note: hello! this is my first time crossposting from ao3, where I usually hang out. gender-neutral murasa will live forever.
The ocean is so open, free, a place where you aren't bound by anything that waits for you back home on land. You and your crew are out fishing, hauling in the things that swim out in the parts of the sea where you can't see land no matter where you turn. You prefer it that way. It's perfect, nothing but you and your shipmates and the sea and the sky.
The last lights of the sunset are starting to fade by the time you're heading back to land, blues and pinks and oranges darkening against the horizon. It always looks so beautiful over the ocean, the colors shimmering against the waves. You had a good haul today. The nets on the deck are full of fish, ones that you can go back and sell by tomorrow at dawn. And you're celebrating, cracking open the liquor and laughing, because this, this is the perfect life.
"Man, fuck women," someone says, and there's an uproar of agreement. More drinks are poured, "bitches, every one of 'em," "what I wouldn't give to never have to go back to my fuckin' wife ever again," laughter, "but she's hot," "hot doesn't mean nothing if she's crazy," and so on.
You are the first to see it, turning your head to the breeze for a moment. You have to squint, but your first impression wasn't wrong. A person, bobbing through the waves right next to your ship. You can't tell if it's a boy or girl, their hair messy and short, their skin pallid and turning blue, with a tattered sailor's uniform sticking close to their bony frame. You're about to yell out to them when you see them open their eyes, and they are so piercing bright blue that you know with a sudden chill in your bones. This person is not human.
There's no time to warn everyone else. Impossibly fast, they dart out of the water and onto the side of the ship, perching on the railing. "Hello there," they say, pleasantly conversational. Rivulets of seawater drip from their limbs and hair onto the deck as they cross their legs. You can clearly see their ribs through their shirt. "You need to stop."
"That some kind of youkai girl," someone drunkenly questions, and tries to grab at the person's hand.
They draw it back. "I'm not a girl. I said you need to stop." And quick as a flash, before anyone can react, there's a ladle in their ghostly hand, and they upturn it with just a flick of the wrist.
Seawater pours everywhere, faster than should be possible, out of the ladle's tiny cup. It must be bottomless. The ghost holds the ladle calmly, watching everyone on the ship panic with a happily bored expression. They haul an anchor up from nowhere, swing it against the ship's deck so it splinters and breaks. There's so much water.
And they're smiling, cradling the anchor lovingly in one hand as if it's light as air, seeming unperturbed by the swelling waves of saltwater coming impossibly fast from their ladle.
"Fuck, it's a ship ghost!" another of the men yells, too late. He's cut off with a scream, as the youkai plunges his head under the rising water with a steady hand, and holds him there with their anchor.
"Who's next?" they call, like they're offering blessings.
You are so fucked.
The youkai moves too fast, shooting around the ship and overpowering the crew one by one. They slam one down into the water on the deck, pressing their mouth against his. Someone tries to grab the youkai's leg, but they easily slip out of his hold and whip around to face him as they swallow, dropping their now-dead victim. There's a loud crack, and someone's neck is snapped, bent unnaturally as the body falls into the rising water. The ship ghost manipulates the water expertly, swirling it into powerful waves that knock your crew over before they even have a chance to react. And before long the commotion settles, and there's only you left, standing trembling at the stern, where the water's at its shallowest.
They smile a little as they come to stand in front of you. They lean in close so that your noses are almost touching. And it is then that you realize it - you're about to die. Panic floods you, worse than before, waves and waves of rolling terror and nausea and this youkai is smiling, smiling right in your face.
"Please, I haven't - don't - I haven't done anything wrong, not like the others-"
"You know what you did very well."
"N-no, I mean, when I meet the Enma, he'll-"
"The Enma is a woman. Filth such as you do not deserve to even see her," they say, as they push you down hard against the deck and press their open mouth against yours, and draw out your soul in a shuddering, final gasp.
Murasa sits on the bow of the ship, sinking down at an alarming rate. The entire crew is dead, their bodies floating broken in the water. They were a good meal. The souls of disgusting men who don't deserve to live are always the most delicious.
When the topmost parts of the ship are only centimeters above the waterline, Murasa dives back down, satisfied, their ladle tucked into their belt. The water in their lungs feels so good. The souls inside them are still warm as they float, float down into the blackest ocean depths, a shipwreck at their heels.