The Damned Paladin-Chapter 133: Storm And Kraken

The storm hit on the third day.

Gabriel woke to the ship pitching violently, his hammock swaying in wild arcs that nearly threw him to the floor. Around him, the others were already awake, bracing against whatever support they could find.

"Saints," Gilbert muttered, gripping a support beam. "How long has it been like this?"

"Since dawn," Ennu said from her corner. She looked pale but composed. "The crew’s been working non-stop."

Another massive wave hit the ship broadside. The entire vessel shuddered, wood groaning under stress. Water poured through gaps in the deck above, running down walls and pooling on the floor.

Gabriel swung out of his hammock and nearly fell as the ship rolled hard to port. He caught himself against the wall and made his way to the door.

"Where are you going?" Tess demanded.

"To see if they need help."

"Torrhen said to stay below."

"That was before this." Gabriel gestured at the chaos around them. "If the ship goes down, we all drown anyway. Might as well be useful."

He climbed to the deck before Tess could argue further.

The scene above was organised chaos. Crew members worked in teams, some securing rigging that had come loose, others bailing water that sloshed across the deck with each wave. The sails had been furled, leaving bare masts that swayed sickeningly with each roll.

Rain hammered down in sheets, reducing visibility to almost nothing. Wind screamed through the rigging loud enough to drown out shouted orders.

Torrhen stood at the wheel, both hands locked on it, fighting to keep the bow pointed into the waves. His first mate worked beside him, calling out bearings and adjustments.

Gabriel crossed the deck carefully, timing his movement with the ship’s roll. A wave crashed over the rail and nearly swept him off his feet, but he grabbed a rope and held on until the water drained away.

"I said stay below!" Torrhen shouted when he saw Gabriel.

"You need hands," Gabriel shouted back. "Put me to work or throw me overboard, but I’m not sitting in that cabin while you fight this alone."

Torrhen studied him for a heartbeat, then nodded sharply. "Help secure that rigging!" He pointed to where several crew members struggled with a rope that had come loose from its cleat.

Gabriel made his way across the pitching deck and grabbed the rope. It was thick as his wrist and wet enough to slip through hands if you weren’t careful. He threw his weight against it alongside the crew, pulling in rhythm with their efforts.

"On three!" the crew leader shouted. "One, two, three!"

They hauled together. The rope came tight, securing a section of rigging that had been flapping dangerously in the wind. They cleated it off and immediately moved to the next problem.

The work was brutal. Every task fought against wind, rain and the ship’s constant, violent motion. Gabriel’s healing ribs protested the strain, but he pushed through. Around him, the crew worked with grim efficiency born of experience.

This wasn’t their first storm.

But from the tension in Torrhen’s shoulders, it might be their worst.

Two hours passed in a blur of rain and shouted orders and desperate work. Gabriel helped bail water, secure rigging, move supplies that had come loose. His clothes were soaked through, his hands raw from rope burn, his ribs screaming.

But the ship stayed afloat.

Then something changed.

The storm’s fury remained constant, but the ship’s motion altered. Instead of rolling with the waves, it began to slow. Sluggish. Fighting against something beyond wind and current.

Torrhen felt it immediately. "Something’s wrong," he shouted to his first mate. "We’re dragging."

The first mate leaned over the rail, trying to see through rain and spray. "Could be debris caught in the rudder."

"Or something worse." Torrhen’s expression was grim.

The ship lurched suddenly, pulled backward by force that had nothing to do with waves. Crew members stumbled, grabbing whatever was close to keep from falling.

"What in the Saints’ names..." the first mate began.

Then the first tentacle broke the surface.

It rose from the water like a serpent, thick as a tree trunk, covered in suckers the size of dinner plates. Grey-green flesh glistened in the rain as it reached up and wrapped around the mainmast.

"Kraken!" someone screamed.

More tentacles emerged. Five, six, eight of them, each one massive, each one finding purchase on the ship’s hull or rigging or rail. They pulled with coordinated force, dragging the Serpent’s Tooth down.

The ship listed hard to starboard. Water poured over the rail. Crew members scrambled away from the tentacles, drawing knives and hatchets, hacking at the rubbery flesh.

But there were too many. Too large. The creature was pulling them under.

Gabriel ran to where the largest tentacle gripped the mainmast. Up close, it was even more massive. The suckers pulsed with their own rhythm, pulling and tightening, inexorable as tide.

A crew member swung a hatchet at it. The blade bit deep, but the tentacle didn’t even flinch.

Fire. I can use fire.

But Gabriel hesitated. His maximum was seventeen seconds now. The kraken was huge, likely deep under the ship, with only its arms exposed. Seventeen seconds of fire wouldn’t kill it.

But it might make it let go.

The ship lurched again, pulled further down. Water was pouring over the rails now in constant streams. They had minutes before the ocean claimed them entirely.

No choice.

Gabriel placed both hands on the tentacle wrapped around the mainmast. The flesh was cold and slick, pulsing with alien strength.

He reached for the fire.

It came instantly, eager, burning up from his chest and down his arms. But this time Gabriel didn’t create flames outside his body.

He pushed them inside the kraken.

The technique he’d used on Castor. Internal burning. Creating fire within the target’s flesh instead of on its surface.

The tentacle convulsed.

Gabriel poured more fire into it, feeling his stamina drain at an alarming rate. Five seconds. Ten. The tentacle was thrashing now, trying to pull away from the burning, but Gabriel held on.

Fifteen seconds. His vision started to grey at the edges. The drain was immense.

Just a little more.

Seventeen seconds. His absolute maximum. The fire was consuming his stamina at a rate that would leave him unconscious soon.

Not enough. Need more.

Gabriel pushed past seventeen seconds.

Eighteen.

Nineteen.

The world tilted. His legs went weak. But he kept the fire burning inside the kraken’s flesh, cooking it from within.

Twenty seconds.

The tentacle released the mast and retreated into the water with a speed that seemed impossible for something so large. The others followed immediately, all eight arms withdrawing, the kraken fleeing into the depths.

The ship bobbed back up, freed from the terrible weight pulling it down.

Gabriel’s hands slipped from where they’d gripped the mast. His knees buckled.

The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Tess running across the deck, her face twisted with fear and fury.

Then nothing.

...

Darkness.

No pain. No sensation at all.

Just absence.

...

Voices. Distant. Muffled like speaking through water.

"...been two days..."

"...pushed too hard..."

"...lucky to be alive..."

...

Warmth. Something warm against his hand. Fingers threaded through his.

"Come back." Tess’s voice, closer now. Clearer. "You don’t get to die on me. Not like this."

...

Gabriel woke to dim lamplight and the gentle sway of calm seas.

He was in the cabin, lying in his hammock, covered with blankets. The porthole showed darkness outside, suggesting night.

Every muscle in his body ached. His chest felt hollow, like something vital had been burned out of him.

Tess sat beside the hammock, her hand holding his, her head resting on the edge. Asleep, but her grip stayed firm even in sleep.

Gabriel tried to speak but his throat was too dry. He swallowed and tried again.

"Tess."

Her eyes snapped open immediately. "Gabriel." Relief flooded her expression. "You’re awake."

"How long?"

"Two days. You collapsed after the kraken fled. The ship’s surgeon said you’d burned yourself out, pushed past safe limits." Tess’s hand tightened on his. "He said you might not wake up."

Gabriel’s memory was fragmented. Fire. The kraken. Twenty seconds of burning.

I went past my maximum.

Past seventeen seconds into dangerous territory.

"The ship?" he asked.

"Safe. The storm passed a day ago. We’re making good time now." Tess’s expression hardened. "But you’re not doing that again. Whatever that was, pushing yourself that far, it nearly killed you."

"It was killing the ship. Someone had to stop it."

"Not by dying." Tess leaned closer, her eyes fierce. "You saved everyone. The crew, the passengers, the whole damned ship. But if you’d died doing it, what good would that have been?"

Gabriel wanted to argue but didn’t have the strength. His body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry.

"Where are the others?"

"Above deck. I’ll get them." Tess stood but didn’t release his hand. "But first you need to drink something. The surgeon said dehydration was half the problem."

She poured water from a pitcher and helped Gabriel drink. It tasted like life itself, cold and clean, washing away some of the hollow feeling.

After he’d drunk his fill, Tess left and returned minutes later with Gilbert, Adan, and Ennu. Mera trailed behind them, her expression unreadable.

"Look who decided to rejoin the living," Gilbert said with forced cheerfulness. "Thought you were going to sleep the whole voyage."

"How do you feel?" Adan asked, more serious.

"Like I pushed a bonfire through my veins." Gabriel tried to sit up but Tess pushed him back down.

"Don’t even think about it. Surgeon’s orders. You stay horizontal for at least another day."

Ennu stepped forward, her usual reserve cracking slightly. "The crew’s calling you the kraken slayer. Torrhen wants to speak with you when you’re able."

"About what?"

"Probably to thank you for saving his ship." Adan crossed his arms. "Or to warn you never to do something that stupid again."

"Likely both," Gilbert added.

Gabriel’s eyes found Mera standing in the back. She hadn’t spoken, just watched him with that same distant intensity.

"Mera."

She stepped forward slowly. "You almost died."

"But I didn’t."

"Because the Creator wasn’t finished with you yet." Mera’s voice carried absolute certainty. "This proves it. You should have died. You pushed past human limits. But you survived because you’re meant for more."

"Mera, I survived because I’m lucky. That’s all."

"No." She shook her head. "Luck doesn’t explain what you did. Luck doesn’t explain why fire obeyed you for twenty seconds when it should have killed you at seventeen."

Gabriel didn’t have the energy to argue. He closed his eyes, letting exhaustion pull him back toward sleep.

"Everyone out," Tess said firmly. "He needs rest, not philosophy."

The group filed out, Mera last and reluctant. When the door closed, Tess returned to her seat beside the hammock.

"She’s getting worse," Gabriel said without opening his eyes.

"I know." Tess’s hand found his again. "But that’s a problem for when you can walk. Right now, you focus on not dying from exhaustion."

"I wasn’t going to die."

"You were unconscious for two days, Gabriel. Two days. Your body shut down completely." Tess’s voice cracked slightly. "Do you have any idea what that was like? Watching you lie there, not knowing if you’d wake up?"

Gabriel opened his eyes and found hers wet with unshed tears.

"I’m sorry," he said quietly.

"Don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again." Tess wiped her eyes quickly. "Promise me. No more pushing past your limits."

"I can’t promise that."

"Gabriel..."

"If it’s necessary to save lives, I’ll do it again. You know I will." He squeezed her hand. "But I’ll try to be smarter about it. Try not to nearly die in the process."

"That’s not good enough."

"It’s all I can offer."

They sat in silence for a while, hands linked, the ship rocking gently beneath them.

"One week left to the Isle of Giants," Tess said eventually. "Think you can stay alive that long?"

"I’ll do my best."

"You’d better."

Gabriel closed his eyes again, letting the ship’s motion and Tess’s presence pull him back toward sleep. His body needed rest, needed time to recover from burning itself out.

Twenty seconds. I managed twenty seconds.

That’s three more than my maximum should allow.

The book said forty-five seconds is the death limit.

I’m almost halfway there.

The thought should have frightened him.

Instead, it felt like progress.