Centuries

by The Comte of Saint-Nicholas

The kraken is far, far older than the ship and captain it is bound to serve. And it isn't happy. A quick, surprisingly dark one-shot from the point of view of Davy Jones' tentacular murder-machine. Classified as 'angst' because the idea of an angsty kraken was too amusing to miss and 'supernatural' because really, where else do you put a giant squid monster larger than the Titanic?

It is cold down here. And dark; wonderfully, beautifully dark. I have lost much of my sight, over the years and centuries. I have never had much need of it.

A ripple slides sinuously through the still water. I can feel it. My summons, the words of my master above on the waves, commanding me rise up, commanding my fury. Commanding the fury of the sea. I slide upwards, out of the silt and weeds and into the cool, dark water. I am called, bound to answer. And, chained in shackles that not even my great strength can hope to break, I cannot refuse.

I swim upwards, towards the light, bright and clear and hateful. I cover leagues of seawater with lazy motions. The water gets lighter as I near the surface, passing untold wonders, splendour unseen by human eyes. They think they know the secrets of the undersea. They have seen little, and noticed less, of this cold, grey-green world.

Above me, cutting through the surface if the water, lies the keel of a ship. I can see it now, precariously balanced, one taut rope or thin, worn plank away from destruction; from collapsing in on itself while the grey water rushes in… They are all the same, humans. They believe in the strength of what they've built: of wood and tar and iron. They do not realise its flaws. One push. That's all it takes. Just one push.

I can feel the orders I am sent, feel the power behind them, and I cannot refuse. I am ancient, primordial. I was here when humans first struck flint, and now, the interlopers, the upstarts, the proud, arrogant, stupid little men attempt to control me – to force me into their petty arguments and against their petty foes. Fools. They do not know what they meddle in. They do not know what they command. They can try to keep me in check, and their new, bright power may be able to do so for a time: summon me and bind me and leave me with nothing – not the freedom of the ocean, not its beauty and its majesty. Just resentment, and darkness, and cold, brooding hatred. But it will not hold forever. It cannot stop me, no more than dam the sea. I reach the ship, and caress its hull. I can feel its strength, and its weakness. Slowly, slowly, I begin to tighten my grasp.

Centuries can pass in the blink of an ancient eye. I will fight their enemies, and bide my time. Sooner or later, they will falter, and my chains will shatter, and I will come for them like the wrath of gods. I am old beyond count of years, and I will have my revenge for these years in thrall. I have lived for millennia, seen countless wonders; cities rise and fall, ships sink, and men fall screaming into the dark water...

I am patient.

I can wait.