The Sub-Mariner feared no man, no beast, no thing. He was once the King of Atlantis, and he would not bend a knee to anyone — not to Neptune, nor Attuma, nor his grandfather, the former king Thakorr. He was powerful. Every fish and every man of the seas knew that. He was pink-skinned, a mark of his hybrid birth and royal bloodline, and it only fueled his resolve to lead his people in whatever way he could — even if the throne had slipped from his grasp.

But time changed him. After committing crimes against the surface world, he found himself imprisoned on land, separated from the depths of Atlantis. Meanwhile, the Seven Kings of the Seas warred for power in his stead.

One day, in the murk of the uprising beneath the waves, Attuma struck. He assaulted the Sub-Mariner with ferocity — kicking, biting, tearing at him in the dark of the current. Namor escaped, battered and bleeding, but far from broken.

Delirious from his wounds and deprived of his full strength, he let himself drift aimlessly in the ocean’s current. It was quiet there, deceptive in its calm. He was too battered to resist being carried away, and when he finally found his way onto a rocky shore like some beached beast, his consciousness slipped, and then the world went dark.