Among the triumphant cheers and brimming excitement of the crew, a singular disgruntled expression emerged. Angus, a gruff, no-nonsense giant of a man had been with the ship the longest, his face weathered and scarred from a lifetime of hard living and choking on the constant sea-salt.
He rose, his towering figure silencing the crew as he grumbled. Stepping forward, he spits his words toward the transformed Captain Yafeu, disdain dripping from his tone. “What kind of ship are ye runnin', eh? A ship full of beasties, birds, and what's next, bloomin' mermaids?”
Before Yafeu could answer, Angus continued, his anger mounting. “Is this even a pirate ship anymore, Captain, or a circus that ye lord over?” His words had a scornful edge.
Holding the crew's attention with raised palms, Yafeu addressed the simmering ire amongst his ranks. “These changes are fer the benefit of us all, fer the ship, Angus," he began, his words matching the seriousness of Angus’. "We need to adapt, evolve to be better.”
The men braced themselves, the deck growing strangely silent as the face-off continued.
With a stern gaze set on the dissenting crewman, Captain Yafeu softly ran his fingers across the pages of the Chronivac, penning his meticulous command. Like conducting an orchestra, he synchronized his intentions with the unyielding will of the Chronivac.
No sooner had he finished his instructions than the uneasy quiet was interrupted by a gasp of surprise from Angus. His scowl fell into a look of shock as he glanced down at his feet. Immediately, they began to adopt a metallic sheen, a golden brown hue spreading over his flesh like molten metal being poured onto a cast. His rugged boots slowly gave way to polished, solid brass feet, glimmering oddly in the sunlight.
The change did not stop there. It continued to snake its way up his legs, making the pirate's knees buckle and causing him to stumble. He tried to move, but his transformation had effectively rooted him to the spot.
The sight of his own brassy legs caused fear to spike within him, but also, an inexplicably deep arousal. His trousers tented impressively amidst his struggle, as they were turning into hard brass.
"No! Captain, I...aye... don't ye dare!" He managed to spurt out in his gruff voice, straining against the creeping conversion to brass. But his words were futile against the relentless course of his transformation.
With dread etched in his eyes, Angus felt the progression reach his waist up to his torso. His skin hardened and gleamed, his sinewy muscles now just brass imitations of their former self. Underneath his shirt, his chest was a hard, metallic surface, the faint beats of his heart drowned out in the encasing process that was slowly stealing his mobility.
The metallic transformation seeped into his arms, leaving his hardy musculature a mere sculpture of brass. The sun glinted off his new skin, basking his form in an ethereal glow. He could feel everything — the cool caress of the sea breeze against his brass body, the uneven grain of the wooden deck beneath his brass feet.
By the time it reached his neck, he was almost entirely a statue, unable to do anything but witness his transformation in horrified fascination. Eventually, it took hold of his rugged face, freezing his contorted expression in its place.
Within moments, his voice was snuffed out, subsumed by the continuing transformation. Angus — his protests, struggles, movements — was replaced by an immobile brass statue, aware and sentient, standing amongst the crew like a monument to the Captain’s inexorable will. The transformation had left him the latest testament to the unstoppable tide of change that Captain Yafeu was wielding.
With a sense of satisfaction humming in his veins, Yafeu approached the brass statue that had once housed Angus' spirit and tapped lightly on his metallic head. The clear, bell-like ring that resounded from the touch echoed around them, a stark validation of his new state.
Turning to face his gaping crew, Yafeu's voice rang clear and commanding over the deck as he said, "Do not fret lads, ol' Angus will be back among us on his own two feet soon enough."
Circling the statue that had once been their comrade, Yafeu reached out and traced the fine details etched into the brass, including the tent within his pants.
"But," he added, almost as an afterthought, as he leaned close to whisper into the immobile brass ears, his hand boldly reaching in Angus’ pants, "seeing as he's not too fond of transformations, I suppose we can humor him and keep him this way. Just for a little while," he promised, his mischievous grin speaking volumes.