• Graded • Every Wave a Tear

[Limbo]

8th of Zi’da, 716
4th Break

Like a thunder, Kovic’s stomach roared in the middle of the night. Fiercely, the male pressed his palm against his flesh, trying to massage it, to calm it, to quench the hunger that plagued him. His own body punishing him for living, for existing in a world that did not fit him. Sweat covered his flesh, and his body was slowly starting to burn, its temperature having increased so much that even naked he couldn’t help but feel his blood making soup. What had been a brilliant young mind, capable of incredible feats of logic and the capacity to learn as fast as any child was now blank, for white noise had overcome his ears. Curled into a ball, the Mortalborn suffered his own hunger like never before.

Three meals a day were not enough, not even close. How dare they offend him with such poor rations? Did they not know what he was, or just what he was capable of doing if not satiated? Were they not aware of how close he was to perfection, to creating a race above all mortals? His delusional mind struggled to resist, trying to satiate the hunger with thought alone. How much he hated hunger he did not know, yet said hunger was also the very foundation of his life. Could a painter live without art? Could a musician live without music? Could Kovic exist without hunger? His hand gripped his ears, and whilst he covered them a long whine escaped him in the night. Like a child, he hoped that if he did not hear it, nobody else would.

Nobody else did, for the night was not calm, and the rocking of the vessel was certainly not soothing. Were the skies mocking him, as well? Was the world to disappear once he died? He was the center of the world, and without its center the world would collapse. Nobody mattered in the picture but the owner, the creature that now agonized in its hammock like a maggot in the flesh.

Kovic had tried to be civilized. He knew he had tried. He worked hard throughout the day, even when the ocean scared him beyond what he could handle. He socialized with the other sailors, even if cogs were more complicated than their mind. All he required in return is to be fed, for nothing else mattered to him. Now, the dozen individuals that composed the vessel’s entire crew had become gluttons, for his aura of famine had made them hungry. And as they all ate, and as the meals grew bigger, the supplies ran shorter and shorter with every passing trial, and so did the rations. Everyone was hungry in their own way, but Kovic was the true victim of it all.

No more.

Incapable to cope with the overwhelming appetite, Kovic stood up at last. In the darkness of the storage room, he stood up, naked in his form, staring at the nothingness, seeing nothing but the void. His chest rose with every fast breath, and the sweat slid down his damp frame. As the night outside roared its harsh winds and violently shook the galleon, Kovic was finally on the move. His pace was fast but silent, the predator as silent as a ghost. Most of the boat was bathed in that same funerary darkness, for nobody wished to see the light whilst they fought hunger.

Kovic’s body was mutating already. He could feel how new tissues formed within him, new unknown structures replaced old ones, and parts of his body were disappearing with every step. If only they could see how glorious he was, how much possibility lied hidden in his body, then they would understand why he would murder all of them. Specimens like him deserved the sacrifice of the genetically inferior.

When Kovic arrived to the cannon room, he found exactly what he was hoping to find. Frannoc, sailor, friend of Marco, enemy of Gullot. Male, average--- It mattered not. A good meal, ready, drunk and defenseless. Kovic’s limb rose, yet it was not an arm what he wielded. Bone had overtaken the limb, spiraling around soft tissue, creating spikes and points, forging an instrument one could only brand as a sort of ceremonial mace. His entire forearm was now a weapon, and as it fell, it’s power was proven, for the drunk male’s head was cracked open and the blood splattered all over the wood. At starboard, the moonlight that passed through the cannon port dyed the blood black, and the bone that composed Kovic’s forearm gleamed in grim and sinister glory for the skies to behold.

The biological weapon was securely stuck on the male’s head, which still lived the remainder of his life in spasm, and so Kovic drug his meal deeper within the vessel.

As the apex predator, the creature was eager to consume the produce of its hunt.

-----

8th Break

Like every morning, the bells ringed at exactly the eight break, and so everyone in the vessel began shaking off their dreams in order to continue the vessel’s journey. Luxurious fabrics and spices like they carried needed to be sold, for the quest for profit never ended. Zi’da was as cold as expected, yet the ocean certainly did not allow blistering colds to just take over – or, at least, not that easily. The trading vessel was certainly strong enough to withstand whatever climate tried to vault it, and so its crew had to be just as effective.

Kovic yawned, for he hadn’t really rested all that much throughout the night. Taking a few moments to relish his lips, the male finally incorporated himself from the pile of sacks he had been given as a mattress. Considering he was traveling and working for no pay, save for food and transportation that is, his quarters were quite elegant according to his colleges. Dressing up with his ill-fitted clothing, which stank as much as the sack of spices he had chosen sleep on tonight, he began making his way up the vessel. He did not have to advance too much before the alarmed voices began calling for aid.

In one of the ammunition rooms a bloodbath had occurred for every gathered crewmember to witness, for everyone gathered quickly and fell quiet under the sight. A moderately small cabin filled with boxes of chain-shots was not entirely tinted in a dry red, yet there was no body whatsoever present in the room. Not even a single bone had remained from whatever had transpired there, except the pools of coagulated blood that had become similar to a scab.
“Frannoc is missing,” announced a voice.

[Syhera Ki'hadi]

12th of Zi'da, 716 Arc

Syhera Ki'hadi had awoken to the profession of blood; of murder. The captain was to be informed as soon as possible, but in the meantime, the men had come to her. The messenger, a boy perhaps no more than eighteen had been frantic, his patchy stubble an excuse for manhood, and his eyes were wide with fear. He smelled like fish and sweat, certainly not what she wanted to be introduced to at such an early hour, especially after a night of pouring over maps, and she watched his mouth move with subtle irritation on her face as she dressed- "One of our men went missing, and there's blood in the ammunition rooms. It's everywhere and there's a murderer-"

She held up a hand, her painted nails waving back and forth, as she applied rogue lipstain in her mirror. Her lips rubbed together and she watched the boy from the glass, "Does the Captain know?"

"He's being informed right now, Lady Navigator," the boy gulped, wringing his hands, "Words spreading across the ship like wildfire. The men are saying we need to turn around, that we need to go home. There's bad luck brewing. It's a sign."

The Biqaj frowned, and snatched the coat that had been resting on the back of her chair. She had worked hard on this expedition and to be told they were turning right back around? Ha. She refused. Sliding it on, she retrieved her shoes and slipped them on. Wasting no time, heels clicked steadily against wood as she made her way to where the crowd had gathered. Shimmers of blood blacked by shadow and she pushed through the burly crowd, "Move," she commanded.

A few bodies shifted and her eyes scanned over the remaining carnage. In truth, with no body - it was hardly that gruesome, but disturbing none the less. She sighed, as if this was all inconvenient, "Who saw Frannoc last?"

[Limbo]

Everyone was restless. The group that gathered before the tiny cabin, packed as they were, were slowly growing suspicious. Eyes flew to the sides, watching the men around them, certain they saw flinches, invented signs of guilt. Every man was certain that it was not he whom ended Frannoc, but that certainty did not apply for the others.
“Where’s the body?” asked a sailor.
“There is no body. Everything’s clean.”
“This is fucked, man,” whispered a sailor to his partner. “This is so fucked.”
“Are we going to turn around?”

The unvoiced mental turmoil brewing within every mind was temporarily interrupted at the arrival of the ship’s navigator. All eyes landed on the female, yet none leered. There was no lust to be found in men scared of their demise. Clearing a path for her to witness the cabin, Kovic, standing at the back, was almost pressed to the wall with the sudden movement of bodies. He remained silent, yet worry was clearly present in his features. What he would’ve expected to be a night of devouring every last crewmate had turned out to be one mere hunt, and staring at the barf that were the remains of him proved his point. One body was not only enough to satiate him, but also return his mind onto calm.

The female’s question came, and the men were quick in throwing their accusations.
“It was Marco,” called out a crewmate. “I saw him walking off the quarters.”
Considering anything below deck had to pass through the cannon-room, the accusation is valid.
“I went to take a shit, you fuck!” replied Marco, a gruff man wearing a bandana. “When I came back, he was talking to Garret.”
“Like hell he was!” exploded said Garret. “I ran by him when he was returning from the provision room. Timmers, weren’t you told to stop giving away our rations?”
“Don’t try to pin this on me, Garret,” replied Timmers. “We’re lacking food, not alcohol. And you’re still the one that saw him last!”
“What!? I didn’t kill nobody!” Garret turned around, and pointed towards Marco. “I bet it was Marco. Frannoc fucked his wife!”
“What did you say about my wife!?”
“What you heard! Remember when your princess brought desserts when we docked Ne’haer? Well, Frannoc docked inside her, and she got some dessert as well!”
Both men began pushing, eager to shatter the skull of the other, and now the packed crowd became a circle of madness. Everyone yelled, pushed to one side of the other, eager to kill everyone around them until only they, the only innocents they knew, were left standing.
“Stop this!” announced the powerful voice of the Captain. “Stop this immediately!”

The physical violence ceased, but the damage had been done. Two sides had existed long before this moment, and the bloodbath had been enough to tear them apart.
“Go into the cannon room, and behave yourselves!” called the Captain, whom now was able to inspect the room from the entrance. “First Navigator Ki’hadi and Purser Pariah, come.”
Pariah, a fat, sweaty male, stood beside Syhera. He acknowledged her with a nod, and repeated the gesture with the Captain.
“This is going to get rough,” he began, keeping his voice down. “We’ve got a murderer on board, so as the administration, I want you two to take responsibility and be just. We’re not letting chaos spread throughout the ship, do you understand? Let’s be sensible about this. Any questions?”

Meanwhile, in the cannon room, the crowd had been split in two. The first one was that of the deck crew. Marco, the boatswain, the leader of this group and the man whose wife had apparently been breached by the dead man, stood strong with his mates at starboard. The bonds formed whilst working under the sun remained now, and even if the distrust was general, they preferred to believe their group was a single body rather than a collection of individuals.

The second group was that of the subdeck crew, and of lower ranking within the vessel, which stood at port side. The doctor, the carpenter and the master-at-arms were all gathering around Garret, the carpenter. Frannoc, the Gunner, had obviously been a part of this group, and so they strongly believed Marco to be the culprit. He had motive, after all. Kovic, being the cook’s assistant, was in this group.

The third, unspoken group was that of the officers. The Captain, the navigator, and the purser were in charge, and so everyone awaited for them, for everyone distrusted everyone – especially those at the opposite side of the ship.

[Syhera Ki'hadi]

12th of Zi'da, 716 Arc

Her simple question nearly started a war, and as the shoving started, someone bumped into her arm, sending her staggering on thin heels. These men were acting like caged animals, their slaughter on the horizon with fresh blood in the air. Their fear was a hereditary defect, and had it not been for the booming of the Captain's voice, Hera was well prepared to slash her nails across the next man who touched her, if not to distract from the irrationality and demand attention.

Both sides split up, forming packs of loyalty and the Captain and purser broke off with her by their side. The orders were clear – keep the peace, keep the command. The purser spoke first, “Will this interfere with delivery?”

Hera's eyes flashed to the captain, but she cleared her throat, “We don't have the supplies to turn around now. Murder or not, we will all die from starvation. It's not an option at this point.” She looked to the Captain, “Let me convince the men that this is our best route. I can try to expedite our course, but I'm not sure the weather will agree.”

The man in charge nodded, expelling a deep sigh, “How bad?”

Hera shrugged, “A few clear nights, but the seas might not be so forgiving,” she looked to the purser, “You should prepare for backlash when we make it to port. It would be ill timing for your business to obtain a bad reputation from this.”

The three were in agreement, the Captain straightening, “I will conduct questioning. We need to find out who was responsible and handle the situation. Ki'hadi, reassure the men and see what you can do to speed this vessel along, Pariah, double check your supplies. The last thing we need is our culprit to be a thief as well,” With that, the man walked starboard and waved towards Marco for a little discussion.

Hera's eyes scanned over the men, jumping from one group to the other. Someone had killed another, and despite personal setbacks, this was unsettling. She nodded towards Purser Pariah and walked confidently towards port side, choosing the group the Captain had not. These were the individuals on the lower end of the spectrum of things – who had spent the most time with Frannoc.

As she approached, she fussed with the cuff of her jacket, folding the fabric as she cleared her throat and took her position before the men, “Good morning, gentlemen,” the greeting had no warmth, and she watched them carefully and spoke before more madness could erupt, “There has been some talk about turning this vessel around. A show of hands, who wants to do that?” No one stepped forward, but the hand of the doctor hesitated at his waist before lifting ever so slightly.

Hera's own palm shot out like harsh lightning, a cruel slap snapping his head to the side, “That's not going to happen, Here's why-” She looked at each of the men in equal measure to reiterate her seriousness, and held up her fingers, “Sailors fear three things: Starvation, storms, and sinking. All of which are a very real possibility if you decide to be fools.”

“Now,” she paced before them, “Before the captain has a little discussion with you all, let's make one thing very clear. I do not care who killed your little friend. I care about one thing – making sure this ship gets from point A to point B. We do that, you never have to see each other again. But without me and the grace of my guiding hand...” she paused for dramatic effect, “You die, murderer or not. Understood?” she smiled, an essence of sweetness touching her words, “Now, I have to plan some rather dubious maneuvering and perform a miracle,” the Captain's figure began to approach, Hera stepping back to make room for his presence, “Do try and behave.”

[Limbo]

She was so profesional.

Many men could learn something from this female, though Kovic as he listened to the navigator’s speech. No signs of restlessness nor panic were present in her features, and unlike the rest of the crew, she seemed to approach the situation with logic rather than useless sentiment. Kovic, the culprit, wouldn’t be found, and so the crew’s panic would do them absolutely no good. Turning around seemed impossible, and their reluctance to work the vessel would only cause delays in the arrival to wherever it was they were going. Kovic pondered for a moment if the female was merely masking her own fear, or if she was legitimately ruled by logic. A creature of logic such as himself now designed plans to test the female, to find proof regarding the female’s professionalism. Would she crack if this same evening another sailor became another pool of blood?

They were stuck with him, after all.

The female had taken control of the situation, and so the insecure males were now taming their testosterone-fueled emotions. Now, the Captain of the vessel approached, standing right before the group. His eyes scanned each of the crew members with a frown.
“Let me tell you one thing,” he began. “I will tell you the same thing I’ve told the deck crew. You, whoever you are, will be found, and when you’re found you shall pay for bringing chaos onto my ship. Step forward now, confess, and your life will be spared.”
Unlikely, though Kovic. The Captain seemed to be an honest man, for his lie was quite easily detected.
“Garret.” The Captain looked towards the carpenter. “I understand you were the last man that saw Frannoc. I need you to tell me everything about it.”
“I was coming back from the upper quarters and I ran into him by the stairs. He reeked of rum. I called him a drunk, he grunted, and that was the end of it. I’d say it was a break after midnight.”
“What were you doing in the upper quarters? You’ve got no business in the deck crew’s quarters, especially late at night.”
“Well, ugh… I, uh... I went to see Luka.”
“Luka?” The Captain looked towards said Luka, with his patchy stubble and his fidgeting fingers. “Why did you went to see Luka?”
No reply just yet.
“Goddamn it, answer me, Garret. What were you doing with Luka after midnight?” The Captain’s voice rose, and everyone stared either towards Garret or towards Luka.
“We were fucking, Captain,” exclaimed Luka. “We’re together.”

Silence befell within the ship.

Homosexuality wasn’t something this particular crew seemed to tolerate very much. Being at sea meant many sacrifices, be it firm ground, grass, quality food, and, especially, women. Female sailors were rare, and most of them had thighs capable of strangling bulls, which left most sailors without a chance. In the quarters, men were temporarily chaste or left to their own devises, which meant recreating fantasies of past women or pondering on the lady navigator’s appealing physique in order to satiate themselves. Said struggles formed a tight brotherhood, and those weak enough to search comfort from a man were often treated like traitors.

As the words were said, every male that surrounded the two romantically-involved individuals scooted away, as if they were to catch a disease. Garret was clearly angry, starting over the Captain’s shoulder towards an apologetic Luka, whom would start tearing up soon enough.
“You two are a disgrace to this vessel,” said the Captain at last. “I will have no… inverted amongst my crew. Whenever we land, I want you as far away from my ship as possible. Both of you.”
Garret’s fists were clenched with strength, and Luka teared up at last, doing an awful job at hiding it.
“In fact, I want everyone off this ship once we dock. I’m not taking the chance to travel with a murderer. Everyone is confined to their quarters once night falls from this moment until we dock. If you leave said quarters for any reason at all, you’ll be tossed overboard in the morning. Do I make myself clear? Now return to your fuckin’ posts, because I’m not paying anyone to sit around.”

And so the meeting was over. There wasn’t much for the Officers to do, and the crew was already returning to their posts. Garret and Luka remained on their spots, one displaying only withheld rage for his partner whilst the other covered his features and cried.

As Kovic returned to the kitchen, a smirk appeared on his lips. Despite having been fed just the previous night, he was still hungry, and he had the perfect victim in mind. Sentimentalism would be quite fatal.

[Syhera Ki'hadi]

12th of Zi'da, 716 Arc

Garret's confession caused even Hera to look up, arching a perfect eyebrow in surprise. Her red lips turned into a smirk as she remained silent, the Captain using this as a lesson for the other men. Inverted? At another time, perhaps Hera would protest that it wasn't that bad. While women weren't her first preference, the idea of one wasn't wholly unreasonable. Much better than the selection here, at least, not that the red head had been much for physical contact or even friendship after Andaris. Most days she stayed by herself, and seven help the man who tried to touch her.

The speech continued quickly, and she crossed her arms until they were dismissed. She needed to gather the supplies – a sextant, her maps, compass, perhaps divine intervention. In fact, she said as much with the sigh the huffed from her chest as the captain began walking away. Confined to their quarters? She was supposed to plan a new course – and yet she wasn't allowed to use the stars? Giving one last glare to the men, she stormed off, frustration fueling each loud step she took. For the entirety of the day, she stayed by herself, within sight, but never welcoming. She watched the waters, smelled the sea water and thought of blood.

It didn't take long for night to creep and cover the sky in its infinite darkness...

To her own room she retreated, settling into a desk with pinned maps and neatly stacked papers. A quill was no where to be found, and she frowned, yanking open the drawer and pausing at the contents staring back at her. Two thin blades slid forward, the memories of their origins seeping back into her consciousness like a disease. Beneath them, a pair of smiling eyes watched her, and she pushed the weapons aside to see a quick sketch of her mother looking back at her. Beneath it was another of her father, only this drawing had been ripped and pieced together and glued with loving hands not her own. Pain instantly gripped her heart and Syhera stopped breathing, pulling the images free and resting them before her.

These were the two that had brought her into existence. A biqaj that cared too much, a man who had cared too little. What did that make her? Did she not take after both of them? Hera analyzed the pictures, her emotions sweeping her away. She had her mother's eyes, her father's nose. And now she had neither of them.

The sweet ache pulled her downwards, threatening to drown her as tears tried to fill her eyes. She hurriedly buried them back in the drawer where they belonged, deeper into the contents of the desk. A tear escaped her eyes and she was quick to wipe it away.

“No,” she muttered, swallowing hard. She wasn't going to give in, not now. Not tonight. She was about to push her chair back when her door creaked open, giving the red head a jump. Her hand instantly gripped one of her daggers, before the tiny, wrinkled face of a cat peeked into the room. Foreskin meandered past her, stretched and gave a long meow until pattering to her cot and leaping upon it.

The laughter bubbled forward at her weakness, as she looked at the bare feline. His black nose sniffed the air and his paws kneaded her pillow. She watched him, once again reminded of a place she would rather not. She thought of Andaris, of her mother, of those responsible for her demise, and of the war. Of Micah, of her shop that no longer belonged to her... And lastly, she thought of the man willing to give her anything she needed, and who had cost her everything she wanted.

She thought of Peake Andaris.

As her mind reeled, her hands worked to garner a pen from a different location, pulling a blank sheet of paper and her compass forward. And while she had set off to write down calculations for their destination, no numbers were produced. Only a name in a moment of weakness, needing for someone, anyone to know...

Syhera Ki'hadi was breaking.

Peake,

The utensil hovered over the parchment, her throat tight as she struggled to breath. How was she to begin? This was a man that she had not seen since Saun, since his own battle for survival. More tears filled her eyes, and she began to write, unabashed as the words flowed from her.

It has been a long time, love. Have you missed me? Or, do you hate me now? I write this to you from the seas, navigating a trade vessel on my way to Etzos...

Hera could no longer stop the crying, and the tears flowed down her cheeks, missing everything she no longer had, and aching to change the course of fate. Why had she been so stubborn?

 My heart still hurts, I hardly eat. Perhaps I will fade away before I ever see you or your city again.

Would you like that?

It was a possibility that Peake had died from infection, or surgery. Perhaps there had been more battles. Maybe Gojira had finally managed to get her hands on him. Whatever it could be, he had chosen to settle into his barony and take responsibility for those that would sooner stab him in the back instead of join her. For a long time she had had mixed feelings of resentment and understanding. Now, she just felt numb. She continued to write honestly, a few tears dotting the corner of the paper and drying. As soon as the letter was complete, she desperately kissed the paper and folded it up, grabbed one of her knives and headed towards the door.

She would use the excuse as navigator to be outside or perhaps any other lie that came to mind. Deception was not something she shied away from, but she needed out of this room, murderer or not. And if there was a man – a monster – lurking about....

Let it kill her, for Syhera Ki'hadi had no will to live.

[Limbo]

Once night came, and the slightly increased rations were safely digesting within Kovic’s stomach, lethargy befell within the vessel. Once everyone had retreated within their rooms, and they slowly slipped into whatever dreams they could catch, Kovic was finally left on his own. With the sound of the wood creaking, the waves hitting, and the boat rocking, there came the time of day to face his own void inside. A creature like him was unable to sleep deeply, for fear came of someone claiming its life in the night. Now, as Kovic laid awake in his hammock, he finally had a few moments for himself.

“Hello,” his lips said, yet without a voice behind it. “How are you? My name is Ynush. It is very nice to meet you. Do you want to hear my story? Well, I am very similar to you, my dear friend.”
He sighed, for he spoke to nobody with no voice. Otherwise, he wouldn’t know what to do with a stranger such as himself.
“I was born the only son of a loving mother and a hardworking father. My mother died when I was little, and so my father was in charge of raising me.” As he spoke, Kovic accompanied his lips’ words with hand gestures. “A butcher he was, the finest I have ever seen. The boys in the village believed him to be a monster, yet I knew better, for even if his clothes always stank of metal, and his hands were often more crimson than pale, he was a loving father. Everyone in our village admired him. I did too.”

Kovic chuckled in silence, for an unseen audience that watched from the dark wooden ceiling.
“When I think of my father, I always think of this one occasion. He and I had set up a small rabbit farm, which yielded us a lot of profits. I loved rabbits. They were small, cuddly, and very warm. One trial, I asked him, begged him even, if I could take one for myself, to raise him, because I loved him. I called him Mister Eerie, because his fur was black but his ears were white, and the pun always made my father laugh. Always.”

Kovic tried to force out a tear, yet his attempt was too quick to wield positive results. He replaced said missing tear with an expression of pain.
“One day, I had forgotten to close our house door, and Mister Earie escaped. I looked for him all day long, crying and yelling, but I didn’t find him. I was so sad… When I entered my father’s butchery, crying and snorting like the child I was, I saw. Father must’ve realized it too late, for he too stared down at the rabbit in his hands, the one whose head he had just cleaved. His blue eyes, just like mine, stared back at me.” Pause. “That was the first time I saw my father cry.”

“I’m sorry, he said, yet I only saw how to the blood of Mister Eerie had splashed upon his face or coated his hands. I’m sorry, he yelled, once I turned around and ran, crying, throwing a tantrum as I decided to run as far away as possible from the pain.” Kovic smiled gently now, trying to seep some pain into said expression. “I think that was the biggest mistake I have ever made. I was too smart a kid, you see, and I did run away. Three arcs I was gone before I finally realized what a fool I had been. And when I returned, there was no Father, no butchery, and no rabbits. I miss him every day, and I still smile for the skies whenever I think of him. I know, deep down, that my father loved me even after I hurt him so badly, and I hope that, one day, I will forgive myself for leaving him.”

The silent storytelling was over, and now Kovic analyzed his tale. Emotional, based on small details, and simplistic in its core. Nostalgia, family, death, anger, and regret were the ingredients for its preparation. The ending felt weak, somewhat anticlimactic. Perhaps said father should’ve moved on and started a new family, and rejected Ynush. Better yet, Ynush had not revealed himself. Yes, that felt right.

However that may be, Kovic now stood up from his hammock and began undressing. His muscles still felt slightly tired from the trial of work. Regardless, they were strong and resilient, especially now that he would feed again. It was unnecessary, yes, yet the risks were reduced now that the situation had escalated the way it had. Once fully undressed, Kovic gently opened the door, and left the storage that was his cabin.

Located in the lowest deck, Kovic made sure to advance in utmost stealth, for paranoia was bound to had settled in a great part of the sailors. Most of them shared quarters, and so they would be safe from attacks if they remained inside. Kovic now reached the tight stairwell and advanced to the mid-deck. The sub-deck crew quarters were near, and so Kovic found refuge in the corner leading to said quarters’ door. Now, he waited.

Time passed, but eventually his wait paid off exactly how he predicted it. Footsteps approached, faint and dubious, insecure and somewhat afraid, but they advanced nonetheless. Kovic reached for the inner side of his forearm, and triggered his Perfect Organism. The moment he sacrificed a rib for the creation of new mass, his mind was tempted to continue mutating, to evolve into something else, something glorious and perfect, yet he did not give in. He needed surgical precision, not wanton slaughter. That could come the following night. Imagining the produce he wanted within his mind, with his eyes closed Kovic forced it to manifest from his forearm. He was successful, for now a strange bone escaped his forearm’s flesh, shaped like a knife, and made entirely of his own bone. Small, practical, and recyclable.

At last, Luka’s frame peeked within Kovic’s vision, and the predator smiled. How predicable the boy had been. Ever since hearing his proud confession in the Cannon Room, and his posterior sulking into misery once his partner’s own pride was hurt, Kovic expected the boy to crave forgiveness. Submissive as he was, Luka wouldn’t be able to function without the approval of his peer, Garret. And here he was, desperate for approval and forgiveness, breaching the rules and walking in the ghost ship.

Stepping behind him was easy, as was both covering his mouth with a palm whilst the knife was thrusted to the side of his neck – repeatedly. Leaving the knife stuck in its neck, Kovic quickly brought his arm between the man’s leg, lifting him into the air with the use of leverage, avoiding his feet from kicking the ground and thus risking detection. As the blood poured, and the boy’s kicking ceased, Kovic was satisfied with the results, and so he gently laid the boy’s body on the ground.

He looked delicious.

Before eating him, however, Kovic would need to prepare the scene. Leaving the question of whom the murderer was would be a major flaw. Lack of evidence could lead to panic and thus Kovic’s death. However, if the evidence and the situation pointed towards someone specific, there wouldn’t be much doubt as to whom the killer was. The plan was brilliant, or so thought Kovic, and all he had to do is leave the head behind. Wasting food was a sin, and so the Mortalborn tried to convince himself that it was necessary. The bone knife proved not to be extremely useful as a tool, for the decapitation was clumsy and very messy. Perhaps he should’ve stolen a knife from the kitchen and be done with it all. Theatricality, however, got the best of him.

He wondered just whom the crew would blame for Luka’s murder. Garret had a reason to kill him, for the boy had confessed to be his sexual partner. His quarters were close, and his anger was visible this morning. Garret, on the other hand, may blame Marco. It was clear the two were rivals, and he had already blamed the boatswain for Frannoc’s murder, for Marco did have a motive. Perhaps Luka’s death would be a good trigger of Garret’s rage, and Marco would be killed. The possibilities were many, yet surely not infinite, for someone would die tomorrow. Perhaps Kovic should cut the boy’s manhood and shove it in its mouth for increased effect. Maybe he would.

A sound. Kovic froze, as something was moving in the deck above. His eyes went agape, staring at the nothingness, focusing completely on the sound pattern of footsteps. He had to run, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t leave his meal behind. He refused to let go of his meal, for he was seething already. The thought of not eating clouded his mind, and Kovic was now unable to think logically. Because of that, he made a grave mistake – he remained in the deck. With both hands, he took a hold of the boy’s neck, and with all his might he pulled at whatever it was that held the head to the body, snapping it off. He’d now turn it towards the stairs, a sort of primitive warning, for despite killing a second individual was not within his plan, he had no problem in carrying out the deed.

Quickly, Kovic found refuge between some nearby barrels, between which enough darkness remained to stealth him quite well, and also allow him to jump out the shadows were it necessary. Holding on to the knife produced within his own body, Kovic waited.

He realized too late that he had stepped on the pool of blood, and that his hiding place was easily trailed by bloody footprints.

[Syhera Ki'hadi]

12th of Zi'da, 716 Arc

The stars and the rocking of the ship was enough to soothe her thoughts, to pull her back from the darkness that had plagued her mother, and that threatened to overwhelm her. She focused on her breathing, on clearing her mind. It was the best she could do with what she had. She couldn't lose control and break down. There was too much at stake, and Syhera hadn't tasted her revenge.

Snap!

Hera turned sharply, staring at the floor and then the door that lead beneath the deck. What... what was that? A chill ran up her spine, and she realized, she was not the only one prowling about. Would the murderer be so stupid as to commit a crime the same night? The biqaj gripped the handle of her blade, her footsteps barely scuffs against the wood as she eased forward. Was she afraid now?

Her heart was pounding, her body's natural response, but her mind... her mind was much more of an enigma. Urging her feet forward as if hypnotized, her fingers brushed against the handle. Each tick stretched out, she pulled open the door and watched the moonlight illuminate the depths of the stairs before fading and going black. Her hand gripped the railing and she took one step downwards, her shadow shifting and allowing the light to catch the dead eyes gaping in horror.

Something about the scene triggered something within Hera, and for a split second she did not see the eyes of a young boy, but of her dead mother, staring back at her. She blinked, closing her eyes and biting her lip and when she opened them, her voice was as cold as ice, “What a mess you've made,” she said to the darkness, refusing to travel deeper into the shadows. On the floor, streams of light caught the massacre and she noticed the footprints, bloody and bold. Was a man really crouching behind the barrels? Was he going to kill her?

“Why Luca?” she whispered, trying to piece together the connection between the gunner and the boy, “If you're going to kill someone, you should at least think it through,” she looked at the barrels now, ignorant to the true horror that laid behind it, “Do you want to know a secret?”

Hera leaned against the wall, crazy in her confession, “A blind girl attacked my family and I burned her entire house to the ground. An entire house, gone... up in flames like that,” Hera snapped, humming to herself, “No witnesses, no one to blame. I was brought in on speculation alone, and-” Hera smiled, the arrest so far away it felt like a dream more than a memory, “My fiance was so angry, he shattered a woman's face and-” Hera looked at the head, seeing its decapitation and the lack of clean cut. This was yanked off, broken and pulled free with enormous power. Whoever had done this had been large, very strong... “I'm surprised he didn't snap my neck...”

Peake, as massive as he was, would he have been able to something like this? How much effort did it take to pull sever a man's neck? “Moral of the story, if you need to get away with these little trysts... Perhaps you need some guidance.”

Something shuffled up above them, and Hera took a step backwards, quickening her proposal, “If you kill me, this ship will surely fail. The captain will be too busy trying to keep order, he won't have time to get us to land before the food runs out. More people on land, more opportunity.”

The footsteps were getting closer and Hera cursed under her breath, “I know where you're hiding, because you've been sloppy. I might not know who you are, but it is best if we keep that a secret. Less liability. In turn, I will lead them away, and you will clean up the evidence. If you still think I will tell them the truth, ask yourself, why haven't I screamed yet?”

Hera rose another step towards the door, whoever walking above them getting closer and closer, “Do we have a deal?”

[Limbo]

Two thrills to end the female, high chances of being discovered. An already approaching individual, increased chance of being engaged in a direct confrontation. Twenty ribs sacrificed in exchange of two bone swords. Storming the sub-deck crew quarters, a precise stab to the neck to approximately ten men. Perhaps a bit. High chances of screams, lowered defenses due to lack of bone structure in the thoracic cage, possible rapture of internal organs; discarded. Full-body transformation, ending the female, storming the quarters. Perhaps half a bit to clear it out. High chances of high alert and armed attack, inferior discipline, close quarter combat; discarded.

There seem to be no safe way of disposing of the female, or so did Kovic conclude as he hid within the shadows, and perhaps he would have to negotiate with her after all – or, if one were true to the situation, accept her conditions. Calm grew within the male as the chance of feeding seemed like a possibility once again, and if his meal was secured, so was his mind. A lesser being’s survival would’ve been compromised by nagging emotions of pride, or desperation. Ynush, the character, was certainly offended, or Kovic imagined according to the character’s biography. The act was unnecessary, as it was just another tool for feeding, and so empty and cold Kovic remained, weighting the benefits of the female’s proposition.

Strange that she was to bargain for a life she did not seem to appreciate. What he had thought to be professionalism this morning was now revealed to be a distancing between her and her feelings. Mortals often hid within bubbles to protect their vulnerable minds, and the more the female spoke with the shadows, the more Kovic believed she was emotionally lost. Welcome to the team, he thought. Furthermore, she was desperate for help. Was she not speaking to a butcher to voice her issues? Were the situation different, Kovic would’ve offered her a massage. With every step the new guest approached, the less options Kovic saw for his survival.
“Deal,” he replied, his whisper guttural and inhumane, for mutations had been spreading in his desperation.

And so the female left the room, and left Kovic between the barrels. Her muffled voice spoke to some male, and even if their words were undiscernible, he knew she had kept her end of the bargain. This notion was reinforced by the fact no pitchforks nor torches came after him, like that one time. The silence continued, and no further footsteps were heard.

Kovic left his refuge, at last, and despite the crippling mutations, he still appeared moderately human. One of his arms still remained functional, more or less, and so after approaching the body, he couldn’t resist.

All that meat… One hundred and seventy pounds of nutrients, laying there, waiting, calling for him… Even if he had just cheated death, Kovic could not resist the urge. Disposing of the evidence was necessary, yes, but surely nobody would mind if he took a bit for himself. Kneeling down, Kovic began cutting pieces of the boy’s flesh and pressing them against his flesh, and they stuck to it before his bluish flesh surrounded them like a cocoon. After that piece came another, and another. Whatever meat he could cut, he cut indeed, and slapped onto his flesh as if keeping trophies from a hunt. The meat was not enough, for he still hungered, and so he began cutting the limbs and lodging them below his skin as well. Finally, he realized what little remained from the boy would not be difficult to ingest as well, and so he slapped the torso onto his own as well. Turns out he had gotten rid of the evidence after all, and tossing the boy’s remains out the window now seemed like a foolish idea. Who knew the apex predator was such a glutton?

Carrying the weight of two men on him, Kovic found it very hard to walk without collapsing. Even so, his hunger was there, and so his foot swept over his own footsteps like a mop, the flesh absorbing said blood as if nothing had happened. Breathing was as difficult as advancing. Doing as promised, he cleaned after himself, and only left the head behind. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to lodge the boy’s manhood within his mouth, mostly because Kovic had eaten it. Did that make him inverted?

Fat and full, Kovic returned to the storage, where he quickly collapsed atop the many sacks of spices. There was no way he could fit within the hammock. Damn it, he thought, for he had overeaten once again. As his body continued with its digestion, Kovic’s eyes began closing, for the lethargy proper of a good meal was settling in. It was clear that he would not be sleeping this night, and so he fetched what the sailors commonly called the ‘piss bucket’ and prepare to disgorge whatever quantity of nutrients his body wouldn’t digest.

Probably around a hundred and twenty pounds of liquid.

-----

After having been filtering bucket after bucket of blood below the storage room's floor, the sound of alarm was finally rung in the form of yells and screams. Dressing up immediately, Ynush, the human, left his unaccommodating quarters, and began ascending through the ship’s layers. Something has happening, and was happening very fast, for a stampede of footsteps stormed the ship. Following after the screams, Kovic found witnessing a blood-coated Garret, whom had broken in the deck crew’s quarters and butchered Marco before he could even leave his bunk. Now, he was reduced by the sailors, and he cried, in pain and mourning.
“He killed them,” he sobbed. “He killed them both.”

It was likely that he would die too, now, for mortals were such imperfect creatures when it came to sentiments.

[Syhera Ki'hadi]

12th of Zi'da, 716 Arc

When Syhera Ki'hadi stepped onto the deck and saw the madness erupting, she kept her back straight and her face expressionless. The men were shouting, frantic, and under the arm of her coat were papers tucked securely against her body as if they were her salvation. Somewhere, someone or more precisely something was on this ship that shouldn't have been. She could still hear it's guttural growl of acceptance to her offer, realized just how close she was to horror. Whatever had spoken to her last night... it wasn't human. No man talked like that.

It sent a chill up her spine as she joined the group, her dark eyes bouncing suspiciously between then. The beast behind the barrels, whoever it was, could not speak of her appearance last night, not without giving away his own. The purser, however could. Hera was not quite sure what he was doing, but he seemed like the type to snitch to gain favor. He had found her last night, coming up the stairs. And while Garret was screaming accusations, when the Captain stepped forward, the fat merchant was not far behind him.

“The Lady Navigator was out last night, against orders. She had a weapon. I saw her coming from the depths.”

Garret looked to her, as well as the other men. The Captain's eyes widened, before his voice was steel, “Is this true, Ki'hadi?”

The purser still wasn't satisfied. He wanted to bury her. As for why.... Hera wasn't entirely sure. Maybe he was as spooked as the rest of them,“And she had a weapon! I saw it. Those blades, there!”

Her lips pressed together, and her steps were catlike as they approached, “Well, well,” she purred, “Good morning to you too, Pariah,” she looked down at the twin stiletto blades strapped to each thigh, “What? These old things?”

Finally, she slowly pulled the papers free of her arm and held them carefully towards the Captain, “Forgive me,” she began, “When you gave orders that no man be out past dark, I thought I was exempt. As a woman who navigates best by starlight and constellations, you can imagine how difficult it would be for me to stay inside and still do my job. I thought everyone wanted to be on land as quickly as possible, or...was I mistaken?”

The papers she handed him were indeed calculations and two possible routes available to them. After her encounter with Pariah, she had gone to her room. Unable to sleep, and temporarily distracted from her mother's death, Hera buried herself in her work. It was to save herself this morning as much as it was to fulfill her end of the deal.

The Captain stared at her for a hard moment before flipping through the papers she had handed him. He ran a hand along his chin, scratching at the facial hair. Poor man was just trying to do his job. He didn't sign up for all this.

And then... there was the head. “Uh, Captain! You're gonna wanna see this!” A body pushed through the group, dropping a sack with a loud thud on the floor and a human head rolled out. Even Hera recoiled, the face bloodless and contorted in terror. It's eyes were open, gaping in a silent scream, the skin a bloated green.

Garret gave a scream of anguish, and then pulled away to throw up, and multiple men had to look away. The Captain cursed, and Hera stared at it for a long moment. Even the purser seemed speechless, “If I may,” she said, finally broke the silence. She crouched over the head, her hand hovering over it before she snatched it by the earlobe. She withdrew her blade and with loving slowness, sliced through the skin like butter. She was quick to interrupt the gasps of horror, “See how it cuts?” she threw down the piece of meat, the line clean. “This,” she pointed at the jagged, gruesome way it had been ripped, “Couldn't be me. I was carrying a weapon, because a woman on a boat full of wild men is a dangerous business. Whoever did this....” Whatever she mentally added, “Was not my doing. But I am curious...” she looked up darkly at the purser who had accused her. A sin that would not be forgiven lightly, “Why would I kill Marco? What business did you last night?”

The air on the ship was changing. Eyes turned to Pariah, digging into him. A navigator awake... maybe... But a merchant? Why?

Sensing this, Pariah continued his attack at Syhera, “Maybe those men denied your advances! No fury like a woman scorned! And you couldn't handle it!”

Hera rose slowly to her feet, “I am engaged,” she snapped suddenly, never having bothered to tell anyone the truth. This was a job, and she hadn't exactly been wanting to be friendly with any of the men, “Perhaps you've heard of Peake Andaris, baron of Andaris?”

It was the first time Hera had used the title of her ex, or even the privilege of being engaged to him, but she hoped it wasn't too late to cash in on the favor... Even if they things weren't... exactly... correct, “Why would I waste my time on a gay man and his boy lover?” She acted offended now, as if her loyalty to her noble fiance were being challenged. She had to restrain the dangerous wish to point the weapon in her hands threateningly at her accuser. It would not help her case, and she would likely still be punished for disobeying the Captain's direct orders. But then again, maybe she could talk her way out of that as well.

“Enough!” the captain shouted, shaking his head and thrusting the papers back at Hera. “Get that thing off my ship. Garret will walk the plank.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly conflicted as his two compatriots had disobeyed him, “You two,” he pointed angrily at both Hera and Pariah, “no food until I say so. Disobey me, or do anything without my permission, and so help me, I will throw you overboard myself.”

And just like that, Hera survived. She lowered her eyes in faux shame, but secretly, relief flooded her. She had done it. She had managed to survive another day. Always.