The flesh and blood of the Clan, mixed with gunpowder, splattered everywhere and rained down upon the deck.
Charles slowly descended from midair. He and his crew stared together at the empty sky.
Just when everyone thought it was over, the blood dripping from the air gathered on the deck, forming concentric circles with an inverted pentagram nested inside.
The low, grating sound of a spell echoed from all directions, and the atmosphere instantly turned chillingly eerie.
"Damn it! What's happening now?!" Charles gritted his teeth and rushed to the ship's rail, peering down at the sea.
The Deep Divers, who had been motionless until now, began to form a large circle around the Narwhal.
From within the icy seawater, they fixed their dead, white fish-eyes on Charles, looking at him as if he were already a corpse.
