Flyys stared into the creature's eyes, having to switch focus often as it turned its head from side to side to view him. The morkoth drifted down closer. The claw coral extended beyond the young triton's reach even with the tapal.

"We can take time with your death," the morkoth promised, its gaze drawing him in.

The promise sent a chill down the young triton's back. Flyys remembered the stories he'd been told even as a child about the morkoth, about the ways they'd learned to rip flesh from their prisoners with their beaks and pincers, bringing death while extending the agony. They knew how an enemy's body was put together, and how best to take it apart.

"You've allied yourselves with the Taker," Flyys accused, glaring up at the morkoth. "According to the legends of Seros, there won't be much time for anyone if he makes his way here."

"He's coming," the morkoth said, shifting in the current again, "but the legends also say that the Taker will offer death only to those who stand against him. We shall stand with him."

"The legends say he will bring nothing but death and destruction to Seros." Flyys knew the legends, though he didn't much believe in them. Even though he'd been sent to investigate the morkoth interest in the Taker, the tritons had their own agenda. Persana had given them the task of watching over the great evil that slept at the bottom of Seros.

"Wrong," the morkoth said. "The Taker comes to reshape the destinies of everyone in and around Seros." The head continued turning from side to side, more slowly now.

Flyys felt himself going limp. He chose to go with it, knowing it might be his only chance. A warm lassitude crept through his limbs, relaxing his muscles. He kept his gaze locked on the morkoth.

"Your best choice is acceptance," the creature crooned. Its voice held a muted cadence that beckoned to the young triton.