Thread by @justabloodygame

Hail rained like tossed marble pebbles from a graying sky, clattering against the metal hull, dull thwacks in the dark, barely penetrating the quiet of the two hidden below deck, who feared the storm no less than they feared each other. Blood trickled from countless small wounds.

Twinned wheezing breaths, each one accompanied by the crack broken ribs, broken people in a broken room. Scattered about was detritus, ash from fire, molten plastic and metal pooled on the wall and floor, cinders of flesh, a limb, two.

And at the center, the staggering fighters.

So consumed by each other, no other questions concern them. No time to consider who else on board remains, whose side they were on, whether the ship headed back to shore, out to sea or to the bottom of the ocean, no time to worry for the other artists or warriors.

Only survival.

One woman, furthest from the door, dark curly hair matted with blood, dark skin warped by flame, by the art of her enemy that would drain color from the world, as she did her city, pulled herself up on to one knee. Shaking, coughing, she spoke:

"Why?"

Silence.

"Why, director?"

Still no reply.

"You have your city. Gray and dreary and artless. Do you need the world as well?"

The director, leaned up against the wall, sighed, staunching the wounds where her right hand's fingers once were.

"Look at us, map-maker."

"Cartographer."

"Map-maker." She spat.

"We are the wisest, the most powerful artists. Look at this. Our folly. A world full of people who could change it thus-"

The Director groaned as she tried to stand.

"-should not be."

The dark-haired woman traced something on the floor, almost idly, in her own brackish ichor.

"And why do you get to choose... what should be?" Each word was agony, she saw the map of her body in her head, marked by scores of internal, superating injuries.

"Someone must, mustn't they? The world without direction is... chaos. Is that what you want?"

The dark-haired cartographer.

"You know what I think. As a-" She smiled. "-'map-maker'. Maps are simple. Maps are tools. They show you the world, and how to get wherever you are going. But-"

She rolls over, revealing the crude sketch of the shoreline she had drawn in secret.

"Maps never dictate your destination. That is the freedom, you would... you would... deny... the-"

She fell forward, her last bit of life given to her last map. Her final thoughts were not for herself, nor for the gray director before her, but her daughter, stolen years before.

I'm sorry, sweet child. I would have loved to cook for you once more. But. You will find your way. Even without me...

...you have the stars.

The Director squinted past the corpse of her foe, feeling no sorrow, only relief, looking wide-eyed at the drawing she'd made.

A simple drawing of a ship, their ship, miles from shore. Jagged words scrawled underneath.

HERE THERE BE MONSTERS.

The Director gasped. That... that... she would go so far? She had to act, there wouldn't be much time before.

BANG!

Something heavy fell against the hull, drowning out the plinking hail.

CRACK!

The metal hull groaned and shook. Closing her eyes, she stole a look outside.

Through the eyes of a seagull flying by, she saw the ship at a distance. Massive tentacles wrapped around it, bodies strewn about the deck. Everyone, her people, the map-m... the cartographer's, were already dead.

And now her deceased foe contrived to drag her into the sea.

No... no... she couldn't die, not yet. There was a whole world she had to-

No time to panic. She thought. Focus!

Drown out the pain of your shattered body and focus!

Gather yourself and focus!

She took a breath. Two.

Another crack. Saltwater flooded beneath the closed door.

The whole world was hers. Everything she had seen and world see was hers. She just needed to visualize...

Yes! Warmth. Safety. Swirled into existence above the ocean water reaching her knees and quickly flooding higher.

The door shattered open, a massive tentacle fell through.

No time to waste, The Director gathered her last bit of strength and jumped, falling through the vortex, out of the ship and out of space and time. She fell into her home, sopping wet, wounded. Her hand quivered as she reached for the phone.

The world. Its color.

The world...