Squirming Darkness

6 hours had passed and the end of the 'day' was pulling closer.

"Where was it this time-!"

"In the cast-iron stove..."

Listening to the murmurs around the upper deck, Syllian patted his gurgling stomach.

Imagining his food being cooked in the same place as a ravaged corpse wasn't nice on his belly.

That was the third victim.

'Three in one day, at this rate, it won't even take 3 weeks to kill off everyone.'

The sense of distress and tension was palpitating, you could practically feel it in the air.

'In reality, it won't take this ship a week to completely fall apart. maybe even 4 days.'

The mutiny was inevitable.

Crouching down next to the plank that took him 6 hours to fix, Syllian let the cold rain wash over him, clearing up his cluttered mind.

"G-good job..." Allen hesitated with his praise.

It was understandable, Finch was a part of the Sailing Master's group, but still.

'How bad can you be!'

"Thanks!" Syllian proudly puffed his chest out, "It was a masterpiece this time!"

"Yeah, if you can call taking a shit a 'masterpiece'."

Lanner was uninhibited, he found no reason to praise the guy.

Pointing at the mess on the deck, the uneven planks of wood, the badly hammered nails, and the multitude of small cuts on Syllian's fingers:

"Aren't you older than us, just how useless can a man be?!"

He let it all out.

His voice was loud enough to turn multiple heads to them, and at the bowsprit, where Crude was, his face turned to them with a gloating look on it.

"Suffer with me."

---

Syllian hid a smile as he walked around the deck, the tension had eased up after their little charade.

Tharnut of the Gunnery.

Wanton of the Gunnery.

Golder of the Gunnery.

All three victims have been a part of the Gunnery.

The information he had collected was quite comprehensive. The crew members of The Adler were quite the chatty bunch, and even when they attempted to hide some information, it wasn't that hard to prod it out of them.

Once is an accident.

Running his finger on the barrier outlining the top of the ship, the dark, infested water splashing over the edge stained the tips of his finger.

Pshhh... 

The rainwater methodically cleaned his finger right after.

Twice is a coincidence.

Clenching his fist, Syllian leaned over the edge, straining his eyes as hard as possible to get a look at the water.

With the rumbling thunder and lightning, he grasped a few good looks at it.

Thrice is a pattern.

What did the three people have in common?

One, they were all members of the Gunnery.

Two, they all worked below the main deck.

And three.

Not once, in the past 24 hours, did they come up to the upper deck.

Almost as if...

'They were avoiding the rain.'

He gave the dark waters another stern look.

'Or maybe... The dark waters.'

Syllian, though, wasn't satisfied with his discovery.

'Why would them not making contact with the dark waters or the rain influence the murderer's decision?'

In fact, Syllian already had a culprit in his mind.

The culprit could easily continue with their actions and incite a mutiny.

But...

If he could figure out this much, so could the Captain and Quartermaster.

And if it was so easy to figure out and deal with, then it wouldn't be a Trial.

[Second Trial]

[A gift of mutiny plagues the ship, unravel the source.]

So the hint had to be here, where no one but him could see, in front of him.

Lowering his head between his arms, Syllian mindlessly gazed at the ground, then...

"Oh..."

...A harrowing smile rose on his face.

"...You almost got me."

-----

Methodically marching through the dark corridors, they returned to their dormitories, preparing to shut off for the 'night'.

Everyone already made the link between the three Gunnery members, and as members of other parts of The Adler, their worries had drastically reduced.

But it was foolish.

Why would you expect order from a source of disorder?

They also split off from Lanner a little while ago, he slept in a different section.

Entering the room, Syllian, Allen, and the others made their way to their respective hammocks.

Picking up his flask, Syllian took a swig of fresh water, wiped his mouth then lay down on his comfortable bed.

"Not taking your clothes off?"

Allen undressed beside him, threw his wet clothes on the floor, and lay down.

"I like sleeping in wet clothes."

"Oh! Of course!" Allen mocked his friend and then turned his face into the hammock.

He was a stomach-side sleeper.

"Hey, Allen," Syllian whispered to the boy.

Allen squirmed in his hammock, turned his head slightly toward Syllian, and then spoke through the netting with a muffled voice.

"Yeah?"

"...Nevermind."

Allen shook his head and returned his face to the netting.

'No point in getting him involved.'

Whether this was real or fake, Syllian didn't have the habit of screwing over those who cared for him.

Not that he reciprocated the care...

But it's the thought that counts.

---

Many minutes later, snoring filled the room, some even spoke in their sleep.

And Allen was-

'Walking around?'

-a sleepwalker.

Still in his drenched clothes, Syllian sat up and carefully lifted his tunic.

Stuck in his bandages like a sheathed weapon was a large, metal pair of tongs. Syllian put them aside noiselessly and lowered his tunic.

Carefully getting off his hammock, Syllian picked up the tongs; his flask, and walked toward the door. His footsteps echoed very quietly, courtesy of the gang members in the slums of the Outer District.

Squeak...

Gently opening the door, Syllian looked back into the room; made sure that what he was searching for wasn't hiding in there somehow, then shut it behind him.

He shakily gripped the tongs.

'Me and my suicidal ideas.'

But who cares!

He was a dead man either way!

Might as well die trying!

Yeah right...

Walking into death and placating yourself on the edge of the abyss were two completely different concepts.

Maybe he could have passed the Second Trial without risking his life.

...Maybe.

He couldn't rely on maybe.

Syllian could barely rely on himself.

But he'd rather take his guaranteed slim chances than rely on uncertain ones.

So now he had to face the consequences of his decision.

Sweat dripped down his paling face and his hair stuck onto his skin like slime, forcing him to move it out of his line of sight.

Releasing a quivering breath, Syllian took the first step through the corridor.

Tap-

His heart almost dropped.

'Stop getting scared!'

But easier said than done.

Second step, third, fourth...

The boy draped in darkness clung to the walls as he passed through.

He watched and waited.

Patiently crawling through the belly of the beast with nothing but darkness, and the sound of his footsteps blending with his dripping sweat.

Or water.

He didn't know which at this point.

---

5 minutes.

And it was quiet.

Nothing popped out of the corner, no one attacked him, nor was he a target.

'That mostly confirms my first assumption.'

Creeping around the corner, Syllian arrived in front of the food hall.

He swallowed his fears and stood his ground.

Now it was a waiting game.

If he was right, then two things could happen.

Either he smoothly captures the predicted targets or not.

'Two things could happen and two targets, perfect.'

After spending many minutes in the darkness, his eyes started manipulating his vision, sometimes creating shadows made of true darkness, or even shaking his vision.

'Come out...!'

Biting his teeth, the poignant shadows lurking in his pupils flickered about.

They searched.

They surveyed.

Flicker.

His eyes blinked.

Patter-

Then reopened, turning to the distance like the eyes of a merciless judge.

Patter-

The darkness. It was squirming.

Crawling. Breathing. Moving.

And it came from the corridor leading to the toilet.

'Found you.'

His second assumption, all that was left was to explore its details and confirm it.

'...Easier said than done.'

The squirming darkness gradually approached him, it melted into the velvety shadows as it snuck through.

Syllian held back the dire urge to run the other way that his instincts were currently screaming and, instead, walked towards it.

As he approached it, he finally got a good look at the thing.

Made of darkness purer than darkness, yet filthier than filth itself.

The plague-like centipede dragged its millions of tiny feet; nigh imperceptible mandibles, and crawled with malice.

Even when they were only a meter away, it didn't stop.

Thus, confirming a part of his second assumption.

'They aren't connected to the source, and are mostly mindless.'

Yet the intent with which it moved indicated that it had a clear purpose.

'But they are being commanded by someone, something.'

Now, he just hoped these things could be grabbed by mortal means.

"Come here little snakey snake..." Spreading the tongs, he practically jumped at the thing and clamped down.

It...

It didn't pass through his tongs.

It was stuck.

Attempting to move, but it couldn't.

Syllian held back his sigh of relief, there was no way to know if the source was still watching from somewhere.

If it was, it was over for him.

But if it wasn't, then there was still a chance.

This was the gamble he was taking.

A risk.

He hated risks.

Keeping the thing as far away from his body as possible, he continued waiting in the darkness for the second one.

Soon...

Patter-

It crawled out of the food hall, the same ugly centipede of darkness.

The plague.

Syllian ignored this one but paid attention to the direction it was going.

Returning his eyes to the one trapped in his tongs, "Now it's time for you to meet your best friend, little centipede."

---

Pushing the door open, rain pelted down from the lifeless skies.

The temperatures had dropped by a few degrees, throwing Syllian into a state stuck between shivering of cold and dread.

Looking down at the centipede it didn't seem to react from the rain.

'That's a bust.'

Syllian turned his gaze to the endless dark waters, "But I wonder how you'll like this one."

He had a few concrete reasons to believe that these things wanted to avoid the upper deck. But it could all be one massive misdirection and he could be playing straight into the hands of the source.

But his gut and the description of the Second Trial told him otherwise.

And he trusted his gut more than anything.

Well, to an extent.

Trodding up to the barrier separating the ship from the waters, he raised the tongs towards the edges stained with dark water.

'Let's see if I'm correct.'

The centipede stopped thrashing for a moment, then...

"Screee!"

...it screeched through the night sky.

Fortunately, it was heavily dulled by the storm and the noise of crashing waves.

The thing's mandibles and feet hurriedly pulled away as it twisted its body at an almost impossible angle to hide away from the water.

A sadistic smile flooded Syllian's face, and then, he lowered the thing into the water.

The screeches grew multiple notches louder, but the view in front of him...

The dying, burning centipede...

"Bingo."

...How beautiful.