The cargo hold was a dark and grimy mess of red threads filtering through the cracks of the upper floor, cascading down squarely on top of the wooden boxes piled up throughout the cargo hold forming large passageways, and small rivers ran through in every which direction, a pair of rats were drinking from one of them, but they scurried away as soon as they heard the footsteps closing in on them.

The visage ran a chill down his spine; entering the long room with a lantern in hand felt like stepping headfirst into a painting of the unending.

From one bloody mess onto another… holy hell… how am I expected to clean all of this? Alone? Goddammit, old fart…

The rag he was holding suddenly felt useless in front of a mess of such magnitude, he tried his best to clean as much as possible with a bucket and a veritable army of rags… all in vain; the task was too much for a single person to realize before the goods were compromised.

He continued despite the perceived futility of it all because he wanted to be alone. He entered deeper into the cargo-hold his hands tainted red again.

“Goddammit, I need someone to lend me a hand for this or it’ll take way too much time. "

“Don’t move a muscle,” a graveyard voice answered him.

The blood immediately drained from his face, he would have screamed if he wasn’t so shocked that his mind had gone pure white, he was frozen in place, normally he’s not the type to speak alone but when he does, he’d hope to never hear an answer.

Guided by pure instinct and ingrained mechanical custom, he reached for one of the daggers strapped to his waist. Whatever was that spoke to him, it was behind him and had a faster reaction.

What felt like skeleton pale fingers nabbed him of his movement, immobilizing his hand before he could reach for his weapon and covering his mouth so he wouldn’t scream.

That’s it, I’m dead.

Reaching that conclusion his body went limp, he knew what would come next, the coldness of iron running across his throat leaving behind a scarlet thread from where his being would seep out and travel to the true depths to meet the stranger, it was his time, he knew that… every fiber of his being cried it as true, it screamed to him.

This is the end, no repentance for you, no reconciliation at the end of your path. Forget about her tender kisses and welcome our cold embrace.

But nothing happened.

“You went awfully quiet there young one, almost thought you died from shock.” The voice was low and raspy, it had an otherworldly coldness to it and every time the creature spoke, he could smell alcohol in the air.

“It's me,” the voice said.

“Alpo?” after a second of calm consideration, there wasn’t anyone else this voice could belong to. The smell of booze gave it away.

As if he hadn’t heard his answer, Alpo remained silent.

“I’m going to let you go now,”

“What are you doing in here?” He asked as soon as he was freed. He lifted the lantern so he could see Alpo’s decrepit face staring back at him. He looked as emaciated and pale as always, a walking corpse but somehow even more unkept and dead like than usual; looking at the empty bottles on the floor, he could tell what had happened.

“You were down here drinking all this time?!” He felt rage surging from within.

“Yeah,” Alpo replied. He didn’t try to hide it but given he wasn’t looking him in the eyes, he must have felt a little shame. "Got a problem, young one?”

“We were all fighting up there. We were attacked and almost died!”

“Want me to give you a price or something,” he hiccupped, and his speech was growing ever more slurry “I’m not much of a fighter young one, so it’s not like it would have mattered, anyway”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

He admits he left us to die so he could drink in here.

“These are good we have to deliver, so you better stop your drinking. I’m going to talk with the captain about this. "

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you kid, they're all dead by now. "