Above deck, the storm reached its crescendo. The Yuki Onna's wrath unleashed itself upon the crew, her powers manifesting in terrifying force. Blasts of icy wind howled across the ship, flinging men overboard with ruthless precision. Snow whipped through the air in a blinding flurry, suffocating the cries of those who tried to resist. Ice spikes erupted from the deck, impaling sailors where they stood, their bodies freezing into grotesque sculptures.

The once-bustling crew was reduced to chaos and carnage. The Yuki Onna's figure hovered amidst the devastation, her kimono flowing like an ethereal banner in the storm. Her gaze swept across the ship, cold and unyielding, as though judging each soul before sealing its fate. One by one, the crew fell, their struggles futile against the relentless force of her vengeance.

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And then, as swiftly as she had come, she stopped. The winds abated, the snow ceased its blinding fury, and the ship, now eerily silent, creaked under the weight of its frost-covered timbers.

She turned towards the frozen harbour, her expression inscrutable. Without a word or glance back, she glided away, her form dissolving into the storm as if she had never been there.

The ship lay in silence, a graveyard adrift on icy waters. Below deck, Willoughby clung to the bolted door, his breath shallow and rapid as the oppressive stillness settled around him. Robert stirred faintly on the bunk, his unconscious form twitching as though caught in a nightmare.

Above, the Yuki Onna was gone, but the spectral chill of her presence lingered, a haunting reminder of the vengeance she had wrought–and of her promise to return.