, the pirate ship's captain—a man with an unmistakable presence, draped in shadows and darkness—stood atop the enemy vessel's bow. His eyes glinted with predatory glee as he held the unmistakable black flag adorned with a blood-red skull. His very presence threatened, igniting a fervor among his crew as they swarmed onto the ship, thirsting for carnage. “Prepare to taste steel!” he roared, his voice cutting through the turmoil.

Swarm beasts surge immediate—carapace clicking silent, mouths yawning wide, eyes like broken stars. Navy SEALs drop in seconds later—black ops choppers cloaked, fast-roping down, rifles spitting void-piercing rounds. Marines storm from subway entrances—armored columns pushing up, heavy weapons glowing with integrated runes. USSF classified black ops melt from shadows—stealth suits shimmering, plasma blades igniting blue. **SEAL Captain (comms, calm):** “Storm Queen, grid locked. Black ops on flanks. Lances hot—waiting your mark.”

It turned Black. It wasn't the black of night; it was the black of an eclipse. A massive, hexagonal shadow began to blot out the sun, a vessel so vast that its leading edge was over the Atlantic while its trailing edge still brushed the Great Lakes. This was the Andromeda Prime—the flagship of the "True Owner."

And yeah, it wasn’t hard to spot which one was his. The marina was stuffed with gleaming white yachts, all lined up like Botoxed pageant queens. Names were scrawled across their shiny asses in delicate navy script. Greyson, Andromeda, and, God help me, Kraken My Heart. I was genuinely offended on behalf of the sea. Then I saw his. It didn’t bob or glitter. It brooded.