Rain crashed endlessly against the ship while thunder shook the sky hard enough to rattle Vikram's bones.
The wooden vessel groaned beneath monstrous waves as sailors screamed across the deck pulling ropes, adjusting sails, and securing barrels before the storm ripped everything apart.
Vikram stood completely frozen.
Water slammed into his face.
The ship tilted violently sideways.
And somehow—
This was apparently his new "virtue test."
"What kind of sadistic exam is this?!" he shouted into the storm.
Nobody answered.
A massive sailor carrying soaked ropes shoved him hard. "Move, slave!"
Before Vikram could react—
The ship lurched violently again.
His foot slipped instantly.
"OH SHI—"
He crashed directly onto another chained slave sitting near the rowing section.
More specifically—
Face first into the man's backside.
Silence.
Then—
PFFFFFT.
The slave farted directly into Vikram's face.
For one horrifying second, Vikram's soul genuinely considered leaving his body.
The nearby slaves burst into exhausted laughter despite the storm.
Even one pirate nearby snorted.
Vikram slowly lifted his face with rainwater and despair dripping equally from his expression.
"…I want to die."
"Get up!" another slave barked quickly. "Before captain sees!"
Too late.
CRACK.
A whip exploded across Vikram's back hard enough to send pain ripping through his entire spine.
"USELESS DOG!" the captain roared.
Vikram cried out instantly. "AAAH!"
The captain towered above everyone like a monster carved from sea salt and rage. His coat whipped violently in the storm winds while one eye remained clouded white from some old injury. Thick scars crossed his neck and arms, and his boots crushed puddles across the deck as he moved.
Another whip strike landed immediately.
CRACK.
"You think sea waits for weaklings?! MOVE!"
Vikram stumbled upright desperately while clutching his burning back.
His internal thoughts had already collapsed into regret.
Every decision.
Every single decision.
He should have stayed home.
He should have ignored Mayasabha.
He should have never gone to Delhi.
He should have never followed Power.
Now he was getting whipped on pirate ship after receiving biological warfare directly to the face.
This was not how he imagined adulthood.
Around him the sailors continued fighting the storm with terrifying precision despite the chaos.
Several climbed rigging barefoot even while lightning exploded overhead. Others adjusted giant sails by reading the wind direction through tiny changes in rope tension and wave movement.
One old sailor dipped fingers into seawater briefly before shouting—
"Current pulling east!"
Another immediately adjusted steering wheels.
"Starboard five degrees!"
The captain barked more orders nonstop.
"Tighten mainsail!"
"Secure lower ropes!"
"Watch the mast!"
Everything moved together like violent choreography learned through survival.
No compasses.
No modern systems.
Only stars, currents, wind pressure, and instinct sharpened by years at sea.
Even in this nightmare storm—
They navigated.
Barely.
Meanwhile Vikram carried wet cargo crates while slipping every four seconds.
A pirate smacked the back of his head. "Faster!"
"I'm trying!"
"Try harder!"
Another wave crashed across the deck violently.
Several chained slaves nearly got swept overboard before sailors dragged them back using hooks attached to waist ropes.
Vikram stared in horror. "This is deeply unsafe."
"Less talking!" another pirate screamed.
CRACK.
Another whip struck his shoulder.
Pain exploded through him again.
Vikram finally snapped internally.
POWER.
Nothing.
He froze slightly.
POWER?!
Still nothing.
No sarcastic comments.
No smug observations.
No presence at all.
For the first time since receiving the Mudra—
He felt completely alone.
A strange emptiness settled in his chest.
Panic slowly followed.
"She's not here…" he muttered quietly.
The storm swallowed his words instantly.
Nearby one chained slave glanced toward him briefly. The man looked thin, exhausted, maybe thirty years old with deep scars across his wrists from iron shackles.
"New one?" the slave muttered.
Vikram nodded weakly while dragging another crate.
The slave pointed quickly toward the ropes. "When waves rise, lean opposite side."
"What?"
"The ship balance," the man explained quickly. "If weight shifts wrong, mast breaks."
Another older slave nearby added—
"Watch captain's boots."
Vikram blinked. "What?"
"He stomps before major waves."
Sure enough—
The captain suddenly slammed one boot hard against the deck.
"Brace!"
Everyone immediately grabbed nearby ropes.
A gigantic wave smashed into the ship seconds later.
Vikram barely held on.
The older slave laughed weakly. "See?"
"How are you people alive?!"
"No choice."
That answer carried no drama.
Just truth.
The storm continued for hours.
Or maybe minutes.
Time lost meaning beneath endless rain and suffering.
The pirates treated slaves worse than animals. Weak workers received whips immediately. Anyone slowing down got kicked, beaten, or dragged across the deck by chains.
One young slave collapsed from exhaustion near the rowing section.
The captain didn't even look twice before stomping directly onto his back.
"MOVE OR DROWN."
The boy forced himself upright crying.
Vikram's anger kept growing.
Every scream.
Every whip crack.
Every humiliation.
He hated it.
Another older slave quietly whispered while tying ropes beside him.
"Don't look captain in eyes."
"Why?"
"You want teeth remaining?"
Vikram glanced toward the captain again.
The man barked orders nonstop while navigating through impossible waves with terrifying confidence.
"HOLD COURSE!"
"KEEP HER STEADY!"
"DON'T FIGHT THE WATER—FLOW WITH IT!"
Lightning illuminated the sea briefly.
For one second Vikram saw how enormous the waves truly were.
Mountains of water surrounding them from every direction.
Human beings looked microscopic against nature.
The captain suddenly grabbed a terrified old slave struggling near the edge.
"You slowing us down."
The old man immediately begged. "Please—"
The captain kicked him overboard.
Just like that.
No hesitation.
The old man vanished screaming into black water beneath the storm.
Vikram froze completely.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he shouted instinctively.
Silence hit nearby workers instantly.
Everyone stopped breathing for one second.
The captain slowly turned toward Vikram.
Bad decision.
Very bad decision.
The captain walked toward him slowly through rainwater.
Vikram's instincts screamed immediately.
Run.
Instead he stood there shaking with anger.
The captain stopped inches away.
"You forget your place, slave?"
Vikram clenched fists. "You murdered him!"
The captain pulled a pistol instantly.
BOOM.
Pain exploded through Vikram's leg.
He screamed and collapsed hard onto the deck clutching the gunshot wound while blood mixed with rainwater beneath him.
"AAAH!"
The captain immediately stomped his face downward into the wooden deck.
Hard.
"LOOK AT YOU."
Another stomp.
"You think sea cares about fairness?!"
Another.
"You think YOU matter here?!"
Vikram tasted blood instantly.
The captain grabbed his hair violently.
"You are cargo."
Rain poured endlessly around them.
"You breathe because I allow it."
The pirates laughed nearby.
Nobody defended Vikram.
Because nobody could.
The captain finally released him with disgust before kicking his injured leg again hard enough to make Vikram nearly black out.
"Back to work."
Vikram lay there trembling.
Humiliated.
In pain.
Very close to tears honestly.
For several seconds he genuinely wanted curling into a ball and giving up completely.
But nearby—
One exhausted slave quietly extended a hand toward him.
"Get up."
Vikram stared at the hand silently.
Another slave whispered quickly—
"If you stop moving, they kill you."
Simple.
Brutal.
True.
So despite the pain—
Vikram stood again.
His injured leg shook badly beneath him while blood ran into his soaked clothes. Every step hurt horribly now.
Yet he kept moving.
Following orders.
Pulling ropes.
Carrying cargo.
Learning ship rhythm.
The sailors navigated using storm gaps, wave timing, and star positioning briefly visible through lightning flashes. One navigator repeatedly checked strange carved instruments made from brass and wood while calculating direction through currents hitting the hull.
No engines.
No technology.
Just experience fighting nature itself.
Hours later—
Something changed.
The rain weakened suddenly.
Waves calmed.
Thunder faded behind them.
The ship slowly emerged from darkness into peaceful moonlit waters.
Vikram nearly collapsed from relief.
The sea ahead looked calm and silver beneath stars.
Behind them though—
The storm still raged.
Stationary.
Frozen.
An endless wall of black clouds and lightning remaining trapped in one section of ocean.
Vikram stared in disbelief.
"…What the hell?"
Even the sailors looked uneasy glancing backward.
The captain spat into the sea before muttering—
"Davy Jones' storm."
One pirate crossed himself nervously.
"Still raging after all these years…"
Vikram limped toward the railing painfully while staring at the impossible sight.
The storm didn't move.
Didn't spread.
It remained locked within one area of sea endlessly roaring like trapped fury.
"Permanent?" Vikram asked weakly.
The captain glanced toward it coldly.
"Been there longer than most men lived."
Lightning illuminated the black clouds again.
The captain's expression remained hard.
"Sea cursed that place long ago."
Nobody spoke afterward.
The crew simply continued sailing beneath calmer skies while the endless storm raged forever behind them.