Anundr stood at the edge of the scorched cargo bay, the lingering glow of Aamon's devastating attack fading into an oppressive darkness. His grip tightened on the shotgun in his hands, the polished steel catching faint glints of dim emergency lights overhead. The air was heavy, the silence only broken by the occasional creaks of the ship as it swayed gently on the open sea. His expression remained stoic, unshaken by the destruction he had witnessed moments ago. But beneath his calm exterior, there was a simmering anger—a controlled rage at Aamon for using that move.
He didn't say much, just a single glance toward Aamon before turning on his heel. His boots echoed against the cold metal floor as he strode deeper into the ship. His casual posture betrayed none of his unease, but his eyes scanned every shadow, every flicker of movement in the dim corridors. The ship's internal systems hummed faintly, an almost mocking reminder that the place was still alive, still functioning—if only barely.
Anundr's mind stayed on the task at hand. Something had triggered this nightmare, and he intended to find the source. His movements were precise and purposeful as he descended a narrow staircase, the flickering overhead light casting long, uneven shadows on the walls. The lower deck felt colder, the air tinged with a faint metallic smell. Rust, maybe. Or blood. It was hard to tell, and he didn't linger on the thought.
The corridor stretched out ahead, lined with heavy steel doors on either side. Most were sealed shut, but a few hung ajar, revealing empty storage rooms filled with crates and equipment. He moved cautiously, his shotgun always at the ready, the weight of it a familiar comfort in the stifling dark.
As he reached a junction, a faint noise broke through the silence—a soft scraping sound, almost imperceptible. Anundr stopped, his head tilting slightly to catch the direction. It came from the corridor to his left, barely audible over the hum of the ship. He shifted his grip on the shotgun and moved toward it, his steps slow and deliberate.
The corridor seemed darker here, the emergency lights dimmer, their flickering more erratic. The walls felt closer, the air heavier, as if something unseen was pressing down on him. His stoic demeanor remained intact, but his eyes darted to every shadow, every movement at the edge of his vision. The scraping grew louder as he approached a half-open door near the end of the hall.
He paused outside the doorway, his hand brushing against the cold metal frame. The sound had stopped. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. He could feel the tension in the air, the kind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Taking a breath, he pushed the door open with the barrel of his shotgun, the hinges groaning in protest.
Inside was a storage room, dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with disorganized tools and equipment. But the room was empty. Or so it seemed. Anundr stepped inside, his boots crunching on loose debris scattered across the floor. He scanned the room methodically, the shotgun following his gaze.
That's when he heard it—a faint whisper, just behind him.
He spun around, his shotgun raised, but the corridor outside was empty. The door behind him, however, was no longer ajar. It was shut tight. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed in the small room. His jaw tightened, but he didn't flinch. Instead, he took a step back, his eyes scanning every corner of the room for any sign of movement.
The whisper came again, this time louder, closer. It wasn't words, just a faint, incomprehensible murmur that seemed to crawl under his skin. The shadows in the room seemed to shift, growing longer, darker, as if they were alive. The bulb overhead flickered erratically, casting distorted shapes on the walls.
Anundr's breathing remained steady, but his grip on the shotgun tightened. He aimed it toward the far corner of the room, where the shadows seemed to pool unnaturally. The whisper grew louder, morphing into a low, guttural growl. It wasn't coming from the corner anymore. It was everywhere, surrounding him, pressing in on all sides.
He took a step back toward the door, his eyes never leaving the shifting shadows. His free hand reached for the door handle, but it wouldn't budge. The metal felt icy to the touch, as if it had been submerged in freezing water. The growl grew louder, reverberating through the room like a low-frequency hum that rattled his chest.
Then the lights went out.
Total darkness engulfed the room, and for the first time, a flicker of unease crossed Anundr's face. The growling stopped, replaced by an oppressive silence. He stood still, every muscle in his body tensed, listening for any sign of movement.
A faint sound broke the silence—a single, slow drip of water. Then another. And another. It came from somewhere above him, but the darkness was so complete he couldn't see a thing. His shotgun was raised, ready to fire at the first sign of a threat.
Suddenly, the lights flickered back on, and the room was empty once again. The shadows were gone, the growling silenced. But the tension remained, thick and suffocating. Anundr lowered his shotgun slightly, his jaw tightening as he moved back to the door. This time, the handle turned easily, the door creaking open to reveal the corridor beyond.
He stepped out, his eyes scanning the hall for any sign of movement. The ship was silent once more, but the oppressive atmosphere lingered. Anundr's expression remained calm, but his mind was racing. Whatever was happening here wasn't natural, and it wasn't over.
Without hesitation, he continued down the corridor, his shotgun ready, his focus unshaken. Whatever the source of the problem was, he would find it. And he would end it.
[Meanwhile]
Erin floated in the water, her breathing steady but her thoughts uneasy. Aamon's instructions to stay submerged lingered in her mind, but curiosity gnawed at her. The silence around her was suffocating, broken only by the faint hum of the ship's engines reverberating through the liquid. She decided she needed to surface, just for a moment, to understand what was happening above.
As her fingers broke the water's surface, the world shifted violently. In an instant, she wasn't in the safe, fluid embrace of Aamon's conjured water. Instead, she was standing on solid ground, her shoes soaked but firmly planted on the metal deck of the cargo ship. Her surroundings weren't what she remembered. The cargo ship was no longer still, but violently rocking in the midst of a heavy storm. Thunder growled in the distance, and waves crashed against the hull with an almost angry rhythm.
Her heart raced as the cold, wet wind lashed at her face. This isn't right… this can't be happening… A chill ran down her spine, and she felt her throat tighten. Erin wiped the water from her face and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.
"I need to find Aamon and Anundr," she muttered under her breath, her voice trembling.
Pulling her jacket tighter around her, Erin made her way toward the ship's entrance. The corridors were dark, dim emergency lights casting faint glows that barely illuminated the narrow paths. The ship groaned under the storm's assault, every creak and groan echoing through the empty hallways like the sound of distant wails.
As she walked cautiously, her ears caught the faint sound of something unusual. It wasn't the storm or the groaning of the ship. It was… a whisper? No, more like a faint scraping noise. She froze, her eyes darting around the corridor.
Then she saw it.
A head—just a head—sticking out from a doorway further down the hall. Erin gasped, stumbling back a step. It wasn't human, not entirely. The face was pallid, with empty sockets where its eyes should have been, and its mouth hung open as if frozen mid-scream.
Her legs moved before her mind could catch up. She turned and sprinted down the corridor, her footsteps loud against the metal floor. She didn't look back, not even as she felt the air grow colder and the ship seemed to tilt unnaturally beneath her.
She stopped when she reached a set of doors marked with rusted signs indicating the way to the lower deck. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, but her panic only grew. The whispering had followed her. It wasn't clear or coherent, just a faint, distorted murmur that made her stomach churn.
And then she heard it.
"Aamon? Anundr?"
The voices were unmistakable, but something was wrong. They weren't calling her name. They were speaking in disjointed, hollow tones, repeating phrases that didn't make sense.
"...The storm is... beautiful... it's calling..."
"...We're below... come find us... Erin..."
Her blood ran cold. She knew their voices, their inflections, but these weren't them. It was like the ship itself was trying to mimic them, twisting their words into something wrong.
Despite the fear clawing at her chest, she gripped the door handle and opened it slowly, descending into the lower deck. The staircase was narrow, the metal steps slick with water dripping from unseen leaks above. The air here was heavier, damp, and carried a faint, metallic tang that made her nose wrinkle.
Each step down felt like a descent into a darker, more oppressive world. The lights here were even dimmer, some flickering sporadically, casting erratic shadows that seemed to shift and move on their own. The whispering grew louder, though it didn't come from any one direction. It was everywhere, surrounding her, filling her ears and her mind.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Erin paused. The corridor stretched out before her, lined with closed doors. Some of them bore scratches and dents, as if something had tried to claw its way out—or in. A faint noise drew her attention, and she turned toward the far end of the hallway.
It was there that she saw it.
A figure stood at the very edge of the flickering light, unmoving. It was tall, unnaturally so, with a hunched posture that made its silhouette seem even more distorted. The light flickered again, and the figure was gone.
Erin's breathing quickened, but she forced herself to move forward. Every step felt heavier than the last, as if the ship itself was trying to hold her back. The whispering morphed into a low hum, vibrating through the walls and the floor beneath her feet.
She reached a door near the end of the hall, the source of the faint noise that had drawn her here. Her hand trembled as she reached for the handle. It was cold, almost painfully so, but she turned it and pushed the door open.
Inside was darkness, so complete it felt like a physical presence. The faint glow from the hallway barely penetrated the room, but Erin stepped inside, her heart pounding.
"Anundr? Aamon?" she called out, her voice shaky.
The door behind her creaked and then slammed shut.
Erin froze in place, her breath caught in her throat as the sound of hurried footsteps echoed in the darkness. The rush of movement was fast and deliberate, drawing closer with each second. Her instincts screamed at her to run, and she obeyed without hesitation, bolting down the corridor in blind panic.
The whispers returned, more insistent now, layering over each other like a chorus of unseen voices.
"Stop."
"Don't run."
"Stay... with us."
Erin shook her head, her legs moving as fast as they could. She rounded a corner and spotted a row of rusted lockers against the wall. Without thinking, she opened one, squeezed herself inside, and slid the door shut as quietly as possible.
Her heart pounded in her chest, loud enough that she feared whatever was chasing her could hear it. Through the narrow slits of the locker, she saw a shadow stretch across the corridor.
The figure came into view, impossibly long and thin, its limbs unnaturally bent as it moved with a slow, deliberate gait. Its head tilted from side to side, as though searching for something—or someone.
Erin held her breath, her hands trembling as the figure passed by her hiding spot. Its movements were eerily silent despite its grotesque, elongated frame. The locker was stifling, the air thick and suffocating, but Erin dared not move.
The figure stopped just a few steps away, its head tilting sharply to the side. Erin's stomach twisted as it seemed to linger, its presence pressing down on her like a weight. Slowly, it began to move away, its uneven footsteps fading into the distance.
For a moment, Erin thought she was safe. She exhaled shakily, relief washing over her. But then, a new sound reached her ears—the groan of metal bending and warping. Her eyes widened as she looked out through the slits.
The figure's head had twisted back, impossibly far, to stare directly at her hiding spot. Its empty, hollow gaze sent chills down her spine.
Before she could react, the creature's elongated arm stretched out, its fingers clawing at the edges of the locker. Erin pressed herself against the back, panic surging through her as the metal door creaked and groaned.
The figure's head slowly pushed through one of the air holes in the locker, its face impossibly close to hers. Erin's breath hitched as she locked eyes with it, unable to move, unable to scream.
The figure didn't speak. It simply stared at her, its presence suffocating and alien.
And then, with a sudden burst of strength, it lifted the locker. Erin screamed as the entire unit was wrenched from its position, her body tumbling inside. The creature carried it effortlessly, its movements slow and deliberate as it made its way through the corridor.
Erin's heart raced as the realization hit her: it was taking her outside. The sound of the storm grew louder, the howling wind and crashing waves a cruel reminder of the ship's perilous state.
The figure reached the edge of the ship, the locker tilting dangerously in its grip. Erin braced herself, the cold metal pressing against her as the door rattled violently.
It was going to drop her overboard.
Erin's screams echoed inside the metallic confines of the locker, her voice muffled but desperate. The figure, its grotesque frame illuminated by flashes of lightning, held the locker over the edge of the ship. Its bony fingers gripped the metal tightly as it prepared to drop her into the dark, churning waters below.
Erin's heart raced, her breaths shallow and rapid as panic consumed her. She banged on the sides of the locker, yelling for help with every ounce of strength she had left.
Suddenly, a sharp crack pierced the stormy air. The figure recoiled, its knees buckling as it stumbled backward. A smoking hole appeared in its chest, the force of the impact momentarily halting its movement.
Aamon stood at the far end of the deck, his finger extended like a gun, his expression as bland as ever. "Let her go," he muttered, though his voice was barely audible over the storm.
The figure trembled, its gaunt form visibly straining. It twisted its head toward Aamon, its hollow eyes narrowing in defiance. With what seemed to be its last ounce of strength, it hurled the locker over the edge, sending Erin plunging into the icy abyss.
Aamon didn't hesitate. He sprinted forward and leapt off the ship, diving into the cold, unwelcoming water below.
The world beneath the surface was silent and dark, the cold biting into his skin as he swam toward the sinking locker. Erin held her breath inside, her vision blurry, her body pressed against the cold metal walls. She could feel herself sinking further, the weight of the locker dragging her into the depths.
Aamon reached the locker, his movements swift and purposeful. He grabbed the handle and yanked, but it wouldn't budge. The metal seemed fused shut, as if the figure had sealed it with some unnatural force.
"Hold on," he said calmly, though Erin couldn't hear him.
A faint glow emanated from Aamon's hand as he touched the locker door. Slowly, the rigid metal began to ripple and shift, transforming into a liquid-like state. With a firm grasp, he reached through the watery surface and pulled Erin out, her body limp and pale from the cold.
As they ascended to the surface, Erin's lungs burned, her body screaming for air. Aamon kicked hard, pulling her with him until they finally broke through. Both gasped for breath, the icy rain pelting their faces as they floated in the turbulent ocean.
Erin clung to Aamon, her body shivering uncontrollably. "The ship," she stammered, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves. "Where's the ship?"
Aamon looked around, his expression unchanging but his gaze sharp and calculating. The cargo ship was gone. The massive silhouette that had loomed over them moments ago had vanished without a trace, leaving them stranded in the middle of the ocean under a storm-ravaged sky.
"Gone," Aamon said flatly, his tone betraying no emotion.
Erin's eyes widened in disbelief. "What do you mean, gone? It can't just—"
"It's not here anymore," Aamon interrupted, glancing up at the darkened sky. "We're somewhere else now."
The two floated in the freezing water, the storm's fury unrelenting. Erin glanced around, searching for any sign of land, debris, anything. But there was nothing—only the endless expanse of black water stretching out in every direction.
"What do we do now?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Aamon looked at her, his expression as unreadable as ever. "We survive."
The cold water seeped into their clothes, sapping their strength with every passing second. Aamon floated silently, his expression unchanging as Erin clung to him, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. She glanced at him, desperate for some semblance of a plan.
"C-Can't you control the water or s-something?" Erin stammered, her voice trembling as much as her body.
Aamon didn't respond immediately, his hand rummaging through the inner pocket of his coat. "No," he said simply, his tone as dry as ever despite the dire situation.
Erin's panic rose as she watched him search, unsure if he was even taking the situation seriously. "Then what are you doing?" she pressed, her voice sharp with fear and frustration.
Aamon pulled out a small glass jar, its lid sealed tight. Inside was a terrarium, a miniature landscape of moss, tiny stones, and a single delicate flower glowing faintly. He held it up for Erin to see, the storm's fury roaring around them.
"What's that supposed to be?" she asked, her voice rising with disbelief.
"The only way we're surviving this," Aamon replied matter-of-factly, his fingers deftly unscrewing the lid.
Before Erin could question further, Aamon activated his power. The jar's contents shimmered, the glow intensifying as a strange force enveloped them. In an instant, the freezing ocean disappeared, and they found themselves inside the jar's terrarium.
Erin stumbled as her feet touched solid ground, her eyes wide with shock. The air was warm and calm, a stark contrast to the chaos they had just escaped. Around them stretched a serene miniature landscape, the glowing flower casting a soft light that seemed to warm the space.
"What… how…?" Erin spun around, her voice faltering as she tried to make sense of their new surroundings.
Aamon, now reclining on the mossy ground, closed his eyes briefly as if resting. "Inside the jar," he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Erin stared at him, incredulous. "That's it? We're just… hiding in here?"
Aamon opened one eye lazily, his tone as flat as ever. "We lost the ship. We're in the middle of nowhere. There's nothing we can do now."
"But—" Erin began, only to be cut off by his raised hand.
"It's up to Anundr," Aamon said, his voice steady but blunt. "He's still out there. He'll handle it. Until then…" He shifted slightly, getting more comfortable on the soft moss. "...we wait."
Erin's fists clenched as she paced back and forth, her mind racing. "You're seriously just going to lie there? What if something happens to him? What if—"
Aamon interrupted her again, his tone taking on a faint edge of irritation. "Panicking won't change anything. If Anundr fails, we won't need to worry about surviving. The storm, the ship… it'll all be over."
His words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. Erin glared at him, frustration mixing with fear, but she couldn't argue. She sat down on the soft ground, hugging her knees as she stared at the glowing flower.
Outside the jar, the storm raged on, the monstrous waves and howling wind battering the dark ocean. Inside, the warmth and stillness felt almost surreal.
Erin's voice was quieter now, almost a whisper. "Do you think he'll make it?"
Aamon didn't answer immediately. He gazed at the ceiling of the jar, his expression unreadable. "He will," he said finally, his voice carrying an unshakable certainty. "Anundr always does."
The echoing thunder outside the ship matched the chaos within as Anundr stood in the dimly lit corridor, surrounded by the grotesque, long, thin figures. Their movements were erratic, almost unnatural, as they advanced on him in waves.
With his shotgun in hand, Anundr stayed calm, his stoic demeanor unwavering. Each pull of the trigger sent one of the creatures crumpling to the ground, their limbs twisting and snapping as they fell. The confined space amplified the deafening blasts, but he moved with calculated precision, never wasting a shot.
"Doesn't matter how many of you there are," Anundr muttered, casually pumping his shotgun for another round. "You'll all drop the same."
Despite his efficiency, the swarm seemed endless, and he knew staying in one place would only make things worse. He quickly scanned the corridor, his sharp eyes searching for any potential exit. He needed to reach the wheelhouse, to take control of the ship—or whatever remained of it.
But every time he made progress, something blocked his path. A twisted mass of debris here, a locked door there, and more of the figures pouring in like a relentless tide. It was as though the ship itself was alive, actively working to trap him.
"Figures," he muttered under his breath, his tone dry as he reloaded. "Always the hard way."
He took a moment to steady himself, his mind racing with possibilities. He knew the layout of most cargo ships, but this one was different—wrong. It twisted and shifted in ways that defied logic, as if the corridors were being rearranged to confuse him.
Anundr turned down another hall, his boots crunching on shattered glass and broken metal. The dim, flickering lights above cast unsettling shadows that danced along the walls, making it hard to distinguish between movement and illusion.
Suddenly, a loud groan echoed through the ship, followed by the unmistakable sound of something heavy scraping against metal. Anundr paused, tightening his grip on his weapon.
"Alright," he said to himself, his tone as casual as if he were on a routine job. "Let's see what you're hiding."
He pressed forward, the corridor narrowing as he moved. The oppressive atmosphere weighed on him, the air thick with the stench of saltwater and decay. Every step felt heavier, the tension building as the sound of the scraping grew louder.
Finally, he reached a junction where two hallways intersected. The path to the wheelhouse should have been straight ahead, but instead, a massive, twisted piece of the ship's hull blocked the way.
"Of course," he muttered, his voice laced with dry sarcasm.
He turned to the side, spotting another potential route. It was darker, the light fixtures completely shattered, but it was the only option. Adjusting his shotgun, he stepped into the shadowy passage.
As he moved deeper, the air grew colder, the temperature dropping unnaturally fast. Frost began to form on the walls, and his breath came out in visible puffs. The eerie silence was broken only by the sound of his footsteps and the faint, unsettling whispers that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves.
"Don't care who's whispering," Anundr said, his tone unshaken. "You want to stop me? Do it to my face."
The whispers didn't respond, but the sound grew louder, almost mocking him.
Anundr pressed on, his focus unwavering. The passage twisted and turned, leading him deeper into the heart of the ship. As he rounded a corner, he came face-to-face with another group of the thin, long figures.
This time, they didn't rush him. They stood there, blocking his path, their hollow eyes staring at him with an unsettling intensity.
Anundr raised his shotgun, aiming steadily. "Move," he said flatly.
The figures didn't react. Instead, one of them tilted its head, the sound of cracking bones echoing through the corridor. Then, in unison, they began to advance, their movements slow but deliberate.
Anundr didn't wait. He fired the first shot, the blast tearing through the nearest figure and sending it crumpling to the floor. The others didn't flinch, continuing their advance.
"Fine," Anundr muttered, pumping his shotgun. "You want it the hard way? Let's go."
He moved with precision, taking down each figure as they approached. But no matter how many he killed, more seemed to emerge from the darkness, their twisted forms blending with the shadows.
Realizing he couldn't waste more time, Anundr decided to change tactics. He quickly scanned the walls, spotting a ventilation grate just big enough to squeeze through. Without hesitation, he shot the bolts off the grate and climbed inside, his shotgun slung over his shoulder.
The crawlspace was tight and claustrophobic, but it offered a temporary reprieve from the figures. As he crawled, he could hear them searching for him below, their distorted voices echoing through the vents.
Finally, the narrow passage opened up into a small maintenance room. Anundr dropped down, landing silently. He quickly checked his surroundings, spotting a ladder that led up to what he hoped was the wheelhouse.
"About time," he muttered, making his way to the ladder.
As he began to climb, a loud crash echoed from the room below. He didn't look back. Whatever was coming for him, he didn't plan to stick around to find out.
Reaching the top of the ladder, Anundr pushed open the hatch and climbed into the wheelhouse. The room was eerily silent, the windows fogged with condensation. He stepped forward, his eyes scanning the controls.
But as he reached for the helm, he noticed something in the reflection of the glass—a figure standing behind him, long and thin, its hollow eyes fixed on him.
Anundr turned slowly, his shotgun at the ready. "You should've stayed downstairs," he said coldly.
The figure lunged.
The wheelhouse was plunged into chaos as the creature's arm, jagged and unnaturally elongated, smashed Anundr's shotgun clean out of his grip and through the window. Glass shattered, fragments whipping into the storm outside. Anundr didn't flinch. His sharp eyes locked onto the figure as it lunged forward, its remaining hand claw-like and lethal.
Anundr shifted his stance, grounding himself for the inevitable collision. The creature swung at him with inhuman speed, its claws aimed for his chest. He sidestepped at the last second, grabbing its arm and twisting sharply. The sound of cracking bone echoed in the confined space, but the creature didn't scream—it simply jerked its head toward him, hollow eyes burning with malice.
It retaliated with a powerful kick, catching Anundr in the ribs and forcing him back a step. The impact would have shattered a normal man, but Anundr didn't falter. Instead, he braced himself, his breathing steady as he assessed its movements.
"Fast," he muttered under his breath. "But not smart."
The creature came at him again, this time leading with a feint—a swipe from its claws followed by a vicious backhand. Anundr caught the feint, raising his forearm to deflect the blow, then ducked under the follow-up. He countered with a brutal elbow to the creature's torso, the force of the strike sending it staggering back.
Before it could recover, Anundr closed the gap. He delivered a series of rapid strikes: a jab to its throat, a knee to its midsection, and a heavy hook to its jaw. Each blow landed with precision, but the creature barely reacted, its body absorbing the punishment unnaturally.
It lashed out again, swiping with its claws in a wild arc. Anundr leaned back just in time, the claws missing his face by mere inches. He seized the opportunity to grab the creature's remaining arm, twisting it behind its back and forcing it to its knees.
The creature thrashed, its strength immense, but Anundr held firm, his grip like iron. "You're strong," he said, his voice calm but firm. "But strength isn't enough."
With a sudden burst of power, the creature wrenched itself free, dislocating its own shoulder in the process. It spun around, its movements erratic, and slammed its head into Anundr's chest. The impact sent him stumbling back, the railing behind him groaning under the strain.
Anundr regained his footing just as the creature charged again. This time, he met its attack head-on. He ducked low, driving his shoulder into its midsection and lifting it off the ground. With a grunt of effort, he slammed the creature onto the floor, the impact shaking the wheelhouse.
The creature writhed, its clawed hand swiping at Anundr's face. He caught its wrist mid-swing, pinning it to the ground. With his free hand, he delivered a devastating punch to its head, the force of the blow denting the floor beneath it.
But the creature didn't stay down. It kicked upward, its foot connecting with Anundr's jaw and knocking him back. It scrambled to its feet, its movements jerky but determined.
Anundr wiped the blood from his lip, his expression unchanged. "Tough bastard," he muttered.
The creature lunged one final time, its body a blur of motion. Anundr sidestepped at the last second, grabbing it by the back of the neck and using its momentum to hurl it through the broken window.
The storm outside roared as the creature disappeared into the darkness, its hollow scream swallowed by the wind.
Anundr stood there for a moment, his breathing steady despite the brutal fight. He looked down at his knuckles, bloodied but unshaken, then turned to the shattered controls of the wheelhouse.
"Now," he said to himself, his voice low and even. "Let's figure this mess out."
The sound of the engine whirring echoed through the eerie silence of the wheelhouse as Anundr examined the controls. The gauges flickered erratically, and the ship groaned as if alive. Without hesitation, he reached for the lever to turn the engine off.
The moment the engine stopped, an ear-splitting scream tore through the air. It wasn't human. It was deep, guttural, and filled with anguish. The entire ship seemed to shudder in response, and then, slowly, flames began to spread across the walls and floor.
Anundr didn't wait for an explanation. He spun on his heel and rushed out of the wheelhouse.
The corridors were unrecognizable. Blood seeped from the walls, pooling on the floor and creating a sickening squelch beneath his boots. Jets of scalding steam hissed from unseen cracks, filling the air with a suffocating heat. The once-sterile hallways now pulsated as though they had become part of some monstrous organism.
Figures emerged from the rooms, their long, thin forms moving unnaturally fast. They swarmed toward him, their hollow eyes locked onto him like predators zeroing in on prey.
Anundr fired his sidearm with precision, each shot landing squarely on its mark. Figures crumpled, but more poured out of the shadows, their numbers unrelenting. He reloaded on the move, his calm demeanor betraying none of the urgency of his situation.
As the ship groaned louder, the metal walls began to buckle. A deep rumble signaled the ship's impending demise. Anundr sprinted through the chaos, dodging the steam and the grasping figures. The corridor ahead lit up with the glow of fire as the ship began to break apart.
In a split second, Anundr reached the edge of the deck. Without hesitation, he leapt into the icy ocean below.
Behind him, the ship exploded in a massive fireball, sending shockwaves through the water. The force of the blast pushed him deeper into the ocean, the cold biting into his skin.
When he surfaced, coughing and shaking off the chill, he noticed the faint outline of a harbor in the distance. His sharp eyes scanned the horizon, and he realized that the real cargo ship—the one untouched by whatever nightmare he'd just escaped—had exploded too. The employees were now standing on the harbor, seemingly dazed but back to their normal selves.
Anundr began swimming toward the harbor, but something icy and unrelenting wrapped around his leg.
He was yanked downward, the water rushing past him as he struggled against the grip. A figure loomed below him, its empty eyes glowing faintly in the dark water. Anundr fought to free himself, kicking and twisting, but its grip was unyielding.
His vision blurred as his lungs screamed for air. Just as his strength began to falter, a muffled sound rang through the water.
The figure's head exploded in a burst of black ichor, the force loosening its grip. Anundr swam upward, breaking the surface with a gasp, and turned to see Aamon treading water nearby.
Aamon's hand was outstretched, his finger pointed like a gun. He gave Anundr a blank but knowing look, his demeanor calm despite the chaos they'd just endured.
"Took you long enough," Anundr said, his tone casual as always, even while catching his breath.
Aamon shrugged. "Figured you could handle it. Guess I was wrong."
Anundr smirked faintly, already paddling toward the harbor. "Next time, try being wrong sooner."
Aamon floated for a moment before following, his usual deadpan expression returning. "Next time, don't lose your shotgun."