They say the grass is always greener on the other side. In the apocalypse, the neighbor's meat is always fresher.

  I was at the top of the "Rib Ridge," the highest point of the island formed by the Leviathan's corpse. The wind blew strong, carrying the scent of salt and barbecue.

  Below me, the city of Leviathania pulsed with life.

  Shacks made of whale bone and metal from shipwrecked vessels clung to the petrified monster's giant scales.

  Steam turbines (technology imported from Petrópolis) spun, harnessing the geothermal energy still emanating from the beast's dead core.

  "Scalpel number 4," I requested, extending my hand without looking.

  A mechanical arm handed me the tool.

  "You know I'm not a nurse, right?" Valéria complained, adjusting the magnifying lens on her right eye. She wore overalls stained with Leviathan oil.

  "You're the best engineer I have. And this isn't surgery. It's mining."

  I drove the scalpel (actually a modified pneumatic jackhammer) into the calcified surface of a monster gland.

  CRACK.

  A shard of Blue Mana Crystal broke off.

  "Energy density is dropping," I analyzed the crystal with my monocle. "The Leviathan's body is losing residual magical charge. In six months, this will just be a very big, smelly rock.

  "We need a new energy source to sustain the city's defense barrier."

  "We could reactivate the Angra nuclear reactors," suggested Valéria. "Gristle said the mutants there have three arms, which increases productivity."

  "And cancer risk. Denied."

  Suddenly, the alarm sounded.

  Not a church bell, nor an electronic siren.

  It was Luna's Song.

  Her voice, magically amplified by the city's loudspeakers, echoed over the bay. A melody of tension, low and urgent.

  [PROXIMITY ALERT. EAST SECTOR. MARITIME HORIZON.]

  I dropped the jackhammer.

  "To the Mouth Port."

  The "Mouth Port" was literally in the Leviathan's open jaw, where ships could dock protected by fifty-meter-high teeth.

  When we got there, Gristle was already organizing the defense.

  A line of Tank-Crabs (allied local mutants) and Steam Sentries (Petrópolis robots) aimed cannons at the open sea.

  Luna was atop a canine tooth, holding binoculars.

  "Arthur!" she shouted, sliding down a rope. "You need to see this. Not monsters."

  I took the binoculars.

  On the gray Atlantic horizon, a fleet emerged from the fog.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Not modern warships. It looked like a floating nautical museum that had been bombed and rebuilt by madmen.

  There were rusted ocean liners, aircraft carriers with patched cloth sails, fishing boats tied together forming mobile islands.

  Hundreds of them.

  And on all of them, flags of different nations fluttered, torn and dirty. France, United Kingdom, Nigeria, Spain...

  But the main flag, hoisted on the lead ship (a World War II battlecruiser modified with glowing crystals), was black with a white symbol: A Broken Hourglass.

  "The Exodus Fleet," Valéria read the name painted on the leader's hull: The Last Breath.

  "They're fleeing," I analyzed. "Look at the ships' water line. They're overloaded. Too many people on board."

  The city communication radio crackled. A broadband transmission, open, in English heavy with static.

  "This is Admiral Sterling, of the North Atlantic Coalition. We request permission to dock and resupply. We have wounded. We have civilians. And we have... sensitive cargo."

  Gristle spat into the sea.

  "Sensitive cargo? That smells like trouble. They're going to bring their wars here."

  "If we refuse, they die," said Luna, the empath. "Look at them. They're adrift."

  "If we accept, we might die," I retorted, cold. "The signal Valéria picked up months ago said Europe fell. If they bring the plague that took down a whole continent..."

  The Parasite vibrated in my chest.

  [LONG-RANGE BIOLOGICAL ANOMALY DETECTION.]

  [THE CREW OF THAT FLEET IS NOT EMITTING NORMAL HEAT.]

  [THERMAL SIGNATURE: ABSOLUTE ZERO.]

  "Valéria," I called. "Prep the Dreadnought (speedboat version). Me, you, and Gristle are going out there.

  "Luna, stay on the coast. If they try any hostile move, use the Hangover Voice. I want them to vomit their souls if they point a cannon at us."

  Our boat approached the cruiser The Last Breath.

  The ship's hull was covered in black ice, even under the tropical Rio sun.

  A rope ladder was thrown down.

  We climbed up.

  The deck was crowded. Thousands of people, thin, pale, wearing rags that were once designer clothes or European military uniforms.

  But what scared me was the silence.

  No one spoke. No one cried. Children stared at nothing.

  A man came to meet us. Admiral Sterling.

  He wore an impeccable Royal Navy uniform, but his face...

  Half his face was flesh. The other half was Black Crystal.

  The crystal grew from the inside out, replacing his left eye and part of his jaw. He spoke without moving his lips, voice projected directly by vibration in the crystal.

  "Governor Veras," the voice sounded metallic in my head. "Thank you for receiving us. The New World looks... robust."

  "I'm not Governor. I'm a Surgeon." I didn't shake his hand. "And my initial diagnosis says you should be in quarantine. What is that on your face, Admiral?"

  Sterling touched the crystal.

  "This? This is the price of survival. We call it The Gift of Ice."

  "Up North... the Rifts didn't just bring monsters. They brought the Cold. To not freeze to death, we had to adapt. The crystal keeps us alive without food, without heat."

  "But it exacts a price. It takes away... empathy."

  I looked at the refugees on deck. All had crystal patches on their skin. Some were living statues, immobile, just watching.

  "You aren't refugees," Gristle snarled, hand on her cleaver. "You are a hive."

  "We are what's left of organized humanity," Sterling retorted, the crystal glowing purple. "And we came to propose a trade."

  "You have biomass. You have monster meat. You have heat."

  "We have technology. We have Antimatter weapons we saved from NATO ruins."

  He pointed to the ship's hold.

  "And we have a prisoner. The source of the Plague that destroyed Europe. We brought him here because... well, we heard you are the only man who knows how to dissect gods."

  The Parasite went on high alert.

  [DANGER. ENERGY SOURCE IN THE HOLD IS FAMILIAR.]

  [NOT A MONSTER. AN ARCHITECT.]

  "Who is in the hold?" I asked, feeling the air grow heavy.

  Sterling smiled (or the crystal on his face reflected the light in a way that looked like a smile).

  "We call him The Piper. He doesn't control rats. He controls technology."

  "And he says he knows your father."

  The world stopped for a second.

  My father, Hélio Veras. The man who started it all. The man I thought died in Curitiba.

  "Valéria," I spoke low, eyes locked on the Admiral. "Warn Luna.

  "Code: Biological Containment Level 5.

  "No one gets off these ships without passing under my scalpel."

  I looked at Sterling.

  "Show me the prisoner. And if this is a trap, Admiral... know that I just killed a Leviathan from the inside. Doing a lobotomy on a glass man will be a walk in the park."

  Sterling gestured. The hold door opened, exhaling a cold vapor that froze the tropical air's humidity.

  "After you, Doctor."

  I stepped into the darkness of the European ship.

  The local war was over. The world war had just docked in my port.