Gareth's beast began to roar.
The sound was different from before not a command, not a challenge, not the roar of an animal trying to exert its dominance. It cried out in pain. The sound was high, piercing, agonized. It trembled through the creature's massive body, through Gareth's exhausted frame, through the water around them.
Gareth used his common sense to connect the two incidents together.
He saw multiple monsters rising from the sea their bodies massive, ancient, hungry and felt the disturbance in the water, the shift in the currents, the fear that radiated from his own beast.
Something is calling them, he thought, his inner voice sharp with understanding. Something is commanding them.
He grabbed onto his monster.
His fingers dug into its scales gripping, holding, refusing to let go as it then went forward at full speed. The beast surged through the sea, its fins cutting through the waves, its body pushing past other creatures, carrying Gareth toward the source of the chaos.
The other beasts joined it.
They swam together a herd of monsters, a flood of nightmares creating large waves that crashed against each other, shattered ships, drowned men. The water was violent, unforgiving, alive.
But these waters forced at that pressure were dangerous. If they came in contact with the body, the waves were highly pressurized because of the speed at which the beasts swam. They could crush bones. Rip flesh. Kill instantly.
Gareth found a spot of relaxation between the high-pressurized waves.
It was like a vacuum a pocket of stillness in the chaos, a space where he could exist freely, where the water did not crush him, where the pressure did not tear him apart. He held onto his beast, his body pressed against its scales, his breath shallow, careful, controlled.
He used the opportunity to take in as much oxygen as possible.
His lungs filled with air cold, salty, life-giving as he said to himself, his inner voice quiet but focused.
I need to recover a bit of stamina before it reaches its destination.
He took a deep breath.
I believe that destination is the source of all this chaos.
He opened his eyes.
The world was a blur of water and sky and monsters but he was calm. Controlled. Ready.
"I can't wait," he said quietly, "to see what's in front."
He looked left and right.
Ships were engaging with the monsters navy vessels and pirate ships alike, their cannons firing, their crews screaming, their hulls shattering. The battle was intense, brutal, senseless.
But it soon showed the pitiful nature of man.
Pirate and navy alike did not stand a single chance. Their bodies were ripped apart by claws and teeth and tentacles. Their ships were brought down in a flash splintered, sunk, forgotten. The monsters were too many. Too large. Too hungry.
Two great, large monsters that were ahead of him were able to grow and shoot their teeth.
They were rapid fire each tooth projectile, sharp, deadly. A single shot was able to destroy multiple vessels. The wood shattered. The men fell. The ships sank.
Gareth watched it all.
His face was unchanging.
The beast arrived.
At this point, it was like a hell planted on the sea.
A great whirlpool spun at the center of the chaos driven by the storm, fueled by the rage of the sea, pulling everything toward its hungry center. Ships as large as mountains fought against each other, their hulls crashing, their cannons blazing, their crews dying.
Navy men killed pirates.
Pirates killed navy men.
They bombarded each other with cannonballs and bullets and hatred.
And the monsters fought against both.
A brutal war to survive that favoured none of the sides. Every creature man or beast was prey. Every life was expendable. Every scream was ignored.
Gareth looked at this sight that was all around him.
He closed his eyes.
He heard the screams.
They filled his ears raw, desperate, aching the sound of men who had been born into suffering, who had lived in suffering, who were dying in suffering.
He spoke.
The words came out quiet, flat, absolute.
"NO VICTORY."
He opened his eyes.
"THE DEAD ARE EVERYWHERE."
Gareth saw this and bore an unchanging face.
His expression was still, hard, unreadable a man who had been here before, who had seen this before, who had been born into this. He was a man who had grown up in the shadow of suffering, who had become suffering, who had accepted it as the only truth.
Truly, those born into suffering may not escape that suffering and pain in their lives.
They carry it with them.
Everywhere they go.
Until the end.
The chapter ended there in the space between the screams and the silence, between the hell that surrounded him and the acceptance that filled his heart.
Gareth stood on his beast.
The whirlpool spun.
The monsters fought.
And the dead piled.