Flynn settles himself in bed to sleep for a few hours following his encounter with the creature.
He has hidden the journals in the locked storage box containing his personal belongings, planning to read them once the investigation of the reef is completed.
Part of him wonders why the creature was so willing to allow someone to enter his home and why it didn't simply drown him upon finding an intruder in its territory. It seems so strange that something so obviously beastly would still hold any human characteristics at all, it must've been alone and without human influence for years.
Flynn wonders if he's the first person to talk to the creature since it died, he wonders whether the creature gets lonely out there in the deep.
He thinks of the man the creature once was, trying to imagine what island he came from and why he ended up living in The Oasis before he died.
The circumstances of the creature's death press heavily on Flynn's mind.
The scars, the rusty and bloody equipment, it doesn't seem like he died of natural causes.
The anger in everything it did when he mentioned the angels, that has to come from somewhere.
Somehow he can tell that sleep will be fleeting tonight. There's too much on his mind.
Flynn wouldn't exactly call himself a social person, in fact he would likely be considered the complete opposite by a person from a modern, non tribal society.
He left his island of birth to live on a small isle alone when he was just 15, deciding that he was better off far away from the angels and their apparent distaste for people like himself.
Hollow Borne, humans with no souls.
His mother had been a worshipper of some ancient devil, she had sold his soul while he was still developing in her womb. It was miraculous that the tribe shaman hadn't thrown him into the ocean the moment he entered the world. The black markings that trailed around his arms were different and different couldn't be trusted.
He wonders how the creature came to be hollow before his death.
Was he born hollow because his soul was sold? Was he cursed by some demon that dreamt of a child of its own?
Was he just the unfortunate victim of heaven's mistake?
Had the angels and their father forgotten about the new life form, leaving him as nothing more than a shell?
'That would explain the distaste for heaven.' He murmurs to himself, tracing one finger up and down the marks on the back of his left hand.
Flynn feels the expedition boat rock slightly, the sounds of the water outside becoming mildly louder and more noticeable.
The feeling of unease returns.
Flynn realises that he is not the only member of the team still awake when the quiet murmurs of the demons pass by his door.
He assumes that they are just patrolling the boat, seeking to reassure themselves that the boat is still a safe place to stay.
Finally Flynn feels the familiar feeling of sleep creeping up on him, he closes his eyes and lets the darkness rise up to meet him.
His sleep is anything but peaceful.
He's in agony, unable to see out of one eye and vaguely aware of the fact that his left arm hangs uselessly by his side.
He should've been more careful, he should've left the moment he felt them getting closer.
He's so tired of running.
The only thing he can see is the deck of the boat, the wooden planks becoming stained with the blood that drips continuously from his face and scalp.
He's surprised he made it back to the boat at all.
Another wave of burning agony strikes him, tearing through his legs this time and leaving them useless.
Something grabs his ankle, flipping him onto his back.
He stares up at his attacker - unable to see their features through the white light engulfing them- he can't hear what they're saying over the ringing in his ears and the weak beat of his own heart.
He opens his mouth to plead with the figure, they laugh when he coughs on his own blood.
With the last ounce of strength and defiance he uses the only arm that he can still feel to grab for his knife, throwing it directly at the figure despite the lack of sight in one eye.
The blade grazes the being's shoulder, a spray of silver blood explodes from the wound.
The onyx blade becomes embedded in the mast and the silver in the air turns to dust and blows away, caught on the breeze of the night.
He smiles, a weak and bitter grin that's stained with his own scarlet blood, knowing he's going to die when a final wave of agony paralyses him completely.
His head drops back against the deck; he laughs out a dry curse as his neck catches against a discarded fishing hook and more blood leaks from the wound that the hook has created now it's embedded in his neck.
The figure drags him to the edge of the deck, rolls him so his legs are dangling in the water and their hand, still bathed in that blinding white light, is the only thing stopping him from tumbling into the dark water beneath him.
"I'll see you again. Heaven's Son. On this ocean I swear."
His threat, spoken by a tongue that feels heavy in his mouth, is once more laughed off.
The hand pushes him, he slips off the boat and down into the darkness.
He wants to swim but he can't move, can't fight anymore.
He can't hold his breath forever, he wishes he had gills. He lets go in one final scream of bubbles and blood.
The dark closes in and he hears his own heart stop.
YOU ARE READING
Dark Water
Fantastique"Hollow Born, people born without a soul. Sought after by both heaven and hell. At the time of their death, they transform into a creature of either heaven or hell. The circumstances of their death often dictate this." ----- She screams within her d...
