“Go grab some rope. And tell Delia I’m sorry.”

“Wha-“

Jonah jumped into the sea, sword first.

“-at the fuck,” he heard Jeremy finish, but he was already gone.

Jonah opened his eyes as cold water embraced him. He felt them burn as they adjusted to the water, though he noticed the rest of his aching body felt numb.

The water was a murky, turbulent mess, with debris and sediment swirling around him in all directions like the storm clouds that raged above. He couldn’t make out any details beyond the ominous shadow beyond. The poor visibility combined with the constant movement made it feel like he was trapped in an endless vortex.

Still, even if he couldn't see more than a few inches in front of his face, he knew where he had to go.

Fortitude filling him, Jonah kicked off towards the shadow of death. He had only travelled a dozen metres before he was pushed off course by another powerful surge of water.

It was like being a leaf in a tornado. The feeling of dread passed over him once more, but the thought of a memory - the Shipwrights final stand - sprung him into action.

Jonah wasn’t at the mercy of some unseen, malevolent force. It wasn’t the storm he was fighting. It was a beast. And beasts could be slain.

He kicked off again, struggling against the currents. His movements felt sluggish, but he had to move. He was on a timer and his pounding heart reminded him.

After making no progress for a few more seconds, a thought occurred to him.

He spun around and charged the sword with mana. When he released the air strike, it propelled him backwards as he had expected. His back cried in pain, the memory of its previous abuse returning, but Jonah ignored it. He repeated it again and again, as he moved at a blistering pace.

The brief parting of the sea also gave him respite, and he inhaled the air before the water crashed over him once more.

It wasn't too long until Jonah’s back smashed into the creature itself. He had arrived.

He turned around as his grip on the sword tightened whilst fear and hope warred in his soul. If he couldn’t cut it…

Jonah’s mouth was on the verge of opening. He fought the impulse to gasp water, narrowly avoiding drowning. It would have been an anticlimactic end.

In front of him were a deep set of red eyes, a swirling and shimmering cosmos. They looked like the gates of a universe beyond and were larger than he was tall. Within the shifting red sea, there was a pitch-black straight line as thick as his torso that cut horizontally — its pupil, he assumed.

Despite the beauty of the eyes, something was unsettling about the way the Kraken watched him. It was clearly intelligent, that much was obvious. It was as if the beast was trying to measure Jonah, to assess his worth, or perhaps his threat, in some way. He couldn't help but feel a sense of unease under its scrutiny, but as his lungs screamed, he knew he had to act.

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Jonah plunged his weapon into an eye. There was no resistance, and he didn’t know what to think of that. The sword slid in like it was entering a doorway into another world, as though his initial assessment was right

Jonah drifted the sword in an upward motion and the red ink from the iris bled into the sea, tainting it red.

He was cutting it like he was cutting butter. Hope filled Jonah as he swam upwards, dragging the blade along with him until suddenly, he was above the water and in the air.

Jonah took in a deep breath, but it felt like the remaining air in his lungs was escaping him.

Something wasn’t right.

His body screamed in agony, his chest caving in on itself. Fear, panic and pain seemed to manifest in physical form, crushing him. It took every fibre of his being to concentrate. He blinked, a heavy fog lifting from his mind before he realised his predicament.

The Kraken had wrapped him around with a tentacle and had raised him far above the sea. It was squeezing the life out of him.

Defiant in the face of death, Jonah smiled.

The pain was overwhelming, but that didn't matter. He had cut it at least, made it feel some semblance of pain prior to perishing.

Before he let the grace of sleep take him over, he panned his gaze back to The Featherless Owl. It had been his home for almost a decade now. His eyes glazed over, memories flashing in his mind before they settled on Delia. How she looked in her yellow dress and complimenting blonde hair. How her face seemed to brighten every time she spoke about some new science fact she had learnt. How her pale skin used to blush bright pink when he flattered her.

Jonah looked at the ship as he remembered with fondness of how her hands were on either side of her mouth, screaming his name whilst the sky cried for her. How small and frail she looked from a distance, and at how Jeremy yanked at her, stopping her from jumping.

No.

Jonah’s eyes blurred but his mind sharpened. This was now. She was calling him now as she watched him die. She didn’t deserve that.

Courage and resolve coursing through his veins, Jonah tightened his grip on the Midnight Ode.

That was good. But he couldn’t move his arms. That was bad.

The ship guard's mind could only form simple, short thoughts, exhausted; it was tired of warning him, in too much pain to concentrate, and had no energy to think of a plan.

Instead of thinking, Jonah prayed, an instinctual reaction at the doors of death.

He made a prayer to God as he twisted his wrist.

The sword made contact with the vice that held him and the Midnight Ode pierced it with ease.

Relief flooded him as blood showered down from the cut and the grip on his life lessened.

Jonah moved his wrist further, his mind spurred into action along with the air filled his lungs.

Then the world began to blur as he was tossed around like a ragdoll, the Kraken clearly not fond of being cut.

Jonah's stomach and soul were in several places at once, tracing an illusionary path, chasing where he was before he wasn't.

After what felt like a disorienting minute but was likely a few seconds, the hand stilled again. His mind reeled from the jerking motion, and stomach emptied itself.

Getting some presence of mind, the ship guard considered himself lucky he wasn't flattened against the sea or the ship.

He would have flown off like a cannonball if the Kraken held him any looser...

Not willing to roll the dice, Jonah used the sword to cut free from his prison.

The tentacle fell with him, a dozen feet from the water's surface, which seemed to be in chaos.

It surprised him he hadn’t heard the creature shriek. In fact, he couldn’t even hear the waves or the storm raging above. But then again, he couldn’t feel his body aching either as adrenaline flooded him.

As he plunged back into the water, Jonah focused on the task at hand.

He knew he could cut it. Now he had to kill it.