Was this how his life just... ended?

The deck was stained as the octopus-faced being spewed ink. Ming's revolving chainsaw hung in the air. This ink... could it be useful in the future? Perhaps as a dye or ink substitute?

It seemed to hold some potential value, and Ming was not one to waste anything valuable.

The onlookers aboard the vessel hesitated upon seeing Ming cease his attack. Why didn't he deliver the final blow? Was he showing mercy? Could it be an octopus to produce ink had earned it a reprieve?

Ming turned to the Black-haired Pig Demon. "Do you want this octopus? Perhaps as a servant?"

The Black-haired Pig Demon approached, lifting the octopus-faced being by its tentacles. "Why not? It could be useful to vent frustration once in a while. After all, it seems resilient."

"Just ensure you don't waste the ink when you do."

"Understood."

"Alright, everyone, return to your duties. Red Horse, come and hang these dried fish back up."