Liveman and Deadman
Deadman Brucolac is well aware of his own weakness, just like everybody else.
So now he is walking down bridges, chains and junks, through Dry Fall to Garwater in the night. There are very few people on decks. Armadans were exhausted by cold weather of the Swollen Ocean and crippling blows they just suffered. Most of them prefer to stay indoors, getting warmer or drinking themselves.
But the cold is like age-ripped wallpaper to Deadman, left only stains. He feels no cold. The sunlight is just what he's afraid of.
The sunlight will burn away his skin, making it melt like waxen images. The sunlight will gnaw his eyes, turning them into frosted glass. The sunlight will corrode his body, making it wither away slowly.
And recently, he was caressed sadistically by the sunlight when he was crucified high above the deck of the Grand Easterly. The brutal torture began at every dawn. His skin began to welt, as if some punishing chymical had been poured on him. When the sun had disappeared behind the horizon, he started to heal. After the ordeal of regenerate all night long, his torture began again as the sun reached out.
He can't tell how long he had been there. He was crucified there after the mutiny. Maybe his citizens witnessed his suffering. Mayby most people barely noticed him. The scar had got all their attentions.
He still had the strength to stare back at first, then he was blind. He could only get a few words from the noises of Hedrigall's back and the Lover's leaving. Most of the time, he could even not tell who had walk past the stains he emited.
But he could make out that man all the while - his form, his footsteps and his wonderful voice. He got a good guffaw when he learnt that the Lovers were tearing themselves apart, then she left, and at last Armada turned back. You all done what I asked, and you all crucified me.
And YOU crucified me.
"Cut him down." At last, the voice said, as bland and featureless as if he just found out the macabre body-pennant swinging above the bridge.
He doesn't know what he was then, a heavy block of foul-smelling flesh he guesses, with melting skin, dripping with blood and bodily fluids. And then he was carried back to the moonship by his cronies and citizens, where the forces restored his body. Slowly he regenerated, like a monster resurfaced from off a sink full of greased carnage. Armada has sailed out of the Hidden Ocean before his recovery.
So he is storming to the Grand Easterly. He will take revenge on that man for the crucifixion.