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Konche spoke of a beast in the sands, like it was a curious marvel.
Nemma whispered about the beast in the sands with a healthy weariness.
Firth didn’t care for the beast in the sands, but rather the treasure it guarded, but the nervous look he had told Kril much.
Pagurus, they all whisper his name, like it was a declaration of death to speak it out loud.
Kril thinks they’re all fibbing him at first, he’s aware of how confusing this city stuff is, things like “taxes” and “economy”. He doesn’t like it. But Kril is aware that if he doesn’t keep up, he’ll be left for dead.
He walks around the Crusts, listening in to what the people have to say as the northern exits get cleared from the residue of Trash Day.
(Kril has never been so freaked out as to what was happening. Everyone was way too normal about doomsday falling on their heads.)
The people talk.
“Glad I invested in my properties when I did! I don’t want to go out there.”
“Thank the spiral! Trash Day brought me just enough microplastics so I can afford rent! I can take a day off next week.”
“Oh crab, I don’t have enough for a taxi. How am I supposed to get to Flotsam?”
“Did you hear about my cousin who lost a leg coming back from work? She’s been babbling about bobbit worms since.”
Kril doesn’t really get a lot of the city lingo.
The Sands being something to avoid, that he picks up on.
The way New Carcinians casually claim that the reefs are the only safe place around, the way nobody is really eager to leave, how everyone huddles around a monumental orange arch at the north exit of New Carcinia has Kril thinking that perhaps this Pagurus character is something to fear.
---
They all have to cross the Sands Between to get to the groves beyond.
Kril listens when Nemma whispers to him the purpose of the markers and her youth spent commuting them, when Konche expresses wonder of how a crab could grow so large, when Firth talks abouts how nobody was aware of Pagurus for a long time until crabs started going missing en masse.
Kril listens. And he makes it to the kelps, through gleaming orange markers with only a single minnow bite.
---
“Have you seen it, vagabond? Out there in the sands?” Chitan says in their silence. They’ve been walking together since they met at the outskirts of the Grove.
Kril looks up at the ex-guard, she holds herself differently, he notices.
She continues. “That thing, a beast, twisted by greed. It will eat and eat until there's nothing left, that I know.”
“Those who keep taking… Reminds me of someone we used to know.” Chitan gives him a knowing look, and moves ahead without Kril.
---
He finds Nemma high up on the Drum.
She looks into the distance with such a heavy gaze that has Kril noticing immediately.
“What’s wrong?” He finds himself asking.
Nemma turns to glance at him, then back to the kelp. “Lots of things.” She replies vaguely.
“Those crabs we all fight,” she sighs. “They were people too.”
Kril hesitates, and then sits down beside her.
“Yeah. I guess they were.”
---
Later, Kril gets the first map piece, and promptly turns back for New Carcinia, leaving Chitan alone at the Grove.
His return comes with much fanfare as the map piece slots into the puzzle.
Konche turns to him, polishing his spectacles. “It’s a surprise you haven’t encountered the beast, I say!”
Firth nudges Kril from where they stand in front of the map. “Yeah, it’s crazy how you haven’t seen that thing yet. Probably because you’re so little.” He says with a laugh.
Nemma comes up to Kril’s other side with a gentle gaze. “Didn’t know you had it in ya, Kril.”
Kril shrugs and says. “I guess I’m just good at being quiet.”
(He doesn’t mention it's a skill he’s had since he hatched.)
---
It gets dark.
Everyone collectively agrees to retire for the night and reconvene back here to tomorrow.
Kril is asked where he’s going to stay. He gestures to his current shell, light metal with bright colors and unknown symbols. “I usually sleep in my shell.” He says.
(This is true. He’s lived outside his entire life. But this has been the longest time without his Home.)
Kril is promptly ushered into Nemma’s inn.
He protests at first, but the offer came with food and that was something he couldn’t afford to pass up at the moment.
Dinner involves “cooking”, which has Kril beyond confused but the end result is really delicious even if it takes a while to be ready.
Kril gets to answer increasingly more complicated questions with Nemma’s kids, with things like “where do you work” and “how much do you make”.
When Nemma gets her crablings to bed, Kril flounders a bit. Should he leave? He doesn’t know.
But Nemma comes back with heaps of bedding before Kril can decide.
“It’s dangerous to be out at night.” She says, preparing blankets made of thick and heavy material.
“But there's no predators in the city?” Kril questions.
Nemma simply smiles sadly and tucks him in.
---
This marker is broken.
It doesn’t reflect any stray beams of sunlight.
The visibility is low, and Kril understands that the way to Flotsam Vale is up ahead.
It's a simple run across. He could make it in a minute.
The knowledge of there being something in the sands keeps him still.
He decides, and runs.
Kril feels him first.
The sands tremble beneath his feet, interrupting his speed.
Sand gives way to a rumbling behemoth and the sheer sight of him shocks Kril out of his stride.
A crab, far bigger than anything he’s seen (bigger than a seagull, his mind supplies hysterically), overgrown with kelp and barnacles. The knife and fork strapped to its claws with shining blue wire.
Pagurus.
His freeze response locks him in place, and Kril can do nothing but keep his eyes locked onto the enormous crab in front of him.
A chill crawls up Kril’s shell. He’s felt fear, lived it with the seagulls, with Gunked crabs hunting him down, with sardines that refused to give up the chase.
Kril knows fear.
But this?
It’s something akin to horror.
They make eye contact. Kril stares at that unwavering golden eye that shared too much clarity to be claimed by the Gunk.
What happened to you? Kril wants to ask, but he’s been around enough predators to know how to keep still. His legs are tense, he wants to tuck into the green fuzzy ball on his back.
Pagarus moves slowly, his eye patch lifts up.
The bobbit that comes out with a shrill scream freaks the ever loving shuck out of Kril that he turns tail and runs all the way back to the Central Vista.
(When Kril feels brave enough to try again. He runs without looking back.)
---
He can smell the Vale way before he sees its suffocating gloom.
Kril battles with shrimps and minnows, by the enormous red tanks, with wooden beams, and patches of moss for carpets.
Those are homes, he realizes. He falters and takes a big hit in a moment of distraction.
Later, Firth finds him while Kril patches up his upper arm.
“Sheesh, what a dump. Could you imagine living here?” The blue hermit says, looking around.
Kril thinks about empty homes and the many Gunked souls in the Vale. “Yeah, imagine that.” He replies. Those homes had people in them. Kril’s just killed the lot of them outside.
Kril heals himself as much as possible, and then hugs himself, letting the red mitt he’s found envelope his whole body.
Firth is still talking, but with no response from the little hermit, he quiets down and takes a seat next to Kril.
Kril sits there for the rest of the hour. Firth doesn’t say anything else.
---
Atop the red tower. He takes a moment to imagine what this place looked like before it got consumed by Gunk.
(Kril gets the map piece, and silently returns to New Carcinia. He ignores the bodies he has to walk past.)
---
Several citizens are impressed when Kril returns with the second map piece.
There are too many crabs over him that Kril tries to tuck himself into the bottle cap he has on but it only does so much.
His antennae curl back, feeling cornered and he glances fearfully at all the excited faces towering over him.
“Hey, hey, give the crab some space, will you?” Firth interrupts loudly.
Kril is grateful for the distraction but not the way he’s hauled up by the blue hermit without warning.
He shakes off the unease of being grabbed like that, shoves the map piece into Konche’s claws then dashes to stand by Nemma, her larger stature providing him with some protection that his bottle cap couldn’t.
Konche doesn’t even unroll the map fully before he’s pale, revealing the next path to the map that shocks their growing audience.
“The next map piece is...” Konche pauses with a swallow. “Is held by the Beast of the Sands.”
Everyone gasps, and hushed whispers arise as Konche fixes up the map, revealing a depiction of a red crab with cutlery.
Something unsettling eases its way into Kril’s gut.
“We have to kill that monster!”
Kril flinches at the loud declaration, then curls into himself when several boisterous crabs begin yelling out.
“We have to take down that beast!”
“Something like that shouldn’t be allowed to live!”
“Kill it! Get it out of the Sands!”
The voices are so aggressive and Kril hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes until a claw came to rest onto his shoulder. His eyes snap open to meet Nemma’s, who's looking at him with concern.
Kril doesn’t say anything, shrugs her off and slips away from the crowd.
---
Kril sits quietly on the steps to the museum.
Everyone declared their desire to kill someone, saying hateful words, then went back to their daily lives. The crowd had dispersed so quickly Kril thought they were literally going to the Sands right then and there …but no, they just went back to what they were doing earlier.
It’s… jarring.
These people are crazy, he thinks. Crabs north of here are dying in the Grove. Crabs south of here died in the Shallows. Crabs in the Vale…
And everyones just so… ignorant about it.
Those crabs chose something to rally for and it was for Pagurus, and not all the other Gunked crabs.
It was insane. They only wanted Pagurus dead because he affected them directly. If Pagurus was lurking elsewhere Kril would bet that nobody would care.
(Kril thinks to himself and realizes he’s just as guilty, because he hadn’t acted - hadn’t done anything - until his Home was taken away from him.)
A soft clack grabs his attention and Kril turns swiftly to meet the gaze of the elder hermit, Konche.
“How’s your knees, old man.” Krill jokes with a grin, remembering their conversation at the Grove.
Konche pokes Kril with his cane. “Hush, you whelp.” He sits down with a grunt. “They’ve been better.” He adds quietly.
They sit in silence for several minutes. Kril finds himself enjoying the company.
They crab-watch together, looking at the bustling city as crabs in distinguished outfits chat, shops sell and crabs lugging their purchases around. Kril follow Konche’s sights and-
Konche is watching him, Kril realizes with a start.
“Plastic for your thoughts?” Konche asks. At Kril’s confused expression he clarifies with a chuckle. “I’m asking what you are thinking about, boy.”
Kril frowns and looks away from Konche’s eyes. “I don't.. I don’t know.”
Konche waits patiently.
“I think... I’m angry.” Kril begins. “People are dying, Konche. But nobody cares.”
He sighs and stares into his fork. “People die for others to gain.”
Konche nods gravely, but offers no response.
(It doesn’t make him feel better.)
---
He doesn’t sleep. (Flashes of shrieking bobbit worms keep him wired.)
Kril gets up, picks up his fork and the sea sponge Nemma provided and starts polishing, scraping away at the rust. He sees his reflection, he looks tired. He hasn’t rested properly since he lost Home.
The hermit sighs and hugs the blanket he was given.
He wishes he had been left alone.
---
Kril makes an impulsive decision.
He makes sure everyone is sound asleep before slipping out the back of Bottom Feeders and out into the Lower Crust streets.
It’s totally different at night.
It briefly reminds him of his first night in the Shallows without Home but he pushes the thought away and begins walking.
Silence follows his gentle steps, and he takes a moment to look around.
The Lower Crust feels like a ghost town, but if he listens closely, he can hear faint laughter and music from the Upper Crust.
Kril hears a noise from an alley and is immediately on high alert. Three decently dressed crabs step out, laughing with each other and chewing on the smoke-rolls in their claws.
The leader spots him and Kril can’t hold eye contact, looking to the side of them.
“Hiya, well aren’t you a pretty thing.” The leader drawls out, her eyes watching Kril with interest.
“Go away.” Kril says, not stopping for anything. He doesn’t know these people and he doesn’t wanna talk to them. He shrinks into his shell, a coconut he’d managed to snag before any scavengers could get to it.
The three crabs giggle. “Aw don’t be like that, sweetie, why don’t you come with us?” Another one beckons him, twirling her lime hat.
“How about we have some fun!” The crab with scrunchie around her body says, raking her eyes over Kril.
Kril’s body goes cold and feels his stress response kicking in. His heartbeat is suddenly really loud. He doesn’t understand how these ladies could be making him feel threatened, but he never ignores his gut feeling when it comes to danger.
The girls start approaching him with looks in their eyes that Kril doesn’t want to think about and Kril nopes the shuck out of there, changing route making a break for the fishnet he spotted. He’d rather climb up to the Upper Crust than potentially have these crabs follow him outside city grounds.
He ignores the calls of come back and we won't hurt ya and heaves himself over the coral.
On Kril’s first day in New Carcinia, he was rather impressed with the lack of natural predators. Now he’s not so sure that’s true.
---
Kril looks out into the horizon in the darker of nights, and then steps off the plastic-laden paths.
Pagurus climbs out of the sand with a degree of ferocity Kril had seen in seagulls fighting for scraps.
They look at each other, before the behemoth crab is charging at him.
For a moment, Kril remembers he’s facing up against an apex predator and he loses his nerve, yelping out as he barely dodges the sharp edge of a plastic knife.
(He was not ready shuck shuck shuck shuck shuck.)
Kril draws umami and rolls to get distance in the coconut.
He stops and jumps with the extra momentum, using the height to get a good look at Pagurus. He doesn’t spot anything that might have the map.
For a brief moment he considers turning back…
(Visions of ignorant crabs celebrating death come to mind.)
But he knows eventually someone else is going to try and fight Pagurus, and those crabs will be the ones to die.
The behemoth crab rushes at him, cutlery at the ready.
Kril powers up an umami claw and drives it into Pagurus, watching the purple crab stumble in pain.
Kril takes the advantage and dives in to slash at Pagurus’ forelegs with his fork. Kril hears a roar, and he swiftly dodges underneath the underbelly to avoid being slammed.
They both turn simultaneously, facing each other once more. Kril eyes the wound he dealt, it's shallow.
Kril’s too locked in to notice his surroundings and something knocks into the back of his shell as consequence, throwing him off kilter.
A minnow charges up for another attack, aiming for Kril who’s fallen over but makes the mistake of straying too closely. It squeaks when the prongs of a fork juts out of its body, and Kril watches as Pagurus lifts up the minnow to his mouth and-
Kril has to look away.
(That could’ve been me.)
Vibrant red blood dissipates into the ocean water and that brings Kril back to the fight.
He doesn’t hesitate in swinging his fork at Pagurus, who grunts and raises the knife to lunge at Kril.
Kril isn’t fast enough-
He gasps as feels the tip of the knife drive through the coconut and jabs into his back. The knife jiggles harshly and Kril is literally forced out of the shell and Pagurus steps back and devours the coconut.
Kril gulps in fear then inhales sharply through his gills as the pain in his back sets. He should be grateful that his shell protected him, he should be grateful that he was at the right angle to avoid getting his tail skewered.
But he’s so fucking frightened at the moment.
Pagurus doesn’t give the hermit a chance to breathe and prepares to take a big leap.
At that point it's adrenaline and instinct that takes over when Kril steadies his ground and summons an umami-powered urchin and launches it at Pagurus as he leaps over.
The urchin sticks to the behemoth’s underbelly.
Time slows down and the crabs look at each other, Kril sees a hungry, frenzied glaze in that yellow eye, no anger, no desire, just a need to eat.
The urchin explodes.
Pagurus and his eye-patch bobbit scream in unison.
Bright blue blood seeps out of the crab and disappears into the night. Pagurus stumbles and falls down, the impact causing sand to swirl about.
Kril lays down on the sand, desperately forcing himself to breathe and to calm his shaking claws enough to be able to get up and grip his fork properly.
A severe wheezing sound breaks his concentration and Kril’s head snaps over to look at where Pagurus fell.
Shaky and tired from the adrenaline running out, and Kril is made aware of the mild bleeding from his back. He’s urged with a need to get up, so he does. On wobbly legs, he slowly moves towards the big crab.
Up close, Kril gasps when he sees the full extent of the injuries.
The carapace protecting the underbelly has been utterly destroyed, splintered and shattered. The gills, Kril sees, are incredibly damaged.
As if cued, Pagurus draws in another noisy breath, whimpering and trembling. Kril approaches gently and sees Pagurus is watching him.
Kril dares to come closer.
The eye patch lifts up and the bobbit worm advances onto Kril with a shrill shriek. He screams, jumps back but misses the landing. The bobbit extends and comes toward him as Kril lays on the sand. It hisses and dives down.
Its descent is stopped by Pagurus reaching out with last minute energy to bring up his knife and beheads the bobbit worm.
Pagurus’ claw lands back down on the seafloor with a resounding thump. The head of the bobbit lands before Kril, who gets up once more but then the bobbit head starts writhing and that alone cuts several months off of Kril’s remaining lifespan. He gets his blood-ridden fork and bats the thing away, eyes locked onto the head until it stops moving for good.
Kril drops to the ground with a heavy sigh, heart about to jump out of his chest.
There's a soft rumble among the gasping breaths and Kril looks up to meet the behemoth’s- Pagurus’ eye once more. His golden eye is tired, drooping low.
Pagurus gives a weak whine, generous globs of blood diluting with the ocean water.
I’m sorry. He doesn’t say. He stays with Pagurus, who takes struggling breaths out of his damaged gills. Kril did what had to be done right?
But…
Kril watches Pagurus, who’s only eye looks around with so much emotion, so much clarity. Very unlike the Gunked threats with blank eyes and hateful hisses.
The hermit crab can do nothing but stay with Pagurus as he lives his final moments, with early morning sunlight warming their bodies.
---
Kril wonders, as he digs out the last map piece, stained with blood, just like his claws.
(Who really is the monster here?)