Chapter 3 - Resurrection from the Depths
The freezing salt water rushed into Elias’s lungs, blinding and disorienting him. Descending at terrifying speed tethered to the heavy iron anchor, the pressure threatened to crush his skull. Panic clawed at his chest, but survival instinct took over.
Remembering the faint pressure against his lower back during the struggle, Elias thrust his bound hands downward. His fingers brushed against cold metal in his pocket. Grasping the titanium utility blade left by Dario, Elias slashed furiously at the heavy nylon cords binding his wrists. With a desperate wrench, his hands broke free.
Ignoring the burning pain in his muscles, he reached down to the thick shackles locked around his ankles. The mechanism was manual-release—a safety feature Marco had arrogantly insisted upon so they could retrieve the anchor later without losing gear. Elias jammed the blade into the locking tumbler, twisted with every ounce of remaining oxygen, and heard the satisfying click of release.
He kicked off the heavy iron anchor, shooting upward like a Polaris missile.
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When Elias broke the surface, gasping for air under the moonlight—hours having passed while the yacht drifted miles away—he floated on his back, staring at the glittering constellations. He wasn't just alive; he was reborn. A sleek, black unmarked Zodiac RIB (Rigid Inflatable Boat), piloted by Dario, slid silently out of the darkness alongside him.
Dario pulled off his sunglasses, revealing a sharp, calculating gaze. “Welcome back, Mr. Moreau. Let’s go take back your empire.”
