As the door closed behind Alaric, he collapsed back, his body pressing against it while his knees buckled. For a moment, his body felt too heavy, his mind numb.

  Supporting himself against the door, he recalled everything he had just heard:

  Abu had been captured.

  The resistance was on the verge of destruction.

  And Kabul had perished—without Alaric even being there for his final moments.

  It all happened in an instant.

  Just yesterday, he had been venturing into the unknown, hope rising from the sea like the dawn.

  And now, it was all in the past.

  With chaos flooding his thoughts, he couldn’t help but shiver uncontrollably, his emotions surging like a storm-tossed sea.

  After some time in silence, Alaric regained the strength to stand and walked toward a chair near his table. As he pulled it out and was about to sit, a knock came at the door.

  Someone was knocking.

  With a brief pause, he pushed the chair back in and approached the door. When he opened it, a skeletal figure stood outside, nervously awaiting the door to open.

  Alaric stared at the figure and asked,

  “Why are you here?”

  The skeletal figure stuttered in reply,

  “Sir! Mr. Andrew has requested your presence on the fifth floor below deck. It seems to be urgent and requires your attention.”

  As he finished speaking, the figure jolted to the side, clearing the path for the captain to pass.

  Alaric, though exhausted from everything he had endured that day, knew he couldn’t simply return to bed. As the captain of this ship, he had a responsibility to address anything unexpected—especially matters that could endanger the crew.

  He knew Andrew wouldn’t summon him unless the situation was serious.

  After a brisk walk to the stairwell and five descents downward, he arrived where Andrew awaited him.

  Alaric didn’t let his weariness show on his face—what was left of it. He walked with vigor and authority all the way down.

  When he reached the fifth floor, Demono was also present, making him instantly more alert.

  Alaric now stood beside two figures—

  One slender, with glasses perched on his skull and a register in hand.

  The other broad-shouldered, with a large blade strapped to his bony back.

  Both greeted their captain with a respectful bow.

  “What is it now?” Alaric asked with a hint of agitation in his voice.

  They knew him well—he hated long-winded explanations. They quickly briefed him and led him toward a hatch that descended to the sixth floor.

  The sixth floor was the bottom of the Black Crown. It was where people rowed the ship with long oars.

  As the hatch opened and the ladder was revealed, both men descended before their captain.

  Alaric followed, placing his hands on the cold rungs. Something about the place felt... off.

  As he descended, gripping the ladder, he noticed a slight tremor—something was faintly shaking the entire floor.

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  His back was to the room, so he couldn’t see what was behind him—but he felt something was there. What exactly, he couldn’t say.

  When his feet touched the floor, he turned slowly—facing the reason he had been summoned.

  What he saw defied imagination.

  The entire room—once filled with rows of benches and a clear path across the ship—was now buried beneath a pulsating, bright red mass of flesh.

  One thought rang through his mind:

  What am I looking at?

  The thing before him couldn’t be described in ordinary terms. If he had to explain it, it would go something like this:

  A grotesque amalgamation of flesh and bone had taken over the floor. At its center was a ribcage-like structure, taller than a man and longer than a small whale. Inside this cage pulsed a blob of flesh, expanding and contracting rhythmically.

  From somewhere within, a deep, steady thumping echoed outward—a sound like a giant heartbeat, vast and powerful.

  The rest of the monstrosity spread wherever it could, clinging to walls, oozing along the floor. Some parts even tried to seep into the wood—as though it sought to devour the ship itself.

  The entire sixth floor had become its lair.

  If Alaric had to guess, his best “logical” explanation was that a sea monster had been skinned and stuffed into his ship—yet miraculously left the ship undamaged and somehow remained alive by consuming the wood around it.

  Even that absurd explanation seemed more comforting than the truth.

  For a moment, the three men simply stared in silence. Demono glanced at Andrew. Andrew returned the look. No one spoke.

  Then they turned to Alaric—who had stepped forward toward the mass.

  Both men hesitated, nervous, tempted to stop him—but ultimately held back. They trusted that their captain knew what he was doing.

  The truth was, Alaric didn’t know what he was doing.

  When he had first seen the thing, his instincts screamed to flee—to abandon the ship, board the docked skiff, and leave this cursed place.

  But the longer he stared, the less afraid he felt. Somehow, the grotesque heap didn’t repulse him. Some part of him even wanted to reach out and touch it.

  It was the same feeling he’d had when sensing a ship approaching through the fog—an unexplainable instinct. That same instinct was stirring again.

  Last time, it had saved them.

  He decided to trust it again.

  After a moment of internal debate, he stepped forward. Reaching out with a bony hand, he touched a section of the red flesh.

  The moment contact was made, the entire ship trembled. A ripple surged out from his hand, and suddenly—

  Alaric was no longer in his body.

  He could feel everything.

  Flesh-veined tendrils had spread through every part of the ship—from the tallest mast to the lowest anchor, from bow to stern. Even the ropes and chains had been touched.

  The ship was alive. And he was a part of it.

  Pain hammered in his skull. He released the flesh and stepped back, gasping.

  He looked at his two subordinates, who stood ready for anything.

  With a calm voice, he said,

  “This... creature seems to be alive.”

  Demono remained still—he had suspected this.

  Andrew, however, panicked. His eyes darted around, finally landing on the torch in his hand, the fire dancing as his mind raced.

  Alaric noticed.

  Before things could spiral, he spoke again, his voice sharp:

  “The situation isn’t urgent. We’ll think about what to do later.” He looked directly at Andrew. “Don’t do anything unless I give a clear order. Otherwise, this could spiral out of control. Until then, no one enters this floor without my permission.”

  Both men nodded in agreement, and the trio ascended the ladders, Alaric behind them.

  Before leaving, Alaric paused, looking back one last time. His thoughts were clouded.

  As he continued toward the upper floors, faint sobbing and banging sounds echoed from nearby cabins.

  He stopped.

  Demono approached quietly and said in a low voice,

  “The half-rotted crew members are housed there. When we were preparing for a possible fight, I ordered them to be kept away from danger.”

  Alaric listened with a tinge of sadness. He simply replied,

  “I understand.”

  He returned to his cabin, closing the door behind him.

  Stripping off his clothes, he entered the bath he had prepared earlier.

  As the hot water touched his skeletal frame, he felt something like joy—an odd sensation, since he no longer had skin. Yet the water brought him comfort.

  It was strange—he could feel the water flowing in and out of him. He didn’t know how to describe the sensation, but it was oddly exhilarating.

  As he soaked, he let the tension of the day wash away.

  Ten minutes later, he emerged, donned a nightgown, lit a cigar, and walked to the full-length mirror.

  There, he studied his new form in silence.

  He put the lit cigar in his hollow month and sucked in, the smoke inside the cigar flared up and through the neck it went into the ribcage where the lungs should have been.

  After a moment of holding in Alaric exhale and the smoke floating in his ribs puffed up. The scene of smoke coming from between the ribs and around the neck felt bizarre to him.

  He has seen rather bizarre things today which he wouldn't have believed was possible just yesterday and today even after seeing all that Alaric thought this was more absurd than those.

  After a moment of recollection he left the cigar on a ash tray and walked toward his bed. After a very long day he had finally made his way to his bed.

  As he laid down in his bed and thought of closing his eyes he remember that he doesn't have any eyes anymore.

  Without caring much of that fact he tried to just forget about everything and let the darkness overtake him, but that didn't happened.

  After minutes of him just laying there nothing happened, He couldn't fell into sleep.