SINGUR — romanian: alone | Deniz was a dreamer. Had always been since the day he was born. Or so he thought. Unlike many who allowed themselves to decide on who they should become in the ways of life, the male had never been provided the opportunity to test out the waters from the side of life that was considered "good". He had once held a vision, a desire to become something definite in this world, to leave his mark with a good fortune by his side. A mapmaker. One that would travel all over the globe to sketch out the geography that he adored. The various environment that he would seek knowledge from and gain awareness of what was in this world was something that little Deniz had always craved to fulfill. But destiny was not always kind to its inhabitants. Instead, Deniz was shoved into the arms of his power-hungry father and manipulative uncle, their milk-white fangs glinting in the sun as they both laughed at Deniz when he admitted what he had wanted to be.


And they were right. It was low for him to only think that this would satisfy him. They were right. He needed to do more, make something out of this shell that he was. That's what they told him. And they were right. Again. And again. They were always right, isn't that what adults told you when you were to seek wisdom? That they held more experiences than you could ever imagine and that you should listen to their wise words that drawled out of their drooling mouths while they stumbled around drunk and wasted? So, that's what he did. He absorbed every thought, every shred of "advise" that he could from his father and uncle as the twin criminals slowly deteriorated whatever Deniz behaved or acted as a child. No longer was there a Deniz in their gang but a Pincher, a hybrid. A creature built out of parts that did not belong to him, a monster. Before Pincher could even reach the realization of what his identity was now, he had already carved out multiple innocent lives from Earth. His paws were no longer the dirt brown but scarlet, splattered with the pain that he had bestowed on enemies that threatened to get in his way. And did Pincher feel remorse? Guilt? Regret? Deniz would have. Pincher did not.

As the cool night fell upon the rich tropical island that the Typhoon lived, the man of the hour was in bed, resting. Twisting and turning, the fever that contaminated his body not allowing him to relax, the pain burning and draining him of whatever energy he had after the fight in Snowbound against the humans that had temporarily deprived Typhoon's ally without a home. As he writhed around in his bed, Pincher came to a sudden realization. Even in his subconsciousness, he could feel someone observing him. Pincher was no fool. He knew when an ominous event lingered over him before striking its teeth and leaving a mark on his skin. However, this was no longer case of being predictable to the worst possibilities that the future was offering. It was the truth staring down at him with hollow eyes and paper lips parting to whisper a single sentence.


Pincher's body stiffened as he was dragged out of his subconsciousness by the message, his vibrant electric blue eyes snapping open to stare at the empty ceiling of the submarine, the metal scars that marked the submarine's quarters mostly due to him throwing items around in frustration. He could recall every single memory of how and why. Politics. Thick-headed crewmates. Enemies. Stress. Heartache. When was the last time he had destroyed something out of joy? Out of extreme happiness? He continued staring, the darkness of the night making the insides of the large home become a land of pitch-black darkness, one that he needed to get out of. It only reminded him of the inevitable, the omen that was given to him by Death. So, he slowly rose from his spot in his bed, ignoring the temptation of sleeping that the silk sheets were trying to envelop him. As his senses began to sharpen, he felt it. The reopening. Not now. Why now? His lower jaw locked against his upper jaw as he screwed his eyes shut, regretting the decision of rising from his bed. He could feel the wound slowly part from the temporary stitches that had been placed upon him by medical members of the Typhoon. Had he been moving around too much? From what? He bit back a groan of agony as he continued to feel the injury try to rip open once again, ruby red blood beginning to stain the ivory bandages that were wrapped around his chest, droplets of blood now dripping onto the bed sheets and the floorboards of the submarine as he dragged himself out of bed and into a shaky standing position. He glanced at the opposite side of his home, noticing that Goldenluxury was still asleep and luckily would be when he would return home and clean up the mess that he was creating.

Would he even make it back home? The questioning statement caused the doberman's throat to suddenly be choked by a pit of growing fear. He was afraid. He was terrified. Pincher had felt fear multiple times in his life but never for his life. When one was in such a state of ambition and power, they could regret that they carried weaknesses within them that they have long forgotten. And with Pincher, it was his mortality, the one that could end all of his life's work and the future he had believed he would be satisfied with. He forced himself to not allow the fear to completely overtake him, placing a paw after paw to reach the door. He glanced down to catch sight of the wound, noticing how the blood was blossoming into a large flower against the stark white bandages, it's size growing with each passing minute. He knew the effects of the pain would begin to overtake his body system, his vision was already beginning to blur at the edges and with the fever that was seething within his skin and flesh, Pincher knew it was only time before the body he held onto was going to collapse. He could always shapeshift into another form but due to the lack of energy that was drained from him, he was unable to save himself from the inevitable.

But he had to try. He had to. For Goldie and Blue. For the Typhoon. For what he had was trying so hard to achieve, the dream that he now carried on his shoulders was now heavier as he stumbled out of the submarine, the strength of his legs suddenly disappearing and causing him to collapse against the wet soft sand, his muzzle pressing against it with his pepper black nose smelling the bittersweet scent of the ocean waves that softly lapped against the shore of the island. He felt so tired, his eyelids fluttering as the weight upon them was growing stronger, seducing him to rest. Just rest. He was so tired...so tired. Just as he was going to succumb to it, the flash of his children within his skull caused him to stiffen. Goldie and Blue. He couldn't allow himself to die, they needed him even if Goldie had many and Blue showed no interest, he wanted to be there for them. He had not been there for his firstborn sons and now they were gone, stripped from Pincher's life. Donovan and Theo, they were waiting for him weren't they? Waiting on the other side that so many spoke of. Were they truly expecting him with their bright eyes that reflected purity that he had tried so hard to protect? Pincher's body began to tremble, not out of the agony that was detaining him but out of grief. Burning tears began to poke out at the corners of his glassy arctic blue eyes, his velvety ears pinning against his skull as he remembered their deaths. How could he have been so stupid?

The tears that swelled up now began to cascade over the edges of his eyes, dancing down his cheeks and joining the salt water that licked against the figure of Pincher's paralyzed form. He didn't want to die, not this way. Not from some stupid chest wound that he had received from a jagged spear that a human had bestowed upon him. There was so much he was feeling and he could feel the shock of it all beginning to strike him down, his legs refusing to bring him upright and Pincher felt a wail claw at his throat but he held it back, refusing to be seen this way. He had this pride that leads to hard-headed stubbornness and he knew that it would be the death of him to allow it to overtake his desire to live. But he couldn't even cry out for help, to find shelter in the healers that the Typhoon had to offer. He was going to die. He was going to die. He was going to die. He...didn't want to die. The panicking adrenaline caused Pincher to drag himself away from the submarine and to the water to the point that the waves reached his chest. He then bit down onto the bandages that were tapped to his form and spat it out beside him, the long jagged wound now open for the world to see.

Not the inhabitants, just Mother Nature. They were all sound asleep in their homes at this time of night and Pincher glanced up at the only beings that watched him. Death among the stars and moon, all staring down at him in solemn silence. Even with his vision now almost completely disorientated and blurry, he could make out the constellations that every pirate needed to know of if they wished to survive the rough waves of life. "Ursa major...ursa minor..." Pincher murmured softly under his breath as he lay beneath the stars and among the ones that were reflected on the ocean. "Donovan's dagger...Theo's ribbon..." A soft smile laced his jaws as he remembered the constellations he had made up for his sons when they would stargaze at night, their eyes reflecting cosmic wonders. He wished he could do that with his children now, Coldblue and Goldenluxury. They reminded him so much of his lost sons. Lost. He was an idiot. They were dead. He had seen the corpse of Donovan but of Theo's? Theo had disappeared from his life, supposedly jumped off a cliff and into the ocean to avoid being killed like his brother. Had he survived? Had he managed to find the strength to swim against the currents and make it somewhere safe? Was he still out there in the horizon swimming?

"I'm sorry...I should have done more." He murmured as he raised a feeble shaky paw to write in jagged sloppy lines, "i'm sorry" into the sand beside him. He hoped it wouldn't be wiped away before his crewmates and family saw. Pincher then allowed his aching head to lay on his front paws, dazed gaze now locked onto the horizon's line where the sky and sea met. It was beautiful. It had always been so beautiful, it wasn't just now when he was at the brink of slipping away. But now...he had time. Time to rest and actually look at the bigger picture of it all. His tunnel vision of ambition began to crumble and all that he could think of now was how this event would unfold. He knew there would be grief. He knew there would be a funeral. He knew he would be forgotten eventually. But the quintessential beauty of being remembered by those he loved...it was infinite and yet so finite in the grand scheme of things. It took his breath away.

And with that Pincher was gone. Laying in the cold wet sand, the crimson stream of blood still flowing and joining the salt water that splashed gently against his body. The sun then began to rise, joining the stars and moon on observing the end of a dreamer.