Guts chewed a piece of salty shark-meats as he adjusted his iron hand, eyeing the wall of the beast's stomach. This was near where he'd entered, so that should have been the front. He steadied his oversized blade, and plunged it into the stomach lining before ripping downwards, creating a large, man-sized hole to step through, leading further inside its body. Guts waved a torch around; this area was pitch black. Immediately, insectoid faces greeted him, followed by serpentine bodies lined with a thousand bladed legs, skittering closer. Guts dropped the light and swung to the side, decapitating three. His heel dug into meat as he carried the momentum up over his head and back down in an arc, cutting a fourth in half down the center of its face. A fresh layer of gore splattered onto the berserker's face and chest, and he ran through the passages lining the Warpwhale's body, stopping only to deliver a heavy chop to whatever came near. He eventually stopped on two zeppelin sized bags, slowly inflating, and deflating, and inflating again. This was his first stop. He plunged the Dragonslayer into the side of a lung, and slowly drug it forward, his feet sliding on the greasy floor. The lungs began to inflate and deflate at a higher speed, grinding against the edge of the blade. This actually made it easier to cut, and Guts began to enjoy taking the time to walk up the length of the organ, leaving a long rip across the length. Guts' nose crinkled, and he sniffed the air, then gagged, barely keeping down his lunch. More of that wretched stench was leaking out of the fish's lungs, spurring Guts further away.