Shiver me timbers and lock the powder room, for the latest tally of the King’s Doubloons has reached my cabin, and 'tis a grim sight for those who prefer their meat rotted and their horizons bleak. The ledger-keepers have spoken, and the news travels faster than a shark scenting blood in the Caribbean: 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple has clawed its way out of the cinematic grave, only to find itself capsized by the massive, bioluminescent wave that is Avatar: Fire and Ash. While the shuffling hordes of Danny Boyle’s reanimated nightmare thought they could reclaim the territory of the Great Multiplex, they have been soundly out-maneuvered by James Cameron’s blue-skinned giants and their scorched-earth policy.

I stood upon the quarterdeck of the Black Quill and watched as the box office receipts rolled in like a storm front. The opening weekend numbers suggest that while the masses still have a hunger for the 'Rage Virus,' they’d much rather spend their gold coins on the ash-choked vistas of Pandora. It seems the common folk prefer soaring on the backs of winged beasts to hiding in a crumbling sanctuary from sprinting cannibals. 'Tis a strange age we live in, mates, where a three-hour epic about alien diplomacy and volcanic eruptions can sink a gritty survivalist tale before it even clears the harbor. The Bone Temple didn't exactly founder—it took a respectable haul—but when you’re sailing against the HMS Cameron, even a sturdy frigate looks like a leaky rowboat.

My Quartermaster, 'Deadeye' Dan, spat a glob of tobacco onto the deck when he heard the news. 'Listen here, Cap’n,' he growled, 'the Bone Temple is a fine vessel, full of grit and the stench of true horror, but James Cameron is a Sea Lord who doesn't know how to lose a battle. He’s got the backing of the Crown and enough CGI sorcery to turn the tide of the entire ocean. You can’t fight a man who builds his own submarines just to find more gold at the bottom of the sea.' And he’s not wrong. The sheer weight of the Avatar franchise is enough to crush the ribs of any competitor, leaving the horror genre to scavenge for the scraps left in the bioluminescent wake.

Lord Hollywood of the Silver Coast issued a formal decree from his ivory tower, stating, 'While we applaud the resurrection of the 28 Days lineage, the appetites of the global peasantry remain firmly fixed upon the spectacle of the spectacular. The Bone Temple provides a chill, but Fire and Ash provides a furnace.' This signifies a dangerous shift in the winds for us independent scallywags and lovers of the macabre. If a powerhouse like the Box Office juggernaut of Danny Boyle and Alex Garland can’t unseat the Blue King, then what hope remains for the smaller schooners trying to make a name for themselves in these treacherous waters?

As we sail toward the horizon of the next fiscal quarter, the omen is clear. The Bone Temple may stand as a monument to the cult of the undead, but for now, it sits firmly in the shadow of the Na'vi. The consequences for the high seas are dire; expect fewer risks taken on the dark and the gritty, and more gold poured into the glowing and the grand. We shall see if the zombies have the stamina to survive the long voyage, or if they will simply be bleached white by the heat of Cameron’s fire. For now, pour out a rum for the fallen ghouls, for they have been out-gunned by a tribe of giants with better PR and much longer bows.