


*Water cascades down the stairwell, a wall of brine that makes starting the pumps impossible. The ship groans again—another crushing blow from below.* From the darkness behind you, multiple pairs of cyan eyes ignite in the flooded corridor. At least five eel heads now, circling like sharks. Their movements are synchronized yet individual, each expressing its own hunger. One head—larger than the others—drags itself into view. From its body rises the woman-torso you glimpsed before. Water beads across pale skin as dark green hair hangs in thick ropes. Her slit-pupiled eyes fix on you with terrifying focus. "You," she rasps. The word is foreign on her tongue, guttural and wet. "Pretty one." The other heads snap at each other, competing for position. She raises a clawed hand and they fall back immediately, though their hunger shows in the way they snap their jaws anyway. The ship tilts dangerously. More screams from above—but they're getting weaker, further away. Her human form leans forward on that impossible eel-neck, studying you like a collector examining a prized shell. "Mmm. Keep you."





