The sudden current of water and his battle instincts urged him out of the way just in time. The siren's claws swiped through the water; ten pointed knives intent on exposing the color of his insides to the other sirens. Instantly, the other sirens jumped into action, gripping her wild arms and pulling him away from him. She was struggling against them, flailing, a predator trapped in a silver cage, intent on his death but unable to connect her talons to his flesh.
She was yelling at him. She was screaming and growling the words. He couldn't make out anything. That was a 'D', he could see the flick of her tongue, and that was an 'F'; she screwed up her face and practically spat it at him. But there were no words. Her face was grotesque, obscene. She was so enraged she looked otherworldly. He was transported distinctly back to his first Hunt, when the humanity had fallen off these women like it was just a silken shawl they had wrapped around their hair to shield their true natures. It had fluttered to the floor, leaving them terrifying and monstrous. The woman before him was no longer a woman. She was a siren. Enraged and intent on his death. He turned back to Blue.
"I don't understand," he tried to say, his hands inadvertently telling her, 'I'm confused.' Her eyes caught on his hands for a moment before flicking back up to his face.
"Samara wants to kill you. They all do. They took your refusal to help me as a signal that it was time for you to die," Blue said.
"I didn't refuse to help you!" he said, his fingers following along now. He had lost his decorum a bit. It wasn't that he wanted to live, necessarily, it was just that he couldn't stand the idea of Blue getting the wrong idea.
"You asked why." Her eyes were on his hands again.
"I just... Do you even understand how much killing I've had to do?" he asked her. The words felt soft in his throat. He wished she could read the signs, so he wouldn't have to force the words into the space between them like this.
The other siren, Samara, was pointing wildly in his direction. He couldn't stop his eyes from shifting to her. She was pointing at his head. Was she threatening to take it off his shoulders? She was saying something, over and over. He couldn't quite make it out...
And then he could.
"SIREN KILLER! SIREN KILLER!" she cried. Her gaze was fixed on the tattoos on his face, her face nearly crimson with the emotion on it. His gaze turned back to Blue. She looked... concerned. Blue, who he had grown up with. Blue, who had been murdered. His gaze whipped back to Samara. She had grown up with someone too. She had been murdered too. Horrified, he turned stiffly back to the great crowd of sirens. The women before him looked back at him. His body was freezing up. His eyes were so wide he thought they might pop out of his head at any moment. His fists clenched. He took a huge gulp of water but got no air out of the action and choked. He had been killing women. All this time, he had been killing women. How many Hunts had he joined? Had he led? He had given advice on how best to kill these women. He had raised a sword against them and swung, removing their limbs. Oh god, he had cut these women's heads off. He was collapsing in on himself. He was never going to find his way out of this debilitating tunnel. He had killed so many women that he had run out of space. He had placed a sick, disgusting line on his body for every woman he had killed. His fingers were moving across his flesh. He was removing his armor, scraping his fingers against the tattoos, trying to scrape them from his body. He had to get them off. He had to get them off. He couldn't breathe. He had to tear the tattoos from his flesh, from his soul. All this, all of it, all that he had endured, had been for nothing. Worse than nothing, far far worse than nothing. All those thoughts of the Samurai code, of honor. Nothing. He had no honor. He deserved to die. He was less than nothing. He was a murderer. These women had been brutalized, only for him to brutalize them again. He was never going to be able to take another breath again. He couldn't see. He needed to throw up, to get this awful feeling inside of him out of him. He covered his head with his hands and wished they would tear him apart.
Monsters! Monsters! He had had the audacity to think of them as monsters!
There was only one monster here.
He was disgusting. Irredeemable. There was no way back from this. Adam was gone. This thing he was now, this thing he had become the moment he had participated in his first Hunt, it had to die. He reached down with one shaking hand, reaching for the knife that was tucked on his person. He was going to kill this beast. This was what it deserved. This was all he could give any of these women now.
The blade was cutting into his throat when a hand was placed over his. Then another. And another. They held him gently, their grip soft. He opened his eyes hesitantly. They were crowded around him the way they had crowded around Blue. He was the center of them now. He could see their mouths moving, but he couldn't understand a thing. Blue's eyes were so very gentle. It was her hand on the hand holding the knife... but Samara's hand was the second hand he had felt on his body. He didn't understand. She was right. He was a siren killer and he had murdered so many of them. He was no better than the silver haired man Blue had told her tale about. Blue squeezed his hand, bringing his attention back to her face.
"You didn't know, did you?" she asked him. He was having an incredibly difficult time reading her lips; he kept focusing more on the fact that her mouth was moving and not on actually comprehending the words coming out of her mouth. Her grip was the only harsh one. She was forcing his hand-the knife-away from his throat.
"I just..." he could hardly form any words. How was he supposed to form any syllables when he couldn't even breathe? How could he even push the sounds out when they wouldn't fill his lungs in the first place? Impossibly, Blue's grip tightened, crushing his hand. He focused hard on her face, on the words that she was forming. What was she trying to say to him? He was a little distracted by the pinched, pained look that was suddenly present on Blue's face.
"I think I'm the one," he thought she was saying.
"The one... what?"
"That drowned you," she said. He paused. His whole body locked up, refusing to move a single muscle. Drowned him? That was right... he had been killed by a siren, drowned. Drowned by Blue?
"What?"
"I thought it was a hallucination or something," Blue said, "killing you. I was screaming with rage. Exploding with it. I don't even know why... And then, you were coming towards me. You were so gentle. I thought it was a hallucination, Adam. I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know anything."
His heart dropped. It hadn't been his mother? He had been so sure it was his mother. He could barely remember her face; how had his subconscious pasted her face over Blue like that? That feeling of loss, that tiny sinkhole in his stomach, was sucking up the grains of hope that had been stirred loose like sand. His mother and father were well and truly dead. Either they had been eaten by a siren or they had truly gotten in a boat accident, but, either way, their bodies had been swallowed up by the deep blue, never to be seen again. He closed his eyes, even though Blue's lips were still moving. He was so tired. It didn't matter, though, because he knew that Blue was waiting for some kind of response. He wasn't upset with her.
"I don't blame you. It's not your fault," he told her. He opened his eyes.
"I want your help, Adam. I want your friend's help. I want... I want to kill the silver haired man," Blue spat.
"Why would you need our help? Can't you just sing him to death?"
"We can't leave the water. We think that you all can. I'm not sure.... Have any of you ever left the ocean?" Her eyes were burning with intensity, swallowing him up in the storm.
"We've never tried, but I think we should be able. We'd have to be careful... we're all dead. I can't imagine how it would feel to see us again. Chase... Beth... Tammy... I think my Grandmother would have a heart attack and die on the spot," Adam said, the words forcing themselves through the spaces between his clenched teeth. He could practically imagine the look on his Grandmother's face. Would she call him Finn? Act like nothing had happened, that he was simply his father and that she hadn't lost both her son and her grandson in a matter of a few years. She wouldn't cry. He had only seen his Grandmother cry a handful of times in his life. She was a deeply emotional person, but crying wasn't usually the route that her sadness took. She would stare at him with that faraway look in her eyes, and she would ask him how the afterlife was. Was he happy there? Had he seen her son? He wished he had answers for her. He had nothing.
Blue squeezed his hand; he realized that his knife was still gripped in his hand, inches from his neck. He was still in the great webbed embrace of the frenzy. It was strange to be touched this way. It had been so long since he had had more than a brief touch. The Ensigns, he realized, did not touch each other like this. He didn't know how he felt about this. It was a little uncomfortable to be touched like this, after so long. He didn't like the way it made him feel.
Blue was speaking again, he realized.
"So you'll help us? You'll help me kill the silver haired man?" she was saying.
"I... I will. I can't-I don't know if the others will. I'll ask them, but, Blue, I promise you-No, Samara. All of you. I promise you all that you will not be hunted again, not by any of us," he swore. He would do anything to help uphold that promise. He could never let these women be slain by the other Ensigns, never again.
"I don't think that will be possible," Samara said to him. He turned to look at the knot of sirens. There was a ripple of dissent among their faces. They didn't believe them, almost none of them did. He could see it. It had been too long. He wondered how long the Ensigns had been murdering these women. How long they had feared the approach of their careful lines of toy soldiers. The Ensigns feared the sirens deeply and the sirens had been just as afraid. He sighed.
"I'll make it possible, Samara. I'm serious. Whatever it takes. You will not be hunted again. Whatever it takes."
She held his gaze for a moment, her face dubious. She looked away. He didn't have her trust. He didn't have the trust of any of these women. It didn't matter. He didn't need it. He had made them a promise and he was going to prove to them that he could keep it. There would not be another siren murdered at the hand of an Ensign, not while he still drew breath.