The night was an inky black, the moon hidden behind thick clouds that swirled ominously above the deck of the Abyssal Hunter. Waves crashed against the hull with a growl, the ship rocking gently as Oscar stood at the stern, his silhouette stark against the dim light of the lanterns swinging from the mast. The salty spray of the ocean bit at his skin, invigorating him with a sense of purpose that had kept him awake for days.
The crew, weary and tense from their long voyage, whispered among themselves, casting wary glances at the horizon. Each crash of the waves seemed to echo their unease, but Oscar’s steely resolve remained unshaken. He was on a mission—a singular purpose that consumed him entirely.
— “Captain,”
a burly man with a weather-beaten face called out, his voice barely audible over the roar of the sea.
— “The storm is coming. It’d be wise to turn back.”
Oscar turned his head slightly, gray eyes narrowing into slits. He had grown accustomed to the captain’s concern, but there was an edge to the man’s voice that irked him.
— “I don’t care about the storm,”
he replied, his tone flat but resolute.
— “We’re not turning back. Not now.”
The captain’s brow furrowed, doubt flickering across his face.
— “With all due respect, sir, we’ve been out here for weeks. The crew is exhausted. If we get caught in the storm—”
— “There’s something out there,”
Oscar interrupted, his voice low but laced with intensity.
— “I can feel it. The beast is close.”
A ripple of unease swept through the crew. They exchanged glances, uncertainty creeping into their expressions as they recalled the tales Oscar had shared—of the creature that had haunted his childhood, a monstrous terror from the depths of the sea that had claimed his father’s life. To them, it was a myth, an obsession that drove their employer, but Oscar’s conviction was palpable, suffusing the air with a tension that made their skin crawl.