It had been some time since Logan had last been shot. By his count, at least a year. He had hoped not to feel it again, but it served as a reminder that he had made a wise decision in having Jorn train Luna, despite how much she’d hate him for it.
The pellets rained down from his wound one-by-wound and by his increasing hunger, he could tell that the damage had been substantial, despite the relatively small projectiles.
He hobbled over towards the dry storage and opened the door to a most curious sight - a single pan of rotting, maggot-infested meats lay in the sweltering heat, reeking to the high heavens. He grunted and reached out his glove to pick some of the maggots from the warm, congealed, rotting blood. Maggots - far from one of his favorites, as they were ill-fitted for his teeth. Still, he enjoyed the sensation of their popping, but the almost chemical aftertaste left a sour fragrance in his nostrils as he went on to search the rest of the kitchen, only to find… nothing.
He could easily digest the rotten meat and wouldn’t be harmed for it. But even with his past, he still had standards and whatever Monstrum meat simmered on the stove had to be there somewhere.
It was then he came upon the hatch in the floor. A well-worn metal loop promised frequent use, but such was the life of a tavern-boy, he surmised. Still - he’d expected less spindly arms of a creature dragging heavy barrels of drink up and down whatever stairs hid beneath the hatch.
He dragged the creaking cover open to find a neatly cleaned brick stair leading into the depths. Deciding not to tarry too long, he quick made his way down into the room of tall-stacked barrels of wine and spirits - surprised to find it a neat and ordinary place. Ordinary except from a long crack in the brick wall - a wide, gaping thing leading into a blinding darkness. He rested his palm on the red bricks and peered in, only to find that neither of his eyes could see anything.
He was no expert on food, but it struck him as odd that the tavernkeepers would have the vegetables in a crate on the floor. They were fresh, too - potatoes, corn, tomatoes. “So much for not having starches, you little fucker…” Logan grumbled as he considered whether he could’ve saved himself a shower of pellets to the leg if he had been honest about his stocks in the first place.
“Commander. Are you still in here?” He heard from upstairs.
“Down here, Captain - just having a look at the stocks.” The Ghast cracked his neck and sat down atop a barrel as the Captain’s wide form walked cautiously down the stairs to inform: “The nastiness upstairs has been handled. The brigg’s going to be full tonight - I can already tell.” Logan scoffed and nodded agreeingly.
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“Nothing like a good fight. I was starving, so I decided to go into the kitchen and look for something to eat, but they only had some stew boiling up there. Vegetables get stuck in my teeth- I’m not a fan.” The Captain arrived down the stairs, suddenly fascinated by the vegetables, judging by his inattentiveness to the Ghast.
“I can imagine. I-... I saw your teeth… back then.” Logan shrugged - he was not the first to come asking questions after having caught a glimpse of him.
“I’m not sure what to say, Commander… for years, I’ve tried to forget that day. And you don’t even seem to remember it.” There was a quiver to his voice as he spoke. Logan imagined the man wished to talk and remained put on the barrel, only glancing cautiously over at the Captain when he was sure he was not looking.
As was usual, the Captain’s forehead glistened in the dim lamplight. He kept rubbing the left, pained side of his face - a habit, Logan supposed, from his incessant wiping of sweat and drool from the damaged side of his face.
“I asked a question up there. What did we kill? Was there a Behemoth? If so, perhaps you can jostle my memory by telling me about that.” The Captain had no plan when he had gone there, as much was obvious. For years, he had waited - re-living that day, hearing his voice - seeing his inhumanity. He had simply decided to face his demon and confront him about what had happened. Now that he was there… he was clueless as to what to say.
“It was an embryonic Gargant if I’ve read your Codex correctly. Still just a shell of what it could’ve been… you said it had people in it, but you never explained that part in your book.” He was surprised anyone outside the Ghasts had read the thing - let alone knew that he had been the cataloguer. This was no ordinary Captain.
“I remember it. The pass - we started a forest fire. I imagined I’d get flack for that, but they gave me a medal; you, too, if I remember correctly.” The Captain closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and nodded.
Logan continued to explain: “If you’ve read the damn thing, you know that the Monstrum always have a function. You have the ground-troops - the spitters, the skitteres and the likes. Then, you have the Behemoths. All of them carry gene-seeds to start new colonies of creep, but they’re designed to travel great distances, unleash devastation and break into new territories… Gargants… Gargants are enders of worlds - capable of on-the-go reproduction; even digestion by utilizing the humans inside of its body. The artillery took out most of the batteries if I remember that day correctly… I just killed the remaining ones.”
The Captain rubbed his palms over his face and nodded. He knew not to ask, but he had to.
“By batteries, you mean people. Enslaved. Stuck in pods… harvested for digestive enzymes and the likes.” Logan nodded - surprised to find another connoisseur of the Monstrum.
“What’s this about, Captain? I can’t undo the past. If you’re left with emotional trauma, there’s not much I can do for you except requisition a priest.” The Captain did not look up from his gloved hands.
“I know, Commander. But I need-... I need to know… do you remember what you said to me that day?” Logan shook his head - he could barely remember the event at all except how long it had taken him to regenerate from the damage.
“Then I’ll tell you all about it.”