Overview:

Princess Ruana (Roanne) is heartbroken when ROBO3000 reveals that Captain McKinley (Benjamin) is brain dead—beyond even the reach of her healing waters. Typhon, Father of Chaos and now Master of the Star of Vis, resurrects himself and calls forth Hydra from the depths of Lerna. Just as hope seems lost, Sir Cerulean Arlentis (Topher) rises from death.

The battle between Philippine-American forces and the monsters erupts in full force. Cerulean returns for a climactic rematch with Typhon, while Archangel Michael, his loyal servant, strikes down the Chaos Father. In his Priest form, Cerulean opens Pandora’s Box, slowly pulling Hydra into the black hole that forms from it.

Cerulean, now in his Cherub form, sings a healing hymn that restores the wounded and banishes darkness. As peace returns, he and his divine steed Cielo watch the war’s end—not from above, but from below—witnesses to the final fall of the Greek monsters and the dawn of a new era.

On the seventh day, a Behemoth—

Serpents of the Sea shall rise

And destroy the land and life within it.

— Oracle of Delphi, The Seven Days Prophecy

The Peregrine spaceship, shaped like a falcon, cut swiftly through the clear blue sky, a sleek streak in the mortal world. It descended to the shore, where it landed gracefully. Uncle Ronald emerged, carrying his unconscious nephew, Captain McKinley (Benjamin), and began to walk away from the spacecraft.

High above on a cliff, Princess Ruana (Roanne), ROBO3000, and CleanBot awaited their arrival, the remaining crew of the Peregrine now reuniting.

“What happened?” Ruana asked, her voice filled with urgency.

Uncle Ronald knelt down, gently laying Captain McKinley on the ground. “I don’t know,” he admitted, still shaken. “I was knocked out the whole time. When I woke up, the spaceship was blasted, and Benjamin was slumped over, unconscious in the commander’s seat.”

Ruana knelt beside Captain McKinley, examining him closely. He lay motionless, his space armor gleaming faintly under the sunlight.

“Maybe I can heal him,” Ruana whispered, summoning a gentle wave of magic. Periwinkle waters shimmered and glowed with aquamarine as they swirled around Captain McKinley, enveloping him in ripples of seafoam green and lavender light. But as the glow faded, he remained still.

“It didn’t work…” Ruana murmured, a tremor in her voice. “I don’t understand. Why isn’t it working?”

ROBO3000, the tall humanoid robot, stepped forward. He extended his hand, scanning Captain McKinley from head to toe with a cyan laser, pausing as the faint glow in Captain’s space armor caught his sensors.

“I am very sorry, Princess Ruana,” ROBO3000 announced gravely. “Captain McKinley is… brain-dead. Life and death are beyond your healing abilities. Only a fragment of consciousness from MAurI&S.E., the artificial intelligence embedded in his space armor, keeps him technically alive. But his cognitive abilities, along with the essential bodily functions required for survival, are lost.”

Ruana’s face paled. “No… this can’t be…” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. She clutched Captain’s hand tightly, unwilling to let go.

Uncle Ronald’s face contorted with grief as he absorbed the news.

ROBO3000’s voice softened. “You have a choice, Princess. We can keep Captain on life support, though he will never wake up. Or we can deactivate it… and let him go.”

CleanBot looked down, visibly saddened. “This is… heartbreaking,” he said softly.

Ruana closed her eyes, her heart breaking as she held the man she loved. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

SWAMPS OF LERNA. Near Argos in the region of Peloponnese.

The sky hung overcast, ashen clouds sprawling thickly across the heavens. Dim daylight filtered down, casting a somber glow over a mountain and the dark, murky lake below. At the mountain’s peak lay the tomb of Typhon. Beneath it, the lake’s waters mirrored the gloom, their depths impenetrable. From the swirling clouds, the spirit of Typhon emerged, wrapped in spectral gray smoke, his eyes glowing an ominous green. Fixing his gaze on his distant tomb, Typhon’s spirit surged forward, moving with purpose toward the mountain peak.

Drifting with a host of specters, Typhon’s spirit came to rest before the ancient tomb where his remains had been confined for centuries.

“Zeus thought he defeated me, thought he had killed me,” Typhon intoned, his voice low and seething. “But now, at last, I shall return.” He extended a smoke-like arm, summoning forth the Star of Vis, which hovered above his outstretched hand.

The marquis-shaped shard, gleaming blue-white, glowed brighter as thick gray rings spun around it, forming a magical celestial astrolabe within its mystical circle.

“O Star of Vis,” Typhon commanded, “heed me, your new master. Bring me back to life!”

Obeying his command, the marquis gem dissolved the gray rings, dismantling the astrolabe, then embedded itself into the center of Typhon’s tomb. Its blue-white energy pulsed through the ancient carvings on the stone, flooding it with astral light. Typhon’s spirit coalesced, drawn into his body within, as spectral smoke merged with the tomb. The tomb shone a blinding blue-white as its lid slid aside, and Typhon’s form began to rise.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Typhon opened his eyes, aglow with blue-white light. Uncrossing his arms, he hovered out of the tomb, its lid crashing to the ground beside him. The father of all monsters spread his vast, bat-like wings, his sharp horns piercing upward from his head. His serpentine form, covered in gleaming black-laced scales, coiled and stretched with a long, powerful tail.

Typhon’s roar echoed across the darkened sky and over the murky lake. “Raaawr!” The earth seemed to tremble as serpents—extensions of his own form—emerged, each head breathing fire in fury.

“Arise from the depths of Lerna’s lake, from the dark body of murky waters,” Typhon bellowed. “Above and below the clouds, heed your father’s call. Your beloved mother, Echidna, has been destroyed by our enemies. Now, it is time for us to exact our revenge as a family. Stand as a bulwark beside me, Typhon, and together we will lay waste to the land and all men.”

Rising from the lake, the Lernaean Hydra answered his call, water cascading off its nine serpentine heads as they roared in fury, each head emerging higher against the storm-gray sky.

On the cracked big screen at the abandoned Peregrine spaceship flashed “SEVENTH WAVE”.

In a crowded eatery, patrons watched the U.S. president on the TV with tense expressions.

“Rest assured, the United States will stand by the Philippines—our long-time ally—in this extraordinary crisis,” President Wyatt Bayer vowed. “We will send American troops and warships to assist the Filipino people.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I can hardly believe a sea monster exists, terrorizing the Philippine Sea east of their homeland. But one thing is certain: our unwavering friendship and goodwill toward the Philippines.”

Across the globe, Philippine President Jesus Incarnacion addressed his nation in a press conference of his own.

“I am declaring a national emergency,” he announced. “A calamity has befallen our country—a supernatural one beyond explanation. This is the second day that a nine-headed sea serpent, a true colossus, lurks in the waters off our shores. Once U.S. forces arrive, our Philippine Navy will stand together with them as a united defense.” President Incarnacion’s voice was firm but solemn.

On the third day, in the Philippine Sea, Typhon hovered above the dark, turbulent waters. His massive bat wings spread against the overcast sky, casting a shadow over the waves. His serpentine tail coiled beneath him, and several snake-like heads branched from his shoulders, sneering at the sight of the approaching Philippine-American fleet on the horizon.

“Our enemies are here, Son. Vanquish them,” Typhon commanded the Hydra, who lurked in the murky depths below.

“Rawrr!” The Hydra’s nine heads unleashed a deafening roar that reverberated across the sea.

“Fire!” the U.S. admiral ordered, his voice echoing across the deck.

American naval officers moved quickly, launching a barrage of missiles. The sky lit up with fiery trails, the missiles streaking toward the colossal Hydra across the water. Explosions erupted as the missiles struck, severing all but one of Hydra’s heads. Fiery bursts and clouds of smoke filled the air, as severed heads splashed into the sea, sizzling upon impact. The Hydra’s neck stumps were charred and smoldering.

Typhon looked on, unfazed. “So, these armies wield fire—an element Hydra cannot yet resist,” he mused. “But fire alone will not stop him.”

Raising his hand, Typhon summoned the Star of Vis, a powerful amulet that glowed with a blue-white light. He clenched his claws around it, muttering an incantation as black lightning struck the artifact, corrupting its glow to a dark, ominous blue-black.

“Let fire be powerless against my son,” Typhon commanded. “For he is born of water, and water extinguishes flame.”

As Typhon chanted, blue-black waves of magic cascaded from the sky like an ethereal waterfall, enveloping Hydra in a shroud of dark energy. When the mist cleared, Hydra emerged whole, his neck stumps unscathed. To the horror of the joint defense forces, two heads grew in place of each severed one.

“Rawr!” Hydra roared, his monstrous voices echoing over the darkened waters.

The sea serpent unleashed a noxious fog, a strange blue-grey smoke pouring from his mouths. The fumes rolled over the Philippine-American fleet, shrouding it in an unnatural mist.

Onboard one of the Philippine naval ships, chaos erupted. “What…what is this?” a Filipino officer shouted, panic lacing his voice as the fog seeped over the deck.

“I don’t know, Son,” the captain replied grimly, his face ashen.

Before their eyes, a young officer next to the captain gasped, clutching at his throat. His face turned pale, eyes streaming with tears as blood trickled from his nose. He fell to his knees, choking, his veins bulging like cobwebs beneath his skin.

“Help…” he rasped, but his words faded as foam bubbled from his mouth, and blisters marred his hands. He collapsed, lifeless, to the horror of his comrades. All around, in ship after ship, marines were succumbing to the deadly fog—some already fallen, others helplessly awaiting the same fate.

In a pitch-black expanse, boundless as the void, a landscape stretched of deathly pale arms and hands, each with long, thin, claw-like fingers tipped with chipped, ragged nails. Mounds of these ghastly limbs lay sparse and scattered.

“This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you,” a voice resounded, filled with warmth and infinite love.

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

From shimmers of ivory grew rays of white-golden light, piercing through the hands and arms, clasped together as if in supplication.

“Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you.” (John 15:12–14, King James Version [KJV]) The hand of God reached out, descending warmth and white light onto the desolate field below.

From the sea of undead hands and arms, the spirit of Cerulean Arlentis, known to his friends as Topher, rose. His soul ascended, aglow, lifting him upward through the limbo. Around him, the myriad undead arms awakened, each turning monstrous, phantoms of darkness clawing their way toward him.