There's a wriggle, then. More eels press into the glow of light, shuddering all the while, their bodies contorting like something within them is pressing its hands to their skin from the inside. The keening grows to a constant squeal, as though they are in pain, but they all cluster around that light, anyway, until the moment builds to what should be unbearable--Sonja lifts her hand, preparing to strike out telekinetically just to shut those things up--

And then instead of that awful nails-on-a-chalkboard sound, there's a soft series of waterborne pops echoing over the air. The eels who got close enough to the evidence of magic burst into two halves, separating cleanly in a burst of inky black; maybe it's their version of blood. They absorb the light completely during this process, and seem satisfied by it, glittering eyes keen and bright.

One of the new halves, however, seems not quite right. Its tail is misshapen. It bobs in the water weakly, turned in another direction to the others. The remaining eels flicker in unison under the water, and then they descend abruptly, with the swiftness and unadulterated viciousness of swift predators. More black blood flies into the air as they descend up on their misshapen kindred, devouring it bite by bite--it cries out, thrashing, but there are too many, and it was born damaged, to boot. The process takes them further under the water, making them difficult to reach, but they can certainly be heard.

Then it stops again. The eels rise up to the surface again. They stare (halved, but whole) at the humanoid beings above them, up on that boat, and for a second it seems like they might leap.

Instead, they disappear back under the waves, into the black and the fog.

But occasionally, tempered beneath the buffering weight of water, there's still a sound like metal tearing. Hidden, but not gone. Waiting.

"So we're gonna have to kill some of those," Sonja says, flatly.