Naval Heretic Frogmen

Clad in the tatters of old uniforms and encrusted gear, their forms are half-man, half-memory, wrapped sacrilege. Their insignias are scrubbed by tide and sacrament alike, replaced with sigils drawn in oil and blood.

They strip vessels bare of sanctity and steel, dragging crew screaming into the surf where pale arms wait below. Each raid is a liturgy. Each kill, a rite. They baptize decks in salt and soot, and when they vanish again beneath the waves, only silence remains—save the whisper of lapping water and the groan of hulls succumbing to deep, inexorable faith.