"Bunch of rotten fish!!" yelled Bory as he whirled the broken mast. He brought it down on the horde of crabs with diamond claws surrounding him. "Come on! Come on! I'll crush you! Come and take your beating!" he hammered during his vendetta. And at his feet, as the battle progressed, the shriveled remains of crabs piled up. Despite their apparent defeat, the crustaceans by the dozen, in successive waves, continued to pour down on the sailor.
And Bory wouldn't budge.
He continued his eradication. "Come on!!" he yelled. "You don't know who you're dealing with!"
The mast crushed. It crushed again. Again. And again. His arms aching. His breath short. Bory gritted his teeth to keep up the effort as his strength began to fail him. The man growled. "Bunch of rotten fish!"
As a dozen crabs leaped toward him on his left, the sailor's foot became stuck in the crustacean sludge. He lost his balance. But in a final reflex, Bory found the strength to swing the mast he was holding in his feverish hands at them. The mast flattened the horde against the wall. More flesh dripped from it. Then, Bory found himself on the ground, out of breath. Fearing a new crab assault, he tried to raise his head to probe the surroundings. Too exhausted, he couldn't. Flat on his stomach, mired in crab molasses, it was only out of the corner of his eye that he could finally examine the pit he was in. In the fury of the battle, Bory had fallen into the belly of this aging ship.
His breath echoed in this chasm of wooden planks. Bory then realized that the crabs were attacking him through the cracks that pierced the ship's hull.
This boat has been here for ages, he told himself.
His breathing kept echoing against the rotting planks. Bory clenched his teeth once more, summoning the last of his strength to roll over onto his back. "Rotten fi—sh..." he muttered, and finally managed it.
From there, the sailor could see the opening above his head. Standing at the edge were the rowers, wide-eyed, clearly impressed by Bory's exploits.
"What the hell are you doing!?" he barked at them. "Help me! Find something!"
Worried, the rowers exchanged uncertain glances.
"Who's going down to help him?" one asked.
"I dunno... what if there are more of those weird crabs that come at me?" said another.
"I mean, yeah, he did fight those things off for us, but I'm still too scared," the first admitted.
"Come help me, dammit!" Bory shouted from the bottom of the pit. "Don't be a bunch of cowards!"
"Hey, we're not cowards!" a third snapped back.
"Then get down here and help me!" Bory shot back. "I fought for your damn skins! I could've just walked away!"
The rowers fell silent.
"Get down here and help me, for god's sake!" Bory shouted again.
They exchanged another round of uncertain glances.
"Well... it's true. He did help us," admitted a fourth.
"Yeah, but we never asked him to," retorted a fifth.
"No, but… still, he saved us," said the sixth, trying to argue.
"Yeah, but I don't wanna get attacked now that I'm safe!" the first added.
As Bory listened to them debating his fate from above, his anger swelled. It grew with every word—until he finally let out a deep growl.
"Ungrateful bastards!!"
"Hey! Why're you yelling at us!? You're the one stuck in the hole, buddy!" mocked one of the rowers.
That was all it took to ignite Bory's fury.
"You… you scum! Seahorse droppings!!"
Enraged, Bory tried to push himself up, but his arms were too weak. Still, he fought against his own body. Thick veins bulged across his trembling arms.
"Rotten... fish... bastards…!"
From their perch above, the rowers kept snickering.
"Just wait till I get my hands on you, you bunch of ungrateful swine!" Bory shouted up at them.
"And what're you gonna do in that state, my friend?!" the second rower mocked.
Their laughter rose again, louder this time. But one among them didn't join in. Guilt was tightening its grip on him.
"W-wait, guys…" the sixth rower finally spoke.
"What now, Looz?" the first rower snapped.
"We can't just leave him there. I mean… he saved us. Honestly, I feel terrible."
"Looz, if you want to help him, be my guest. We're outta here."
With that, the rowers cast one last glance into the pit.
"Thanks again, buddy! And good luck!" called the first rower.
Then he and the others disappeared from Bory's line of sight. Only Looz remained.
One of the rowers noticed and called back, "Wait, you're really gonna help him?"
Looz mumbled under his breath.
"What are you muttering about?"
"I... I'm going to help him," Looz stammered.
"Suit yourself," the rower finished dismissively.
Just as he turned to leave, a violent tremor shook the area. The noise swelled—deep, resonant. The ground quivered.
From the bottom of the pit, Bory watched nervously as the wooden planks groaned, cracked, and began to come loose. Above, Looz and the other rower spun around, startled, trying to figure out where the tremors were coming from.
Bory studied the panicked movements of their heads as they scanned their surroundings.
"Hey! What the hell is going on!?" he shouted.
Suddenly, a voice rang out behind the rowers.
"Run!"
Looz spun around—and there, zigzagging between the wrecks of old ships, was one of their companions. It was Allan.
But what was he running from? Looz wondered.
Then—some fifty paces behind Allan—one of the wrecks imploded.
From the spray of shattered wood emerged a giant crab, ridden by a man clad in gleaming, vivid azure armor.
"What is that!?" gasped the rower beside Looz, choking on his own fear.
He immediately took off running.
Looz, meanwhile, hesitated. Seeing the danger closing in, he stood frozen—torn between fleeing for his life or helping Bory from the bottom of the ship.
"What's going on up there, for god's sake?!" Bory called out, anxious.
Looz looked down at him. But what Bory saw in his eyes was fear. He sensed it—felt it in his gut.
He could read it clearly in Looz's expression.
"W-wait. Wait, don't go…" Bory stammered.
"I'm sorry," the rower said softly—then turned and ran.
"Ungrateful bastards! Rotten fish bastards!" Bory screamed bitterly.
Crushed, the sailor's spirit sank as the rumbling grew louder still. The tremors intensified—stronger, more violent.
You can't trust anyone, he told himself. What was I thinking?! This isn't the first time.
The fight in him was gone.
Resigned, Bory let the bitterness wash over him as he stared up at the opening above. No one was there. They had all run.
Only the rumble remained—loud, relentless...
No one. No one is reliable, the thought spun in Bory's mind. No one!
Then suddenly, he heard a voice shout: "Run!"
The sound jolted him. At the same moment, he saw a shadow flash past the edge of the pit.
Almost instinctively, Bory cried out:
"Hey! Help me! Help me!"
But the figure was already gone.
It hit him hard.
No one.
You can't count on anyone! he scolded himself harshly.
Soon, the deafening crack of splintering wood was closing in on his location.
Despair gripped the sailor tighter around the throat. He had no idea what this looming danger was—only that it was coming. Fast.
And so, he began to prepare himself… prepare for the inevitable.
He braced for the worst, eyes locked on the opening above.
The wood cracked violently. The tremors shook the entire structure of the ship.
This is it! It's here! Bory thought.
"Come on then! Bring it on, you rotten fish! I'm ready!" he shouted, in a final surge of pride.
Then, the warning voice rang out again:
"Bory, is that you?"
The sailor looked up—and saw Allan's head appear at the edge of the pit.
"You!?" Bory cried out, overcome with emotion.