His mad dash slowed after the second pace. His mind reeled with what his eyes took in, and his jaw dropped. The swashbuckler slipped under and around cut after cut, thrust after thrust, dancing through their ranks with a deadly ballet. She opened wounds in the corsairs time and again while not suffering a single one in return. Some maimed. Some killed.
After the tenth corsair fell to her scimitar, being sliced deeply across his belly, the surviving men broke ranks and ran for a small wooden building nearby where others had rallied. The sight of them fleeing snapped Ethan out of his awe from watching Katryna go to work, and he ran after them along with Katryna and a swarm of skeletons.
The corsairs quickly formed a crescent shape with their backs to the building, no doubt trying to make a valiant last stand, and with about sixty of them in total, they had a chance. Pistols fired from their lines, blasting skeletons apart, dropping a few of the prisoners Zoey had freed, too, in the process.
A moment later, the two sides clashed. Ethan shot to the left and then charged when he reached the corsairs’ flank. When he slammed into the line, his first strike took the head off a corsair’s shoulders with ease. His next skewed one through the heart as his blade drove straight through the man’s back and shot out of its chest.
A blur of movement caught the corner of his eye. Ethan instinctively ducked under a wild hack made by another corsair, and he then hopped back to avoid the follow-up blow. His chest burned, and a glance down showed that the corsair’s blade had a cut a deep gash across his chest.
The pain that ran through his body, coupled with the sight of his own dark blood now flowing, reignited a burning hunger inside his soul.
“Good, but not good enough,” he growled before flashing his fangs. “Now it’s my turn.”
The man’s eyes went wide, and he barely got out a “What?” before Ethan was upon him. He batted the corsair’s blade to the side and lunged forward with a tremendous war cry.
The corsair nearly fell over as he tried to scurry backward. He tried to defend himself with his cutlass, but Ethan proved to be faster. A single hack of Ethan’s blade took the man’s right arm at the elbow, and before the corsair could scream, Ethan bit into his throat.
Blood, sweet and euphoric, pumped into the vampire’s mouth. The man struggled vainly against Ethan’s grip, but soon his strength gave out, and they both fell to the ground.
The back of Ethan’s shoulder exploded in pain, but the sensation was greatly drowned out by another.
Feeding…
The blood ceased, as did the man’s struggles. Ethan ripped himself free, driving forward on powerful legs, not bothering to see whether or not the corsair was dead yet. Only one thing mattered: it wasn’t giving him what he needed.
Feeding.
Corsairs and skeletons were everywhere, fighting, hacking, killing, dying. Ethan slashed through the throat of another with his razor-like nails and drove shoulder-first into a third. He clawed and bit, drinking as much blood as he could that a couple of seconds would allow before he had to drink from something fresher. The taste of the wounded and dying couldn’t compare to that of the unscathed.
After ripping free of another victim, Ethan’s next target happened to be a corsair who’d just knocked one of the prisoners off his feet and was about to run him through. Ethan charged, closing the three yards that stood between them in a single bound. The corsair spun an instant before Ethan could connect and brought his sword in line with the attacking vampire.
The blade sank deep into Ethan’s upper hip. The pain would’ve been more than enough to cripple any man, not counting the horrific injuries it inflicted, but Ethan’s mind was still focused on one thing and one thing only.
Feeding…
Feeding…
His fingers dug into the man’s face, and he pushed his head to the side before clamping his jaw down on its throat as he had with all the others. His fangs sank deep into flesh and opened up a jugular.
The corsair fought harder than the others had, striking Ethan repeatedly in the side of the face and gut with heavy fists. But eventually, he, too, succumbed to his wounds, and his strength gave out.
Corsair drained!
Corsair killed!
You heal some wounds!
Ethan’s vision suddenly exploded into a bright array of starburst lights. The back of his head went numb, and he fell. The chaos of battle loomed around him, but the sounds felt as if everything transpiring were miles away. Despite the stun, Ethan’s focus remained.
Feeding…Feeding…
He rolled onto his back right as the most enormous brute he’d seen yet pointed a pistol that could’ve doubled as a deck gun right at his head.
Chapter Ten
Buttons
Marcus loved battles, even if they were, on the surface, anathema to proper studies. After all, one could hardly focus on the faded pages of ancient text with the constant clash of steel on steel ringing through the air. And one might as well forget trying to learn the intricacies of proper pronunciation when it came to mastering long-forgotten languages or invoking the spirits when the screams of the dying drowned out any and all thought.
Well, Marcus could forget trying such things. He wasn’t as dark or disturbed to be able to relax in such places. Maii, on the other hand, probably could.
That said, the one thing that battles did do was give Marcus an unparalleled opportunity to be at the point where the lines of life and death converged. That, he knew, was the crux of all his studies—for what else was necromancy when boiled down to its most basic, fundamental concept? And one day, when he’d become an expert in his craft, he could finally retire to his labyrinth, where his hordes of skeletal minions would keep the living away, so he could further his studies in peace instead of having to deal with all the damn heroes that undoubtedly would show up, trying to make a name for themselves with nothing but a sword and a ball of string.
Daydreaming, however, would have to wait, especially since the corsair he’d squared off with had proven to be a troublesome man, neither scared of the minotaur’s undead minions nor inept at dual-wielding the pair of cutlasses he had in hand.
The man came at Marcus with a series of feints and chops, and with each second that passed, he seemed to get closer and closer to penetrating Marcus’s defenses. After a few strikes, Marcus knew he had to regain control of the duel and thus went on the offensive with a well-timed strike of his own.
The man darted backward, narrowly avoiding a cut across the belly. He then trapped the minotaur’s weapon with one of his own before lunging forward in an attempt to skewer Marcus through the chest. But the corsair wasn’t the only one with two weapons in hand. Marcus whipped his staff around in a high overhead arc, striking the man inside the wrist.
The corsair howled in pain as Marcus put his weight behind the blow, which no doubt shattered the bones in the man’s wrist. The cutlass went flying, and less than a second later, Marcus cracked open the man’s head with the tip of his staff.
Before the corsair had fully hit the ground, Marcus roared, basking in his victory before charging headlong into the rest of the fray. His skeletal minions had done well catching the corsairs by surprise, cutting their numbers with ruthless efficiency. But most of their success was due to catching the pirates and slavers unaware. Now that skirmish lines had been made, the undead army was suffering as many losses as they inflicted.
That was something Marcus intended to fix right then and there, especially since he could feel his staff warming and sending tingles of energy racing up his massive arms. Energy had returned to the artifact, energy that could be used with devastating results.
He stabbed a corsair through the side after the man had just taken down two of Marcus’s skeletons before stepping back from the fray and pointing his staff at the corsair’s ranks.
“Vas Corp Hur,” he said, his voice slow and deep as he intoned the spell.
The skull’s eye sockets on the
tip of the staff burned like hot coals while dark tendrils shot out of its open mouth. They curled through the air, hissing and crackling as they went, a dozen in total, each one wrapping themselves around the throats of the slavers.
The men shrieked in unholy unison, dropping their weapons and clutching their necks as they fell to their knees. Their bodies doubled over, and their skin withered. When they each finally fell completely to the ground, they’d become little more than grey husks of their former selves.
“You shall all serve the Great Lord Charethes!” Marcus bellowed, practically cackling as he did.
More skeletons surged from behind, taking advantage of the chaos that poured through the corsair ranks. But that surge broke like a storm-tossed ship on a rocky shore a moment later.
A blur of movement grabbed Marcus’s attention out of the corner of his eye. He spun to the right just in time to see something massive plowing its way through his skeletal army, sending shattered and pulverized bones flying in all directions. And before his eyes could even focus on the monstrosity, let alone truly take in what it was, he was met with a massive fist that sent him dazed and spinning to the ground.
Consciousness slipped away shortly thereafter.
* * *
Maii sailed through the air, a nightmarish beast of fang and claw, but as far as Ethan was concerned, the ahuizotl was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen at that moment. The monstrous feline’s jaws clenched on either side of the corsair’s face, crushing bone as five sets of claws from legs and tail tore flesh into ribbons.
“Thank God,” Ethan said, exhaling and thoroughly elated he was still alive.
Maii didn’t reply. Instead, he shot further into the fray, and then Zoey suddenly appeared at Ethan’s side, smiling and drenched in sweat.
“Come on, lazy,” she said, hoisting him up. “We’ve got a battle to finish.”
Ethan’s heart soared as a wave of energy rippled through him. Something about seeing Zoey redoubled his resolve, gave him purpose, and invigorated his soul.
Once on his feet, they surged forward, a vampiric pair fighting side by side that could not be matched. Blades flashed, and like the skirmish back at the graveyard, Ethan and Zoey moved in concert with one another, fending off attacks meant for the other while providing their partner with the perfect opening to cut a corsair down at the knees or drive a point through the heart.
As the combat went on, Marcus’s skeletal minions picked up weapons from the fallen, as did the prisoners Zoey had released, and numbers the corsairs fielded dwindled from fifty to thirty to twenty at best.
Zoey snapped her wrist high, angling her blade downward to catch a wild overhead chop. She passed the trapped weapon over to Ethan, who’d just come out of a backspin that left another corsair without his right hand. He caught it on his own cutlass effortlessly, as if they’d practiced the trick a hundred times, and slapped it sideways so that Zoey, free of the attack, could neatly lop off her opponent’s head.
The decapitated body dropped to its knees and fell forward. But before its chest hit the ground, a skeletal minion crashed into it with such force, its bones shattered in all directions.
Ethan twisted, looking over his shoulder at where the skeleton had come from just in time to see a monstrous thing come at him. Ashen skin covered a muscular frame wrapped in what looked like countless dirty linen bandages. Standing nearly nine feet tall, it towered over all the combatants, snatching, swatting, and throwing skeleton and prisoner alike with oversized, clawed hands. Countless rings, piercings, and chains hung from a disfigured face, all showing off a myriad of voodoo charms and trinkets ranging from shrunken heads to shriveled paws.
Four skeletal warriors shot by Ethan a split second later, intent on bringing the monster down. Three were pulverized with a single backhanded blow, while the fourth managed to stay intact long enough to issue a feeble attack of its own before meeting a similar fate.
A great rallying cry sounded from the corsairs, and their line tightened around the monster. Just behind it all, Ethan caught sight of a witch doctor, wearing nothing but a loose loincloth, a wide-horned wooden mask, and intricate body paint, dancing and laughing with a long, wicked knife in hand.
“Ha! Ol’ Sejour have a few tricks for you yet,” he called out before reaching behind him and producing a small clay pot seemingly out of thin air. He sent the pot sailing through the air, and when it hit the ground, it erupted into a massive green-and-yellow fireball that spared nothing for ten yards in all directions.
Though the blast had staggered Ethan, he quickly found his footing and charged, Zoey following his lead and the rest of his forces surging back into the corsair line. Ethan lunged at the monster with the point of his cutlass leading the way.
He was fast, but not fast enough. The monster batted him sideways with a well-placed strike to the shoulder. Its claws cut through Ethan’s skin while at the same time sending a massive shockwave through his right arm, which sent his cutlass flying and him spinning to the ground.
Buttons hits you!
Buttons disarms you!
You are seriously wounded!
The world became a jumbled mess of shouts and motion. Thankfully, Ethan had the presence of mind to roll away from the monster. A heavy foot smashed into the ground where his head had been only a moment ago.
In the blink of an eye, Zoey jumped between Ethan and the monster, sword raised, body slightly crouched. As Ethan came to his feet, the two squared off with one another. Then the attacks came from each. Zoey lunged forward, which ended up being a feint as she shot to her right and ducked under a heavy blow. Once clear of the attack, she went on the offensive. Her blade sliced cleanly into the monster’s upper thigh, spilling bright red blood in all directions.
The monster wailed, sounding more like a toddler having a temper tantrum than something in pain, and before she could issue a follow-up attack, it threw itself at her, managing to get a hold of her forearm in the process. With one giant heave, he threw her through the air like a rag doll. She hit the ground, plowing through a number of skeletons in the process. And though she didn’t get up immediately, she stirred, which told Ethan all he needed to know in the moment: she lived.
“I’m going to tear you a new one for that,” Ethan said with a growl, narrowing his eyes at the monster.
“Not unless I tear him one first,” Katryna replied, suddenly appearing at his side and handing him his recently lost blade. She flashed a smile and threw him a wink before adding, “Half crown says I bring him down before you.”
Ethan kept his focus on the monster. “Done.”
The two drove forward together, and the giant creature responded in kind. It swung at the two in a wide arc with one of its lumbering arms. Despite already knowing what it could do, the attack still seemed to come impossibly fast for Ethan. While Katryna slipped under the blow with ease, Ethan had to dive sideways to keep his head attached to his shoulders.
Ethan hit the ground, though this time he at least had more finesse in the maneuver. He rolled with the momentum and easily came up into a low crouch, ready to spring away or attack once more as the situation would warrant. Neither, to his surprise, was needed.
Katryna thrust the point of her sword through the monster’s chest, just below its left armpit. The monster roared, spit shooting everywhere as it did. It spun around, trying to swat the woman with a backhand, but failed to connect. Katryna’s next cut went across its right forearm, and the following took a chunk of flesh from a calf.
The creature continued to wail, punching, swiping, and launching blow after blow in a feeble attempt to put down its tormentor. With every strike it missed, Katryna made it pay heavily with its own blood. She darted inside its reach one last time, cutting it deeply across the back of a knee.
The monster fell forward, hunched over as it tried to keep from toppling completely. Katryna launched herself onto the thing’s back, knocking it down to all fours, at which poin
t she drove her blade directly through its shoulder blades.
With his jaw set and his face chiseled with anger and determination, Ethan calmly walked up to the thing, pulled out his pistol, and put a shot through its head.
Buttons killed!
You feel a lot more experienced.
You feel like some skills could improve after some rest.
Ethan smiled, grateful that they’d dropped the thing relatively quickly, and cheers erupted all around. As Katryna used her foot to help push and yank her sword free of the newly made corpse, Ethan took a moment to survey the rest of the battle.
There wasn’t much of one.
What corsairs still lived ran, most getting cut down before they could break the lines of skeleton and prisoner, but a few managed to push through. Jean, along with some others, followed close behind, yelling taunts and jeers. Marcus, on the other hand, was found slowly staggering to his feet, but he still retained enough strength to hurl plenty of promises of eternal enslavement.
All that said, the witch doctor was nowhere to be seen.
Ethan, however, didn’t give the man’s fate more than a fleeting thought before he rushed to Zoey, who was still lying on the ground. Right as he reached her, she pushed herself up into a seated position and groaned as she rubbed her head. “Holy crap,” she said, wincing. “That thing hits like a Mack truck. Tell me it’s dead.”
“It’s dead,” Ethan said, exhaling with relief as he helped her to her feet. “Are you okay?”
“I’m alive,” she replied, wincing again. “Been better. Wouldn’t mind a bite to eat to heal up.”
“You and me both,” Ethan replied, now acutely aware of the pain radiating from his shoulder.
“I could help with that shortly,” Katryna said, joining the two of them and sheathing her scimitar in the process. “Looks as if the day is won. Or night, as the case may be.”
The Crew (Captains & Cannons Book 2) Page 9
