We all notice as the sun disappears between heavy rain-filled clouds. Gloomy and grey in its colors. When my father had dragged me onto his boat, along with his small crew, the sky was without a cloud to be seen. An obvious sign of a bad start to an already bad day. There is only one way this hunt can go, and I'm not liking it. 

The air tastes salty, but it usually does when this far out at sea. The wicked sound of thunder starts to bloom, echoing across the now almost pitch-black sea. Yet, we move closer still. Our sail drags us further into the eye of the storm. 

The waves become massive in mere seconds. Slamming against the boat, rocking it to the flashes of light. Wooden boards creak gratingly. 

The boat is the only thing between us and the near-freezing water.

In the blink of an eye, we could all be gone. Swallowed whole by the unforgiving sea, a lost and forgotten blip in memory. 

When I look around at my father's crew, I see even the most experienced sailors all pale-faced. My father is the only one who isn't drowning in fear, or so it seems. Instead, he's screaming bloody murder at his crew. His voice is piercing, commanding. Louder than the heavy downpour.  

The crew is in full swing, working efficiently with each other to fill their wood buckets with water. Helping each other heave it up over the rail to throw it overboard. Although even with myself included, the difference it makes is minuscule. There is too much water everywhere. 

From over my shoulder, there are a few other crew members near the cabin door, preparing guns and readying the portable canons brought along. But all of that stops when we hear it. An inhuman screech. Bone-chilling enough for the boat to go silent. Even my father's words cut off, mouth drawing into a thin line. 

This is it. The end is near. A promise of chaos and death, sealed. The sound is like none I've ever heard. It sends chills up my spine faster than my father ever could. 

When I look at my father, expectedly. His expression shocks me. His face is cast in shadows, yet a broad smile plasters his ugly face. His eyes look glazed over like he's not really there. They are far away, crazy-looking. 

He nears me. His steps are sturdy, and his balance is nearly perfect even as the floor quakes. His grip is solid, hand dashing out to grab hold of my arm before I can even react. He pulls me up, forcing me to drop my bucket. It falls to the ground, spewing water around my feet. 

"This is the moment of your life you will never forget, boy," He grits his teeth, the last word spat out like venom on his tongue. 

The last moment of my life, I wanted to say. But I didn't want to irritate him further. Not when there's another threat ready to attack, one that might be more dangerous than my father. 

Before I left with my father to conquer the sea, his words, not mine. The townsfolk had warned him. Storm and danger were some of the many words several threw around in haste to try and keep their loved ones home. People that my father only sees as puppets in his unhinged act of heroism to save his son from becoming soft and weak. They might all die today, and for what?    

The last memory I will have of my mother is her crying as she's powerless to keep me home, safe. If I want to go back, I will have to kill tonight. The only thing that keeps me from being just like my father. The thought brings a gross taste to my mouth. Something I quickly throw into the back of my mind. 

I play along, instincts kicking in. No one would judge me for purely trying to survive, would they? 

Suddenly, a gun gets thrust into my hands just as the boat comes to a halt. An abrupt stop that has us all tumbling over. I barely manage to keep my hold on the gun, fingers wet and slippery. Yet, I grab it in the last seconds before it can slip over the edge, down into the deep.  

"It's here!" I hear my father shout as he pushes himself up from the ground. Voice not wavering in the slightest. He pulls me from the back of my shirt, away from the edge. He helps me hold my balance as he clips the safety off of my gun. "Get ready," He says, the words final. 

While holding my gun, I let my other arm fall to the side of my body. My hand reaches down to the strap of my boot, searching. I feel it, then, the cold edge of a handle. It's the knife from my mother. The one she sneakily gifted me before I left. It's still snug tightly in my boot. Secured by my sock and some straps. 

A last resort, she had said. Hoping it won't come to use. Its solid shape helps me keep in control. It's scarily comforting. 

"There!" One of the men screams, pointing up into the air with a shaky finger. Hard to miss, I spot the large, long shape that tapers at the end. Purple-ish in its color, with flecks of orange and green on its suckers.

"A bloody Kraken," I hear my father chuckle in the background as he fires a shot into its fleshy arm, aggravating the beast. It cries, loud and high-pitched, before it slams its arm into the side of the boat, throwing us all off balance. 

Several more tentacles sprout out from the water as men run towards the weapons, fumbling to get them ready in a rush. There are screams, men crying for help as they get pulled off the ship and down into the water. 

I ready my gun, but I have no clue where to aim. Everything is happening all at once. A cry for help has me focus on a man, hair red as fire, kicking at one of the Kraken's many tentacles. It has a hold of his foot, pant leg stuck in one of its suckers.  

I point, aim, then shoot. 

The boom is loud. The recoil of the gun has me fall to the ground. Not expecting such force from such a little thing. As I look up, the man pulls himself away from the tentacle, a solid hole in its flesh. I did that. A rush of something I can't quite put my finger on floods my system. Heart beating heavily. 

The man looks over towards me, a nod of approval thrown my way. That's before his face scrunches up into panic. "Watch out!" He yells, fighting to get his footing. 

I'm too slow to react as I feel something heavy grab hold of me. 

"Mark!" I can hear my father shout from somewhere. Somewhere that I can't pinpoint. The wind picks up, and air rushes all around me. My ears are flooded with the deafening sounds of everything. Booms and cracks of guns and thunder. Cries of men and monster, merging into a sea of pain. 

The rain falls heavier, all of a sudden, cascading down my face, the drops like needles upon the skin. There's a rush of air before I'm smacked down into something solid, the air fleeing from my lungs. The grip is tight, making me feel breathless and dizzy. 

Everything blurs together, vision surrounded by a thick fog. I hear my name called out, yet it doesn't make sense. Nothing does. Everything feels wrong, distorted even. 

My hands meet cold, clammy skin. I try to push off what has to be the Kraken's arm. But it's unrelenting. My senses are dulled yet overwhelmed by the sudden cold. There's no air around me, water stinging my eyes. I scream for help, but no sound comes out.   

The air comes back along with the sounds of chaos. I gasp for breath once again. The rigid wind is more welcome than the water. 

With a muster of strength, I bend over the arm. Reaching for the knife tucked securely inside my boot. My hand wraps around the handle, soft leather squeaking underneath my tight grip. I lift it up, ready to strike.

The knife anchors into its purple flesh forcefully. Blue liquid spills around its wound as I pull my knife out, just to force it in again. Over and over.  

Despite my furious onslaught, the battle to get loose from its hold does the opposite. Its hold merely tightens, nearly bone-cracking, as it pulls me down, once again, into the dark water. The force is strong enough to banish all sound, and for my vision to turn black.