The pressure disappeared... gone as quick as it came.
Finally, Krysaos was allowed to breathe. He hungrily sucked in the wet, stagnant air.
Ugh.
It made him want to gag...
But before puking his insides out... he needed to stand.
Standing sounded like a good idea.
Krysaos was having a real shite time, though. His head and heart might've had the right idea, but his legs didn't receive orders right.
He fell-- collapsing into the shallows with a splash.
On his hands and knees in front of... f*ck if anyone knows who or what the thing was.
The only thing Krysaos was certain of was... he was having a bad time.
And then, he made it worse.
He looked up.
He saw swords... steaming hot, like they were fresh out of the forge. Tens-- maybe hundreds of white-metal blades were emerging from the black waters. They shone... and glimmered like pearls and gemstones.
The dark chamber turned brighter than the winter holidays-- against the pitch dark blackness of the empty night.
...and each one was taller than his own gods-damned ship.
Krysaos felt the muscles of his neck twitch and spasm... words scratching and bleeding the insides of his throat.
"So... you too, human of the sea..." He coughed, "You deny me."
Krysaos forced his eyes shut. He was too weak... both in body and spirit to stop whatever was happening.
He was... too human.
He figured out a solution quick enough, though.
It hurt less if he just... allowed it to happen.
...One of the scariest thoughts he'd ever had.
But... some things had to be said.
It... couldn't be helped. Some things didn't have their own mouths and lungs to say what needed to be said.
Feelings... emotions... foreign but not unfamiliar flooded his heart.
And words that weren't his came out of his lips.
"You deny me... just as mother did.
"Even father acknowledged me... if only to cast me away to hide his shame.
"And so here I wait...
"Here I dream...
"All... I... can do...
"is to offer my very bones... to warriors. just. and kind.
"to crusade. in my name.
"in hopes... that one sun...
"I. can be. forgiven...
"...for being born."
pαndα noνɐ1,сoМ Krysaos shook his head, trying to force away the dizziness.
The haze clouding his mind... was drifting away. The hot grasp of magic taking hold of his neck began to weaken.
Krysaos carefully got to his feet and took a deep breath...
The girl-- the creature in the chamber had just gifted him with... honesty.
It was... a real shite situation, even if he wasn't getting all the details.
But for all that... none of it was his f*cking problem.
"Yeah, that's rough, girlie..."
Krysaos paused as he checked the door handle. It wasn't locked.
"A shame, though..." He said without looking back-- "the fact that you don't f*cking exist."
Dragon. That was a joke in and of itself.
Ugh. The damned door was wedged in. Krysaos rammed his shoulder into it to force it open.
The water from the dark chamber spilled into the next room... but it's not like he was the guy that cleaned up the place.
After shutting the door behind him, Krysaos stared at the long, dimly lit Dungeon hallway.
He recognized the pit trap in the distance. It was the one he'd most recently jumped.
...That solved the mystery of where the hells he was.
Krysaos took off his hat and scratched his head.
He'd just f*cked up a big-arse eel... He'd have had a real shite time if fell in after it.
Time...
How long ago was that?
It can't have been more than a few minutes? But... it felt like it had been longer.
He felt like he was missing something.
It wasn't anything important... but he felt like he went somewhere he wasn't supposed to go-- but that wasn't where he was currently.
Furrowing his brows, he unsheathed the Heart of the Ocean.
He formed an illusion-cutting edge over the blade, just as the LT taught him... and he cut at the air.
...Nothing.
"Augh, really? That's... so f*ckin weeeeeeird..."
If there wasn't an illusion... then he was probably fine.
That left... the problem of being in the hall with the familiar pit trap.
Krysaos didn't want to backtrack... but there was only one other obvious way to go.
--in the chamber he just left, maybe?
...That sure beat facing any more giant eels or whatever.
Spinning on his heel, Krysaos turned to admire the door.
He placed a hand on the old, waterlogged wood, every warp and bend just as how he remembered.
⁆ I knew it well, the inside door to the Captain-al quarters of the Sugar-Titted Siren. I carved the peephole in myself, just so I could tell whoever came to see me to f*ck off by name. ⁅
Inside... wasn't he just outside? No. That didn't make sense.
"Sea God's socks," Krysaos chuckled to himself... "Look... at me.... I'm talkin' in me own head..."
Turning back, he checked to verify that he was factually *inside* of the Captain's quarters.
He was.
...He walked to his footlocker and he kicked it open.
The thing wasn't locked-- it wasn't lockable.
Glancing over its contents, nothing was amiss.
He always worried that one sun, someone would try to f*ck with his stuff.
First off, the box was stolen, so... he didn't actually have a key. And anyroad, no one on the ship had the patience for reading anything longer than the name of a pub or whorehouse.
Crouching down, also took his old journal, a quill pen, and an inkpot out of the chest... then he walked over to his familiar rope hammock.
Nostalgia struck him... so thick it made his knees weak.
It was a real shite hammock, the whole thing frayed and threatening to fall apart.
...but it was his.
He'd cheated it as fair as only an honest thief could.
Krysaos began to write, "Captain's log..."
He furrowed his brows-- "The f*ck's the date?"
...He was never good with remembering the date.
"Bah, whatever," Krysaos groaned, "Captain's log, date? ...A bunch of X's."
He'd fill in the date later... if he gave a shite.
"So there I was..."
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