It's going to be a long fight, and you're going to ride this as hard as you can.
One final thought comforts you: that killing a squid isn't killing a thinking creature, not really. While each squid is technically a separate individual, they've chosen to merge their minds into a collective intelligence. That means killing one doesn't actually destroy its consciousness. Just…damages it. Not a murder, just an injury. There's some comfort in that knowledge, at least.
You and Estre burst into the middle of the fray. At first, it's difficult to keep track of all the movement, but then your perception shifts, and you focus on a single target while vaguely keeping track of everything else on your periphery.
You taunt the squid into facing you, its tentacular arms out in a defensive position. Then you launch forward with a full swing to its mantle, smashing through to the delicate gills below. The creature writhes in agony, and you follow up with a second, lethal blow. Its lifeless body falls toward the seafloor. You can feel a small electrical shudder from all the other nearby squid at the loss of one part of their collective.
You hesitate and contemplate what you're doing: killing living creatures. Even if their individuality was surrendered to the collective, do they still feel their own pain? Their own fear of death? You look around. Sure, things die. They die all the time. But you've never been the one to bring that about yourself, at least not to something sentient. And these squid—they're only trying to protect themselves against being eaten by the whales. Is that so wrong? Is fighting back something they deserve to be killed for?