"Spread out! Ready the harpoons!" he barked orders to the crew. "The Wereshark must be stopped before it devours the entire crew!"
They armed themselves with guns and blades, fully aware that these were the only means to harm the beast, but even armed with this knowledge, the task ahead felt insurmountable.
Tommy had not needed to be told; he was already armed, hell, he had extra weapons on him. He threw the spare weapons he had to Marcellus and the gossip men.
Damn! Don't suddenly throw a blade at me. what if I could not catch it? plus cooks don't fight!
Tommy Bones and the Captain led the charge, their blades gleaming in the moonlight. Randy and Noah manned the rigging, keeping watch from above, ready to alert the crew of any sign of the lurking menace.
With each step, the tension mounted, and the crew's senses heightened as they searched for any trace of the Wereshark.
The Wereshark, cunning and hybrid, evaded their every attempt to corner it, its eerie shrieks echoing through the ship like a taunt from the shadows.
In the oppressive silence that gripped the Obsidian Viper, a gruesome sound tore through the stillness - a sickening, wet squelch. A wave of horror swept over the crew as the chilling realization dawned on them: the Wereshark was not just hiding, it was hunting, feasting on one of their own.
Wide-eyed and gripped by fear, the crew members caught fleeting glimpses of the horror unfolding before them - the sharp glint of merciless teeth and the crimson stains spreading across the wood floor, painting a macabre picture of their nightmarish reality.
A collective gasp escaped their lips, and their hearts pounded like drums in their chests. Their thoughts turned to their fallen comrade, a reminder of the terrifying reality they faced.
The wereshark's cruelty and arrogance were laid bare, its malevolence echoing like a haunting melody in the night.
The night may have been endless, but so too was Marcel's determination.
Marcellus was unprepared to die.
Slowly he inched forward to take a closer look, Ah, The Wereshark really ate him, there were barely any body parts apart from his head left. hell, are we all going to die? I thought it would have killed him but he at him.
Marcellus, confronted with the ghastly sight, struggled to reconcile the reality before him. He had never before witnessed the horror of a man devoured alive. The victim, one of the boisterous men from Noah's group, had only moments ago been alive with tales and praises of the captain.
Now, his face was frozen in an expression of abject terror, a stark contrast to the bravado he had displayed earlier.
The grim reality hit Marcellus hard. He had been engaging with the man, enduring their gloating just a minute ago, and now he was witnessing the aftermath of the creature's savagery.
Then, a sudden, jarring Bang! pierced the tense air, snapping Marcellus and the crew back to the urgent danger at hand. The sound, sharp and loud, signalled a new twist in their harrowing tale.
Every head turned in unison towards the source, a mixture of hope and eagerness to finally confront their elusive adversary etched on their faces. The paralyzing fear that had once gripped the crew was now being gradually eroded, overtaken by a more potent, burning emotion — anger, a seething rage that coursed through their veins.
This transformation from fear to fury had imbued the crew's eyes, once wide with horror, now glinted with a fierce resolve. The shot that rang out was like a clarion call, rallying the crew's spirits and focusing their collective wrath.
These were no ordinary men; they were hardened people. While panic might have gripped them before, the sight of one dead pirate's face had changed everything.
It was a gruesome sight, and no one wanted to meet a similar fate.
These were self-proclaimed privateers, or rather, pirates, who risked their lives daily for a mere seven silver coins.
Their lives were anything but easy. Every sunrise was a gamble, every sunset a victory.
Seven silver coins might not sound like much, but to these men, it was a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty. They had become masters of survival, cunning in their pursuit, and relentless in their resolve.
The enemy, whoever they were, had just awakened a storm, and these pirates, these unyielding souls, were ready to unleash it upon them.
There was no need for Captain Crowe to issue an order; the sound itself had galvanized the crew into heightened alertness. The shot had emanated from somewhere aft, possibly below deck, maybe even from within the hull — the exact location was difficult to pinpoint.
Captain Crowe flipped a coin again; it landed on heads. He offered a silent curse to the unseen forces that seemed to be toying with him.
Marcellus knew the problem now, even without being told. He was present, after all.
To summarize the Wereshark's observed physical capabilities: it possessed a unique vision that allowed it to see in the dark, It's visibility to the crew however was contingent on the presence of light reflecting off its scales. Without light, the creature became nearly invisible, blending into the shadows with ease. Additionally, it exhibited an uncanny speed in its movements, capable of instantaneously reaching velocities comparable to that of a horse, without any apparent need for acceleration. This speed, combined with its conceivable strength — which Marcellus grimly estimated to be on par with that of its speed — made the Wereshark a formidable and deadly opponent in their midst.
Secondly, the Wereshark had demonstrated a level of intelligence that was unique to Hybrid Weresharks. It knew how to sneak up on ship floorboards that were notorious for creaking. That had to be deliberate, right?
Marcellus recalled the crew's earlier conversations, filled with bravado and tales of the Weresharks. According to them, these creatures were typically not known for their intelligence, often dismissed as being rather dim-witted, probably due to having brains more akin to fish.
However, the Wereshark they were currently facing defied these expectations. Its actions suggested a level of cunning and intelligence far beyond what the crew had expected. Marcellus pondered this anomaly.
Adding to its formidable nature was its ability to climb through windows, allowing it to move seamlessly between the upper and lower decks of the Obsidian Viper. This skill rendered the creature both elusive and unpredictable.
Combining all these aspects, it was undoubtedly a fool's errand to venture below deck at all.
Maybe that is why the captain is cursing, Marcellus dared to guess.
There was a moment of respite before the captain started speaking.
Captain Crowe's voice, steady and unnervingly composed amidst the mounting tension, broke the silence. "We need to confirm the situation below," he stated, his tone betraying none of the urgency the situation warranted.
A heavy pause hung in the air, the crew members exchanging uncertain glances.
"We can't all go down there; it might come up here," he continued, maintaining his calm demeanour. The implication of his words settled over the crew, each man acutely aware of the precariousness of their situation.
Another pause ensued, laden with unspoken understanding. The captain's strategy was clear, yet no one rushed to embrace it.
Amid this tense stillness, Marcellus noticed Tommy Bones subtly shift his weight, a small but telling sign of the crew's growing unease.
"Is there anyone who volunteers?" This time, Captain Crowe's voice edged away from its prior calm, a hint of strain creeping in.
"..."
Silence answered his call. The pirates, a breed known for their self-preservation and cunning, were not quick to embrace self-sacrifice, even in dire circumstances. In a situation where they were all going to fight and possibly die; they were all eager, However, no one wanted to die first.
What Captain Crowe had just asked them to do was essentially to lay down their lives for him. He was their captain, not their commander. There was no rank on the ship; everyone was equal.
Captain Crowe's gaze swept across the crew, his disappointment masked by a steely resolve. In this motley band of pirates, loyalty ran deep, but self-preservation ran deeper he cursed.
The unspoken understanding was clear, each pirate valued their survival as much as the captain did. They were a crew forged in the crucible of danger and adventure, bound by a code of camaraderie, but not one of them was ready to willingly meet their end for a mission that seemed doomed from the start.
It was a testament to the captain's leadership that he didn't push further. He knew the limits of their loyalty and understood that they were pirates, not martyrs. At this moment, the absence of hierarchy on the ship was a source of strength rather than weakness, as it meant that every soul aboard had a voice and a say in their collective fate.
Although it felt like an eternity, less than a minute had elapsed since the gunshot.