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mellowwhumps · 4 months ago

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Whumperless Whump Event Day 29 + 30: A robbery | One of many hostages | “Stay behind me, I can take a hit.” || Fear | Breaking point | “I can’t stop crying, I’m sorry—”

OCs: Ida, Ibys (AU of AU) — 2.2K words

CW: !!!! panic-driven self-harm + attempted suicide but the whumpee can’t quite die anyway, the pronoun ‘it’ being used for dehumanisation

@whumperless-whump-event

——

It’s over. Organisation destroyed. Half-bomb inside him rendered nonfunctional after help. Ida can’t exactly go back to his hometown, much too unsure, so right now he’s done nothing but rent a place with some spare money, some dingy flat that was barely enough to fit three people.

Needless to say, he was thankful for any fresh air.

The person beside him wasn’t much for talking, let alone requesting anything, undoubtedly still used to their past. Hence, that day, he was bringing them to get new clothes. To simulate choice. It’s a screwed-up act, really.

Of course it had to go wrong. His luck was never too good. Shopping mall, jewellery in the next section, intruders, warning shots fired. A robbery.

He could probably take care of them easily. The robbers hold their gun wrong, stance merely an attempt to make them look powerful enough to assert authority. He’s not scared of them.

Until one of them sees his expression and catches a glimpse of false gold under his sleeve and singular glove, revealed with his hands raised. Until they start pointing guns to his head instead. For a second, his resolve falters, and that is all the encouragement Ibys needs.

They catch his gaze, staring at him with near-frenzied eyes momentarily before setting his sights on the intruders, undoubtedly trying to come up with a plan. Ida distracts them, pretending to unbutton the clasps of his prosthetic.

Fleet-footed and lethally graceful, they strike, downing one man and moving on to another. There are weak spots, the result of being the only one doing the job; he covers for them, knocking the final two out. The other hostages watch on in silence; he can make a decent theory on what’s on their minds. No matter.

“Stay behind me next time, sir,” they snap, “and do not try to help. I am capable enough to fend for the both of us.”

They’re breathing heavily, clearly paying more attention to their actions rather than their words. Lapsing back into formality. He was so close in getting them to loosen up, and now they won’t look anywhere but the bodies.

It’s unlike them to speak first.

“Ibys. There won’t be a next time. We were just at the wrong place, at the wrong time. And of course I’d assist you, why wouldn’t I?”

“Sir, I can take a hit, sir. My job is as such. Better me than you, since injuries do not affect me, I was trained for this purp—”

“Screw your purpose! You don’t have a purpose, okay? It’s already over, it’s over!”

——————

It had been a long few months since it met him, there in that cell. Where it once longed for a wielder, there he was, treating them perhaps a little odd, but otherwise leniently. A weapon should not have so many thoughts, they think.

Time passes. They have not yet been put to another use, apart from helping him with the things he could not do. They have not yet had a hand laid on them, pushing or shoving or having a knife wedged into their chest.

It is peaceful. They were not meant for peace.

In the end, they’re expendable. A prototype, something made for the improvement of others. When time passes and they get older, it only gets worse, because the younger are more efficient, more capable, even with their experience.

They get picked to be thrown away and broken, to test their limits, to see how far they truly can go. Between one hell to the next, they never had a choice; this obedient little thing.

More arrive, and those subjects speak out of turn, or mess up their handler’s office, or act weak. Nothing happens. They can’t be like them. They are always waiting for something to happen, some command or instruction or easily comprehensible thing.

And then, the request happens.

If it fell apart, right then and there, it did not know how best to describe it. So they head to his office, do not take a deep breath in, and say: they are leaving. That is all they have to report.

He asks: Why?

He questions: Are you coming back?

He inquires: Will I be going with you?

It wants to answer: Sorry.

Instead, the weapon does not say anything. Apologies are not what something like them should ever have in their vocabulary. They, the subject; he, the owner. That was all there ever was to it. Their handler should be getting the documents soon.

They stand, as far as they ever were, and raise a hand to salute. As they walk away, they realise they don’t know how else to bid farewell.

Subject, object. Their words never did prove anything to him, even as informal as they forced their speech to be, as per instruction.

They turn the corner and try not to look back.

——————

Ida enters the room, not expecting anyone. Their assistant was sent to ‘serve’, according to the documents. He knows it’s a polite way of saying they won’t be coming back. Like how he shouldn’t be alive, at this very moment, in this very office.

Like how they shouldn’t be. But they’re here anyway, standing silently and inconspicuously by a corner. No greeting like he’d taught them to. Pure, contained silence.

When the door opens, he sees them reach for the hilt of their weapon. Tense.

He remembers, then, hiding behind whatever he could find. Trying to curb the shaking of his hands enough to fire a bullet, where a long time ago he’d have hit bullseyes with. No amount of training could have prepared anyone for the real thing.

There are no comforting words said, no reassurance. That would make it worse. It already happened, after all. Besides, whatever odd relations they had should not involve such things.

Instead, he tells them to report. What comes isn’t what he could ever expect. Some mishmash of chaos and conflict, them in the middle, because the others thought they showed enough capability to handle everything on their own. Like cowards.

Ibys does nothing but obey. That is what they were taught to do, and that is what they were doing now. Report. He feels rather sorry for them, trapped in some past regime. They’re both trapped.

Their hand presses into the blade of their knife, taken out at some point, healing so fast no scar forms at all, the only trace of injury being the blood splattering on the off-white floor. When they get to describing their wounds in perfect detail, up to the length of the incision made, that’s when he tells them to stop.

They do. Their eyes focus. They look down at the weapon, likely just about to cut through their bone and react, yanking it away from their arm and dropping it to the floor with a clatter before standing stock-straight, limbs locked, bracing themself.

He’s more concerned with the dried blood on the blade. It would have been nothing unusual, if he had not known better.

The knife is always kept clean. From washing it under a sink after prior permission to wiping it on the inside of the coat, all to keep it from tarnishing. It’s not the slowest of tasks. By all means, the cleaning should have been done.

It isn’t. To him, that says more than enough.

Ibys was rushing here.

——————

They live to serve, and when they aren’t serving, to wait for another order. So no, they have to have a purpose, because to have a purpose is to be needed, proof that they aren’t broken, proof that they can be wielded, this rusted weapon. Because when it’s over, their only choice was to be on the battlefield.

But it is, isn’t it? The data assistant that worked with them for some time and then went missing for a whole other long period of time barged into the laboratory and started bringing it down. He knew where the power supply was, the emergency power supply as well. All without turning off a single life support system.

It ended, albeit with casualties, but it ended. Some happy ending, like the fairytale book they once were allowed to take a peek out of. They’re not meant to be there at all. Without a purpose, they’re—

—metal touches their skin and they react and—

—Ida falls to the ground, crimson blossoming on his left sleeve. His eyes are blown wide, his breathing heavy. They’ve hurt him. Simple as that. Hadn’t kept the wounds to themself and themself only, since nobody else ever wanted that. Lashed out. Hurt his handler.

The weapon takes a step back. The weapon turns its namesake on itself, positioning it where its failsafe should have been, because if it is decommissioned then it cannot do the same thing anymore, cannot be a threat, can therefore keep its handler safe, safe, safe. Amidst it all, that is the order ingrained into them, the one order they cannot disobey. They do, anyway.

They are tackled to the floor using nothing but body weight, rolling away on instinct before they get crushed. Their hands move to stabilise themself on the ground. They would have fought back were it not for the clear, sharp cry of pain beside them, Ida’s prosthetic now sparking, both arms practically unfunctional.

“Ibys…you can’t just do that—! Don’t scare me like that! Nnnn…please…” He makes a failed attempt to get up, staring at them with helpless, helpless eyes as he tries again. A small audience watches on, whispering. Scared. Fearful. All of them.

Nobody is helping Ida up. And even though they know they can’t help, still they want to. What were they even thinking earlier? They…they’re not usually that impulsive.

Despite everything, they still rush forward. They could hurt him. But if they leave him then they may as well be worse than dead.

There’s a wetness on their cheeks. Something that curls from the skin of his throat and rises. They want to scream, even as they try to hold this foreign feeling back, press their hands to the wound as though staining them could somehow solve everything.

They were made to fight. They don’t know how else to help.

Water obstructs their vision, now, and they rub it away. Almost immediately, it’s replaced by another round of saltwater.

“Why, why can’t it…can’t I…s-sir…” There’s a quiver in their voice that certainly wasn’t there before. A weak little thing they want to chase out, but the more they think about it, the weaker it gets. In front of everyone who depended on them, no less. It takes them a long, long moment to realise they aren’t—

“—Breathe. I’m alright, I promise, the cut wasn’t too deep. Let’s go away so…so nobody stares at you. It’s making it worse.” They can’t. They can barely even move their legs “Hey. Look at me.” They rub their eyes until it burns and look.

“I’m not scared of you, see?”

It’s a lie, no doubt. It’s clear in the way he holds himself, subtle flinches that don’t escape their gaze. Yet, and yet, his voice is calm with nothing but the truth, not soothing or deep, but his voice nonetheless. They…they want to listen. They will always listen to him, listen to the familiarity of his speech and the accent of his words.

“Sir, I…I can’t stop this, apologies, sir—”

“It’s a process. You get used to it.” He shifts his position on the floor, smiling even as he winces, strong in a way only he could pull off. “Don’t bother trying to stop the tears.”

A string pulls taut inside them, not quite snapping but enough to send them over the edge, dropping to their knees with a cry. It’s visceral, yearning, the way it just doesn’t end. They’re a mess, but in that moment, they can’t quite think of anything else apart from the way he’s letting them sob into the cloth of his shirt.

He’s warm. They haven’t ever gotten so close to anyone before, and realise how much they want it. This greedy, all-consuming desire for more, the feeling that had perhaps driven them forward this whole time. Ida talks and they don’t even bother listening, merely hearing the words envelop their body in a certain sort of inexplicable peace.

Alive, they think. Alive.

Just that sends another round of sobs escaping their mouth. They stay there forever, perhaps, or a minute, and in that moment they don’t care about anything but the sound of his false heartbeat by their ear.

——

“That’s not what I meant just now, you know? You can still have a purpose. It simply doesn’t need to be because anyone else forced you to. You don’t have to do everything alone either.”

“You hurt your arm, sir. Both of them. I have to assist you, sir.”

“Do you want to?”

“…Yes.”

“Then that can be your purpose now, since you want it! Until we figure out something better when ‘Wen fixes my prosthetic. I take care of you, you take care of me, got it? So stay alive in the meantime.”

“…I take care of you, you take care of me. Instruction received,s—Ida.”

“You like me talking, right? I noticed that a long, long time ago.”

#okay after 29 days i finally write some living weapon whump. embarrassing #yeah remember when this used to be my favourite. remember when i said this like 2 other times #improvement is a real thing actually #im so ill about them. even when i dont think about them i think about them #whump #mellowwhumps #whump writing #whumpblr #writing challenge #prompt fill #whumperless whump event

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waywardsalt · 3 months ago

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rough rough draft of chapter 1 of the bellum x linebeck fic

Though the storm had passed and the sun finally shown upon the sea again, Linebeck felt gloomy. He leaned against his ship’s rope railings and stared at the horizon. The night before, the pounding of the rain had put him at ease. Now, the bright afternoon had brought back that familiar anxiety. After some thinking, Linebeck pushed himself away from the railing and resolved to begin his morning chores.

As the only person on his ship, it was up to Linebeck to take care of it- and he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. He knew his beloved steamship like the back of his hand, and he collected a bucket as he blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes. Firstly, he gathered seawater to dump into the engine’s storage tank. The ship was drifting at the moment, but once Linebeck would turn it on, the heat would build up in the engine and the water would boil and evaporate and build up steam to get the wheels moving.

Linebeck knelt at the lowest edge of the deck and dunked the bucket into the water for the ninth- tenth? - time. He’d have to do some extra engine maintenance before he got moving. He’d been traveling during the entire storm, likely pushing the engine to its limits. But after the water gathering, Linebeck checked the hull for barnacles and scratches, checked the railings for damaged rope, checked his food and water supplies, barely giving himself a moment of rest while he went through the familiar motions.

Since he began sailing, Linebeck’s life had been altogether monotonous and unpredictable. His ship was one he had designed himself, and knew better than anyone else how to take care of and operate it. He had no desire to take on a crew, and knew from experience that they’d only hold him back- trying to teach new people how to work his ship was incredibly tedious and often led to them making mistakes and doing more harm than good. The last bastard he’d temporarily hired and bothered to teach about his ship- Linebeck scowled and shook his head. Not even worth thinking about, now.

The storm had replenished his fresh water supply. It had been bad enough to obscure visibility across the sea, so Linebeck had done some fishing. If he cared for gods, he would have thanked one that he made it through without getting sick.

He didn’t need a crew. Linebeck hadn’t had a long-term crew member for what- seven years now? They just made him feel uneasy and he could never muster up the patience to put up with them.

Or maybe he kept finding the wrong people. That had certainly happened before. He was never particularly good with other people. Linebeck was almost certain that he’d made a good few new enemies just in the last month. His eyes scanned the horizon as he walked back out onto the deck. Linebeck tightened his grip on his mop’s handle. He was totally alone. And yet his skin prickled with unease.

“…No point worrying,” he mumbled to himself. He started mopping the deck, forcing himself to keep his eyes trained on the wood. His last chore of the morning was always the most soothing. He moved slowly and rhythmically, beginning at the prow and slowly making his way back to the cabin. His ship was small, though large enough to be comfortable for him. The deck sloped upwards a few feet from the cabin and plateaued, about a foot higher and better to accommodate the rooms and machinery beneath.

The air was warm and humid; Linebeck brushed his hair out of his face and behind his shoulders. He considered removing his coat, but he was nearly done mopping- no point in wasting the time. The heat was never a big issue for him. He was perfectly suited to the sea, and Linebeck felt more than confidant handling every aspect of this life on his own. No problems whatsoever. No good reason for the anxiety that refused to leave his mind.

Maybe there was a good reason, the same reason why he kept scanning the horizon.

Finished mopping the deck, Linebeck turned to admire it. The storm had cleaned it well enough, but now that the sky was clear he wasn’t just going to cut out part of his morning routine.

With everything done for the morning, Linebeck gathered up his mop and the bucket and moved to put them away. The bucket would be dumped out and left with other containers in the storage room, the mop left in the engine room… and then the engine would need to be started up. The nearest inhabited island was two days away (with good conditions), so while Linebeck had no need to get going right that moment, he felt safer with the engine running.

To get the engine started, Linebeck pulled a lever by the wheel up and waited a moment as he heard the hissing of steam start, and then stop. He knelt down in front of the storage tank. Enough water for the day, that was for sure. He withdrew his matchbox from a pocket in his coat and struck a match, humming idly to himself as he tossed it in the space below the water. It would only be a few minutes before the ship could get going; over the years, Linebeck had gone back and forth on the design of the engine, and managed to make it especially efficient with different materials and methods, and was quite proud of it. While the water heated up, he shut the tank door and sat back, resting a moment.

He’d gotten… some sleep last night. He’d dreamed briefly, and didn’t feel as terrible as he usually did. Some sleep. Better than no sleep at all. Linebeck laid down on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. He stared at the winding pipes at the tops of the walls and then shut his eyes. If he was lucky, he could perhaps find a few minutes to nap. Just a few minutes…

The ticking of the machinery around him slowly faded in as the engine properly started up. The sound melted into with the noise of the ocean outside, and Linebeck felt his anxieties ease. The familiarity of his daily routine eased his mind like nothing else.

The next island was north of his position… Linebeck let out a long breath. He’d have to at least position his ship facing north, and get started within the hour. He sat up and stretched. If he got started now, he could reach the island by late tomorrow. The engine was ready to go, and Linebeck smiled to himself as he fiddled with some of the smaller levers and switches, listening to the subtle changes in the ticking and clicking around him.

He paused when he heard up an unfamiliar noise. Linebeck stilled his hands, suddenly feeling cold.

Without thinking, Linebeck kicked the engine into proper operation and after a moment, the wheels on either side of the ship started turning and he quickly steered the ship in the opposite direction of that odd sound. He heard it again, from outside his ship- the unmistakable sound of cannon fire, and Linebeck was not brave enough to stop and check to see if it was aimed at him.

It was usually aimed at him, anyways.

Linebeck steered his ship away and locked the wheel in place; he felt his heart pounding in his chest as more muffled canon fire reached his ears. One sounded closer than the rest, and he managed to tear himself away from the wheel and run up to deck. Running away was nice, but he needed to know where to run away to.

It seemed like he was getting chased more and more. Linebeck figured he ought to start a list of the crews that had it out for him; that was something to do once he was safe. He stumbled out onto the deck and leaned over the rope railing, staring at the southern horizon. Sure enough, he could see a pirate ship in the distance heading his way, and the wind was in their favor.

Linebeck gripped the railings until the rope started to dig into his skin. The hell did he do to them? He recognized the decorated sails as the sails of the ship that’d been pursuing him before the storm. Their captain was one he’d cheated out of several hundred rupees in poker- or was that a different crew? No time to think it over while they got closer and closer. More cannon fire rang out, and Linebeck jumped back as the cannonball splashed into the water dangerously close to his ship.

Sailing in a straight line was a terrible idea. Better to leverage his steamship’s advantages and focus on disrupting their aim. Linebeck wildly looked around. No rocks or islands in sight. His best hope was to run for it and hope that either they’d run out of cannonballs or the wind would die down. He raced back inside.

He was just one man; why did all of these pirates decide that being slighted by him once marked him as the biggest threat to them on the entire Great Sea? Pirates were so petty. He flinched when he heard a muffled splash and felt the ship rock. Linebeck gripped the wheel tightly and started turning the ship west, his sweaty hands almost slipping off. He gritted his teeth as the cannon fire sounded closer and the ship rocked again.

The last time he’d been pursued like this, a cannonball had burnt his hull and cost him several days of sleep. Linebeck turned the ship far enough around to spy the pursuing pirates again; the moment he heard the cannon fire again, he spun the wheel to sail in the opposite direction. Turning was slow, but his ship never stopped moving. He’d had nightmares about one of the wheels being damage, and Linebeck felt weak in the knees just thinking about it.

As the pirate ship slipped out of view, the waters around his ship were more violently disrupted, and Linebeck yelped as his ship was more violently rocked by the waves. There was no cannon fire, no sound of a cannonball hitting the waves- and the water was clearly churning too violently for it to have been a cannonball. He clung to the steering wheel for dear life, his knees nearly buckling underneath him, and the cacophonous sound of an especially large wave made him wince. The ship rocked again, but still no cannon fire. Instead, Linebeck picked up a new muffled noise.

…Splintering wood?

The wood of his own ship was fine, there was no motion asides from the violent waves rocking his ship, but the distant splintering continued, and with it, faraway screams. For the second time in barely five minutes, Linebeck’s curiosity prevailed over his fear. On shaky legs he stumbled up onto his deck- slick with water that had poured onboard, and nearly fell over the railings when he reached them.

The pursuing pirate ship was being torn apart by something. Something had pulled the main mast down and split it in half, tearing through the sails and ripping the vessel in half. Linebeck squinted, hardly seeing anything that could be causing it, then caught a glimpse of what looked like a thick black rope curled around the prow, tearing it clean off and dragging it into the sea. The way those ‘ropes’ moved; Linebeck slowly slid down into a crouch as he realized that a sea monster was what was attacking that ship.

One pirate jumped from where the prow had been, likely trying to escape and swim away, but a black tentacle shot out of the water and grabbed them midair and yanked them below the water. Linebeck felt frozen to the spot, more than grateful that he wasn’t the creature’s target, but he feared that if he took advantage of the chaos and sailed away, he would be attacked next.

The pursuing ship began to sink, and the sharp cracking of wood was piercing as it reached Linebeck’s ears. The hull was torn in two, more tentacles appearing to crush them into unsalvageable wreckages. The fear that shot through Linebeck urged him to straighten back up. He started to hurry back into the engine room, but stopped in his tracks as the tentacles withdrew back into the water.

The pirate ship’s remains slowly sank, survivors clinging to any floating pieces. Linebeck stared at the water around his ship. That… thing had stopped. That sea monster that he and those pirates had the misfortune to disturb.

That sea monster- Linebeck had researched every possible hostile creature that had been seen on the Great Sea, and that certainly had to have been one of them. He grabbed onto his railing again, feeling too sick to move his gaze from the sinking ship down to the waters just below him. He stood at the end of the railing, steady on the sloping deck despite the way his limbs shook and his heart hammered in his chest.

There was a sea monster in these waters. It had just wiped out an entire pirate crew in hardly a minute. From what Linebeck could recall, that pirate crew was rather prepared and experienced, and their ship certainly wasn’t some glorified piece of driftwood. This wasn’t just an overgrown gyorg or some other typical sea monster- he was at the mercy of the kind of sea monster that had stories passed around. The kinds that endured for decades or even centuries and were either worshipped or feared. He’d never seen a regular sea monster that had those kinds of tentacles and was that quick and deadly.

One of the stranded pirates was suddenly and violently pulled under water. Linebeck lowered himself back down to a crouch, staring at the now-empty patch of water. After a few moments, a faint red hue bloomed from deep under the surface.

I’m going to die.

The thought seemed to echo in Linebeck’s head. It wasn’t a thought he was unfamiliar with, but it was much, much more frantic now than ever. He was going to drown or be eaten. Even if he got out unscathed, his ship likely wouldn’t, and that sounded just as bad as if he got injured. Linebeck shakily stared down at the water mere feet from him. Every tiny wave and ripple in the water heightened his anxiety, and his mind raced. Another pirate was pulled under the water, eaten, and the waters were still for a moment. Then, there was a subtle ripple further away from the wreckage and closer to Linebeck’s ship.

How do I get out of this?

Linebeck’s terror forced him to his feet, and he raced into his ship’s cabin. That monster was more than capable of catching up with that pirate ship, and Linebeck stumbled on his way down the stairs as his ship rocked slightly.

This monster was capable of killing and catching him with ease, and it tore apart that pirate ship with ease, and it was eating the survivors, and Linebeck was up next if he didn’t think fast. His feet brought him into his ship’s cramped kitchen, and he stood still in the doorway for a moment. His fear and quick-thinking seemed to crash into each other, and his mind went blank as he stared around. Linebeck switched his attention from his utensils to the fish he’d recently caught and had yet to clean to the cupboards. Why the hell had he run here?

The sea monster killed all of the pirates. It was probably chasing after him now. It tore apart the ship, and… ate the pirates. Ate the pirates. Linebeck stared at his recently-caught fish. There were a pair of smaller amberjacks he’d picked up during the storm, a seabass he had a few different plans for, and then a large loovar he’d been planning to sell. He suddenly felt itchy looking at that loovar. He was going to sell it. It was a large, pristine loovar, with sleek, undamaged scales and was over five feet long and took up the entire counter that fit in the narrow kitchen. It was valuable and would net him a good sum of rupees at the next island he docked at.

Linebeck’s ship rocked again, violently enough to knock him off balance. The terror finally mixed with his quick thinking and he grabbed and yanked the loovar off the counter, stumbling a moment under its weight. He slung it over his shoulder and hauled it up the stairs, his shoulder aching before he was even in the engine room. Goddesses, his coat was going to reek if he made it out of this alive.

He paused to grab his mop and tuck it into the crook of his elbow and stumbled a bit, stubbornly keeping the fish from touching the floor. The ship rocked under his feet again, and Linebeck shuddered and hurried out onto the deck. The water around his ship’s hull ripped every few moments, and Linebeck didn’t hesitate in letting the loovar drop onto the wood. He kicked it off the deck, and it fell unceremoniously into the water and floated barely a few inches from the hull- too close.

With the mop he prodded at it and sent it floating slowly away from his ship. And so, Linebeck huddled at the edge of his deck, leaning against his mop for support. For just a moment, the waters were still. The loovar bobbed on the water’s surface and the sunlight glinted off its scales. Linebeck exhaled slowly. For all he knew, the monster could have already left. He could probably grab the loovar if he was careful.

Linebeck started to reach back out with the mop, but drew it back as the water around the loovar suddenly started to ripple. The rippling grew more furious, and the water began to bubble and small waves started rushing out from around the fish- a dark shape was just barely visible deep in the water. The shape rushed to the surface, and Linebeck only got the quickest glimpse before falling backwards onto the deck as the largest waves yet set his ship violently rocking.

It was huge, easily half the size of his ship, and a stunning yellow. For the split second he saw it, Linebeck couldn’t discern any detail, but he didn’t miss the mouth full of sharp teeth that engulfed the loovar. Linebeck had fallen onto his back and didn’t dare move as the sea calmed down, the blurry image of the beast burnt into his mind. He stared up at the sky and realized that the fear in his chest had eased. Had he appeased the creature? The rocking of his ship slowly stopped, and he felt he was in no hurry to get up.

There was a slight splashing, and Linebeck jolted upright. He stared off the edge of the deck, at where the loovar had been floating. It stared back at him. The sunlight glinted off its yellow body, greenish in some spots, and golden in others. Under the water, the rest of it was just a murky shadow. In its mouth, encircled by those teeth, was an eye that stared back at him, the tiny pupil within a burning yellow and orange, surrounded by deep black. A monstrous eye, and one that Linebeck could’ve sworn he’d seen somewhere. Something about the thing’s unblinking gaze made a sense of visceral horror return to Linebeck, and before he could think it through, he scrambled to his feet.

The creature didn’t move in the water, but its eye followed his movements. Despite the hammering of his heart, Linebeck couldn’t tear his gaze away from that eye. His limbs felt locked in place, and his breathing came in in ragged gasps and he realized just how bad his situation had gotten. There was no way that loovar was enough to save him. He’d seen the way the creature had torn apart that pirate ship. He’d seen the way it had grabbed and killed those pirates. There was nothing keeping it from killing him next.

Then, without any sound but the sounds of the water, the creature sank down into the ocean and out of sight.

Linebeck immediately hurried back into his cabin, just barely remembering to snatch up his mop.

He wasted no time in getting his ship up and running again, and set a course for the island before even thinking of relaxing. Linebeck anxiously surveyed the sea as he steered the ship away, but spotted nothing out of the ordinary.

…Maybe the loovar had satisfied that… thing. Linebeck tried not to think much about it. But his nerves were still shot by the encounter, and he stiffly steered until the sun began to set.

He didn’t anchor the ship until stars glittered in the sky. Linebeck moved gingerly around his ship, half expecting that monster to return. But the evening was quiet, and Linebeck eventually felt relaxed enough after doing his rounds. He collected every book he had that mentioned sea monsters and went out on deck to read and rest.

Linebeck rested against the prow. He set the books in his lap and started flipping through each one, quickly skipping through what turned out to be a catalogue of common seafaring enemies, and finding a short collection of short stories based on powerful creatures around the world. As the sun dipped further below the horizon, Linebeck finally reached a much more informative book- one that had been gathering dust at the edge of the shelf- and flipped through more slowly, inspecting each illustration. Dragons, sentient plants, fish creatures, and Linebeck slowed down upon reaching the chapter reserved for deities. It didn’t take long for him to turn a page and find a familiar illustration.

It was little more than a collection of sketches, but that eye was unmistakable. Linebeck leaned over the book with a small spark of triumph in his heart. He was right- it was one he’d heard of before, a creature named ‘Bellum’. Apparently a powerful, demonic sea monster.

Linebeck felt a faint shiver down his spine and he sat up and stared off across the sea. He shut the book and gathered up the rest. Back in the cabin, he locked the door out, and hesitated with his hand on the knob. That nearby island was his destination, a small island with a small town that he’d been for. He needed supplies, needed to restock on food and parts and whatever else eluded him at the moment.

He double-checked the lock and silently headed down into the storage room. Linebeck left the volume with the information on Bellum on the table, and put the rest back on the bookshelf behind the thin bar that kept them from falling out.

Bellum.

Linebeck turned and stared at the book on the table. In the dim light of the few lit lanterns in the room, the book seemed almost ominous with its dark cover and elaborate spine. Where had he picked this one up? Was it one from home, or something he’d bought on a whim a while ago? Either way, it was worth reading through and taking notes on- even if the information he wanted seemed to only take up two pages.

Linebeck idly rubbed his hands together. The only indication of his lingering anxiety was the thin layer of sweat on his palms. Most sea monsters were known through shared stories and rumored sightings. Once he got all he could from the book, he could start asking around at islands. With any luck, though, he wouldn’t have to see that thing again.

#my writing #cant remember the other tag and i do NOT have time to check #uhhhhhh would greatly appreciate feedback/constructive criticism #just know that ill disregard anything related to the story bc thats set in stone- looking more for stuff with the actual prose #or a bit on how linebeck is written (he doesnt feel. anxious. enough so i will ahve to work on that)#if the formatting is fucked then idk. when i posted that warriors thing a while back it fucked up the formatting then too #tbh. not feeling as bad abt this as i wqs before giving a quick editing read through. i still think it needs some real work tho #‘with any luck though he wouldn’t have to see that thing again’ <- thoughts of a guy whos gonna fuck that thing by the end of the year #depends on your definition of fuck ig. i know whats going and i think fuck is a bit if an exaggeration but its also funny #anyways i haved mixted feelings on this but i do really want to improve it so. this aint ff.net or ao3 but id appreciate uh. replies?#whatever here its just shy of 4k words iirc #long post

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