El_maryacho_and_nowaah_the_flood-harbingers_of_...

The sound was like a bone snapping. Nowaah stepped forward, raising his arms. The rain around them didn't fall to the ground; it began to swirl around him, forming a massive, rotating serpent of liquid. "Open," Nowaah whispered.

The city’s elite, the "Gilded Gills," had built a massive sea wall that diverted the rising tides away from their penthouses and directly into the "Sinks"—the slums where the forgotten lived. The Harbingers had seen enough. EL_Maryacho_and_Nowaah_The_Flood-Harbingers_Of_...

Nowaah looked at the massive steel gates of the Grand Levee. "The water is screaming to get in, Maryacho. It’s tired of being kept out." The Performance The sound was like a bone snapping

El Maryacho took his stance. He didn't play a melody; he played a frequency . As his fingers moved across the glass strings of his instrument, a visible ripple tore through the air. The sound hit the wall, finding the microscopic fractures in the steel. Crack. "Open," Nowaah whispered

Nowaah looked out at the new tide. "The best one yet. But the storm is still coming."