Yellow Submarine Meanies Novels & Stories

"Nevan, there's nothing deeper than the Urals." "There is the Void," he said. "Thorne’s final fail-safe. A submarine docked in the subterranean river beneath the Hive. It’s built for the Arctic deep. We disappear under the ice, Ruby. No satellites. No signals. Just us." He didn't wait for my agreement. He swept me up into his arms, his hold tighter than it had ever been. He began to carry me toward the lower levels, his mind already locking down the doors behind us.

Riku is at the helm wearing heart-shaped sunglasses. Aki is co-piloting in a tuxedo T-shirt that reads “Best Oni.” The rest of us are strapped in, boards magnet-locked to the walls, rings catching the sub’s running lights every time we move. Kayo raises a bottle. Kayo: “To the newly engaged storm queen and her coyote. May your marriage be half as chaotic as this submarine and twice as eternal.” We all drink (even Rowan, who immediately coughs and turns red).

The submarine was different from the one that I saw in the abandoned port when I was with Byron. This one is huge and in the shape of a whale with jagged spikes at its top and bottom part. The inside was clean and was big enough to have some comfortable seats inside of it. It can fit at least 8 people. “General? Are there any submarines larger than this?” I asked as I took a seat and watched as Skyr flipped some switches on the control panel. “Yes.” “How many are the ones who are stranded?” “About 5.” “Then why don’t we just pick them up using the submarine instead of fixing their ship with a small microchip?”

The towering figure in the pool shrieked; a sound like tearing metal and lunged forward with her entire mass, a tidal wave of violet code designed to crush the console and everyone standing near it. "Now, Lucian!" Maya roared. Lucian threw his entire weight against the final seal. With a sound like the earth cracked open, the deep-pressure salt-gates blew. The cold, black water of the deep Tyrrhenian trench; untouched by the surface violet slush, pure and pressurized by the weight of a miles-deep ocean rushed into the submarine pen from below.

"Hazel, look at me. If we get on that boat, we belong to them. We can jump. We can try to swim in the open sea." "And go where, Bryan?" I looked at the dark shape of the submarine. "They have Grandpa Walton. They have a sister I didn't know I had. There is no 'away' anymore." A hatch on top of the submarine opened. Two men in black armor stepped out. They weren't carrying guns; they were carrying a high-tech medical stretcher and a small, warm blanket for the baby. They knew exactly what we needed. That was the scariest part. They knew us better than we knew ourselves.

They bore testimony to the long history of the city. They were taken to Mariner's Bay, the farthest end of the Land of Dawn where the tribe of seaborns could be found, a kind of water dweller who unlike merpires rely solely on their voice to enchant their victims, the new creature knows how to use magic. Similar to a mermaid, they used to reside underwater. However, seaborns are in no way seductive like mermaids. They are not part fish and instead, mostly fish. Their head is the only part of their body that resembles human. They also have a pair of golden horn, red belly and an additional eye around their torso.

My eyes widened when a huge shark passed over the submarine, and I realized that the ship's ceiling was made of glass so we could see the sea view there. The Abyss Pack manufactures its own submarines, they only have ten of them, and Ken says they will increase the number of subs. I'm getting amazed by the Abyss Pack. They are considered enemies by the werewolf clan, and all access is denied to them. They become self-sufficient by producing all of their own needs. Their money is circling in the pack. I was surprised because they use the same currency as the werewolf clan. Alpha must have a reason for this. "We have arrived." Ken's voice startled me. I was pretty disappointed to hear that we

His masculine voice went up an octave. For as far as the sub lights shines, hellhounds are attached to weights and float approximately ten feet off the ocean floor, wreathing in their dance of claws, fangs, and death. "There are thousands," King thunders in the small confines of the sub, his voice filled with horror. "Tens of thousands," I say in shock. "We need to go back to shore." Urgency fills my very bones. Even the hairs on the back of my neck try to hide.