> He was about to return to the rest of his crew when the wet thunk of something hitting the deck made him halt. Klay glanced down, thinking a bucket had fallen from a sailor’s grasp. The sight of a decapitated head staring back at him did not instantly register.

> He looked up as a severed arm spun through the air, narrowly missing his face. Through the smoke and shadows he could see shapes moving frantically, men running, swords slashing, as a melee had broken out beneath the flaming mast. He shifted his sabre in his grip before stalking through the choking grey clouds. An arc of blood sprayed him as he emerged into the fight. His first mate’s carotid artery had been opened up like a bottle of the Redwine’s finest. As the body tumbled on to a pile of equally lifeless corpses, Klay squinted through the smoke, trying to spot the killer. He opened his mouth wide, teeth glistening, an armoury of shining daggers. He tried to call his men to him, rally them to his aid, but no sound came forth. With surprise and horror he felt a wet sensation washing down his chest and soaking his shirt. He reached a faltering hand up to his throat, finding a gaping hole where it used to be.

> The Werefish Klay, commander of the Kraken Ghul’s fleet, tumbled on to the corpses of his shipmates. As his life slipped away he stared up at the monstrous silhouette that towered over him; broad grey head, dead black eyes and razor-sharp teeth that went on forever.