“Captain!” Marlowe yelled out. The coils of the grasping tentacle slid past each other, tightening their grip around Santi’s waist.

That was when I knew. In the midst of chaos, with half the crew—swords and daggers drawn—converging on the barrel where Santi had been hiding, with the ship trapped in the grip of a whirlpool, with the hull shattering from the force of those monstrous tentacles, when I heard Marlowe speak that word, that was when I knew that all my suspicions were true.

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