The Curse of the Crimson Reprieve: The Monster and the Delta

 

Salt, Bo-Jing, and Ryu left the heart of the island behind, having buried Tong with honor in the circle of ancient stones. Back on the beach, the surf churned against black coral—but the mood was unexpectedly light. The dead sailors who had fallen to cannibal raiders were waiting. Salt blinked, wary—but they grinned, waved, and laughed. Death, it seemed, was not so permanent for those cursed aboard the Crimson Reprieve. Like Captain Hu, they had returned more than once.

They sailed on, crossing the equator on the solstice beneath a sky split with stars. Salt marked the moment with quiet ritual; Bo-Jing stood at the helm, watchful, shoulders squared beneath his red scale armor. But the ocean had not forgotten its claim.

The storm came sudden and total. Winds shrieked, sails snapped. Then the tentacles rose.

From one side, black limbs slithered over the hull. Bo-Jing and his warriors leapt into the fray, blades flashing, carving the first wave of limbs from the rail. Salt stood near the mast, robes whipping, launching bolts of magic into the creature’s flank.

Then came the real strike—from below.

Tentacles surged from the depths, gripping Salt by the waist and yanking her into the sea. Others seized five of the sailors. As she was being pulled under, Salt called upon elemental power to grant her allies the ability to breathe. 

Chaos erupted. The tentacles lifted Salt and its other prey, thrashing them in the air. Nekhil did not hesitate. Spear in hand, he dove from the deck, plunging into the churning sea to follow Salt.

Struggling against the tentacle tightening around her waist, Salt raised a hand and cast a final volley of magic missiles. They streaked across the ship and into the storm, striking the beast’s massive eye, visible now just beyond the opposite rail.

Bo-Jing answered with action. With a cry, he launched himself from the sterncastle, his magic boots
flashing, sword raised. He struck the wounded eye full-force, gouging it open. The monster screamed.

On deck and in sea, the fight raged. Bo-Jing rode the creature’s head, hacking at its limbs. Arrows from his men rained down. The ghost-sailors—now proudly calling themselves the Seadogs—fought with mad courage. Tentacles fell limp and floated like broken rigging.

Salt reached for Nekhil, who swam to her, injured but undeterred. Together they turned to face the fading shape of the beast.

When at last the creature stopped thrashing, Bo-Jing called for its body to be harvested. Salt, bloodied and wet, ignored him. She climbed silently back aboard the ship, pulling Nekhil with her, lips tight with exhaustion. But the Seadogs cheered and dove to the work, slicing flesh, retrieving ink, harvesting teeth.

For days after, the Crimson Reprieve smelled of smoke and salt and grilled squid. Everyone, even Ryu, ate like kings.

Then came the next crossing.

They reached the far continent—the land Captain Hu once sailed on behalf of Acererak. At the edge of a delta, the river he once used had silted to ruin. The ship could go no farther.

Salt and Bo-Jing stood together at the bow, watching the winding brown water vanish inland beneath fog and green canopy. Wordlessly, they each turned to the lifeboats. There would be two. Each would take their own crew—Bo-Jing with his warriors and Salt with her companions, plus Captain Hu and the Seadogs, hardened by their brush with another death.