Marcellus's thoughts tumbled into a whirlpool of regret and self-reproach as he faced the grim reality of his situation.
"I should have gone to the war front," he lamented internally, his mind awash with what-ifs and missed opportunities. "I was tempted away by pleasures, drawn to piracy with promises and petty women. What a dupe I've been."
His thoughts turned to the home he had left behind, to the family that would now be left without him. "If only I had chosen to fight for the empire, my mother might have received some compensation for my death. Now, what will she get? Nothing but the news of a son lost at sea, hell she doesn't even know I am here no one knows I am here."
The prospect of a watery grave, a fate he had never envisioned for himself, now seemed an inescapable reality. "Agnes, my dear, who's going to critique your paintings now? Who will tell you the harsh truths that I always did?"
Bitterness crept into his thoughts as he remembered Kenric's words about a glorious death. "Of all the ways to go, I never imagined it would be like this, in the depths of the ocean. That bastard will live longer than me."
He could almost hear the priestess's chiding voice, singing a chorus of 'I told you so.' He had joined the crew, thinking they were strong, thinking he could ride on their strength to an easier life. "How wrong I was," Marcellus mused ruefully. "I thought I was stepping into a life of ease, but here I am, staring down the jaws of death, with no one to save me."
Marcellus was many things, and while cowardice could be found on that list, he was not devoid of mettle, and he intended to put it to the test.
Marcellus, amidst his thoughts, clung to a few clear facts he had observed. He had seen Captain Crowe's scrap, a fight that laid bare certain truths about the captain's capabilities. While Crowe had the strength that could perhaps rank as a second-class swordsman, his skills with the blade were noticeably lacking. Even a beginner, in Marcellus's estimation, could swing a sword with more finesse than the captain.
This realization was sobering. It meant that perhaps, individually, no one among the crew, not even their leader, held a realistic chance of besting the Wereshark in single combat. The creature's formidable prowess had been made abundantly clear, and it overshadowed the abilities of any single crew member.
In Marcellus's mind, the conclusion was evident: they would need to band together, combining their strengths and coordinating their efforts, if they hoped to have any chance of defeating the beast.
Marcellus mused, maybe Tommy could win, but he didn't look keen on going in alone, if no one goes in the Captain will have to think of a 'fair' way to send people in one by one, ugh...I just joined the crew they might send me regardless I am not too keen on seeing people die one by one if we are all going to die. I would rather go first. Watch me die gloriously Kenric.
Finally, he broke the silence. "I will go," Marcellus said as he slowly inched forward.
Tommy Bones's expression was particularly telling. His face, usually marked by a stoic or determined demeanour, now registered pure surprise. Marco, in stark contrast, maintained an impassive facade. His face, unreadable and calm, gave nothing away. Noah, Randall, and the others mirrored Tommy's reaction more than Marco's. Their faces were a mix of disbelief and concern.
"What's your name, boy?" Captain Crowe asked.
"Ma-" Marcellus started, then hesitated, glancing over at Tommy Bones. "Blackeyed. Call me Blackeyed," he corrected himself, his voice low, as though he was still trying to embrace the identity.
"Very well, Blackeyed," Captain Crowe acknowledged his tone grave. "Here's the task your captain sets before you. Descend below deck with this lantern and move towards that area. The Wereshark, it's not very visible in the dark, just confirm that it's there. Your goal is to drive it out into the open; we'll handle the rest."
Marcellus nodded silently, accepting the lantern. His grip tightened as he began his descent down the staircase, the weight of his mission pressing down on him like a physical burden.
As he delved deeper, the lantern's feeble light struggled against the enveloping darkness of the below deck. The creaks of the ship and the distant, muffled sounds of the crew above only heightened the eerie atmosphere.
A subtle sound caught his attention – a whisper-like movement against the hull. The Wereshark was close.
He advanced cautiously, his senses heightened. The corridors stretched endlessly, the air thick with the scent of salt and decay. It felt as if the creature was playing a sinister game of cat and mouse, its presence always just beyond the light's reach.
Suddenly, the stillness was broken by a guttural growl. Marcellus whirled around to face the source, his heart leaping to his throat.
There, illuminated by the lantern, were the malevolent eyes and razor-filled maw of the Wereshark.
Time seemed to stand still as their gazes locked. Fear clawed at Marcellus, but he steeled himself, refusing to succumb to it, Why should I fear death?
The creature lunged from the darkness, its eyes a sinister gleam in the lantern's glow. Marcellus's reaction was instinctual, his sabre slicing through the air.
Schlick!
The blade found its mark, cutting into the creature's hide. The Wereshark recoiled with a piercing screech, agony and fury in its cry.
Eeeeeeeek!
Marcellus's heart thundered in his chest, adrenaline fueling his movements. He pressed his attack, his desperation and determination guiding each strike.
Schlick! Schlick! Schlick!
Their battle was a whirlwind of chaos and fury, the Wereshark's movements a blur, its snarls filling the air.
Marcellus's mind flashed to the diary he had been reading, where the protagonist likened fighting to a dance. Ah, I'm dancing to my death, he thought wryly. Take that, Kenric.
At the brink of despair, something within Marcellus ignited. A latent strength, long dormant, surged to life.
Standing there, his pulse a thunderous rhythm in his ears, Marcellus felt an explosion of energy radiate from within. Memories of rituals, chants, and the teachings of the Harmonious Nexus path flooded back.
His stance shifted, becoming more fluid as if he were part of a dance. The power didn't just surround him; it became him.
His eyes shone with a new depth of mastery, and in his hand, a blade of pure energy coated the sabre, vibrating with the force of his awakened power.
In that moment, Marcellus transcended.
His eyes, now intensely sharp and piercing, bore into the Wereshark, instilling a primal fear in the formidable creature. Marcellus felt an invigorating surge of energy coursing through his body, transforming his once-heavy limbs into instruments of swift and deadly precision. He felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him, his mind, making him feel ten times lighter, more agile, and more powerful.
This newfound lightness was not just physical; it was as if his very essence had been unburdened, allowing him to move with ease and speed he had never experienced before.
This was pulse condensation, and Marcellus was its conduit.
Why should I fear death? If I am, then death is not. If death is, then I am not. Why should I fear that which only exists when I do not?