Prospekt
The silence still reigned. Prospekt felt a dreadful resignation as the abyssal flagship stood above him. This surely was his end. And all of it would be because of his own arrogance and neglect. As the face of death cast its gaze into his soul, he felt no fear. No, he was past fear. He had come to terms with fate, and accepted it.
Her eyes were filled with pride and sinister malcontent, or at least, that's what he saw. As she knelt down, he could see her lips moving, but all he heard was a muffled taunt. He certainly hadn't gone deaf, as while the world had gone terribly quiet, he could still hear dim sounds.
The smug hatred he interpreted in her face culminated in a single action, as her leg cocked backwards from behind her. Prospekt felt almost nothing as his head was pushed slightly backwards by a small foot. Something he definitely heard was the deadened crack of one unlucky toe. Looking up from his pathetic position where he lay in the water, he could see her struggling to have a cool head. He almost felt bad. Poor thing. It certainly must've hurt an awful lot.
In a turbulent instant, however, any hint of pity would be swiftly swapped for shock, and shock for ecstasy. the rumble of explosions sent faint cracking noises to his ears, and vibrations through his body. His eye widened as he saw the pride drain from her. The enemy had scrambled, but not before his near-captor unloaded one last torpedo spread right into his face, souring his joy just before she fled the scene. Unlike the direct kick he took to the face, he actually felt the force of blunt barrage, sending him only further into his state of pseudo-shock. Finally, he saw a pair of plains darting through the sky. These weren't abyssal planes. No. It was help. Help had arrived! A jubilant sensation filled him. Somehow, his face was christened with a warm rush, which was actually somewhat odd, as he still hadn't felt any pain from the hit he took to it just a minute prior.
His hearing was clearing up. The ringing had not yet dissipated, but it was well on its way. He worked up the effort to pull himself to his feet. Oh, if only he hadn't, he would later think, as with his own resurgent rise, would come a rapid emergence of searing agony. The hurt in his chest returned too soon. And at last, Prospekt's entire head began to throb with burning pain. And of course, the irritation originated in his left eye socket. Huh, so that's where that was, he thought to himself uselessly.
His lips contorted as his face twinged. His hand would investigate the scene as it pressed firmly against the injury. Drawing it back, his other, still-functioning eye pieced together that the gaping gash was still bleeding, as the blood stained across his hand was bright and fresh. For a brief second, he almost wondered why his left eye refused to open. The answer was all too simple.
The battleship figured that it would be best for him to begin walking back to the base now. "Better sooner than later." The exhaustion in his voice was clear. He was hoping to save his rescuers some time.
Staggering across the water, the only thing he could really think of to distract from his physical torment was his own idiocy. How could he have been so foolish!? Trying to move through such dangerous waters as these all on his own! He scolded and cursed at himself. He knew that he had the knowledge not to go it alone, and yet he did it anyway. An underlying shame emerged as he realized the gravity of the humiliation he had suffered. His only relief from it was that his shame was outdone in multitudes by the pulsating stings emanating from where his left eye used to be. But physical and emotional pain alike were defeated in full. Was he an idiot? Yes. Did everything hurt like hell? Absolutely. But you know what? Prospekt was elated. He was rescued from the gleaming sabers of death's wicked teeth. Someone would surely be receiving the asinine battleship's eternal gratitude. Right now, he was just happy to be alive.
