by Rich Rurshell
“The Leviathan!” spat ‘Gunpowder’ McGregor. His motley crew sneered and cackled.
“You think that relic stands a chance against the Cutter? She could take the Leviathan and the entire naval fleet with ease.”
Captain Jack Jones cleaned the dirt from beneath his fingernails with a small pocketknife. He glanced around the impressive top deck of the Cutter.
“I have no doubt of that, matey,” replied Jones, “but I wasn’t referring to that Leviathan.”
As Jones raised the Toothtip Horn to his lips and blew, McGregor paled. A colossal shadow darkened the waters beneath them, and McGregor knew his men were doomed.
Rich Rurshell is a writer of horror, fantasy, and science fiction. Rich likes to ponder the existence of the sinister, the fantastic, and the downright terrifying. He likes to explore the darker side of life and what lies within us, and celebrate the beauty in the world and what lies beyond.