Nocturna League- Season One Box Set

by Kell Inkston

  "NOTHING BUT LIVING DIRT! YOUR SUFFERING IS ONLY A GAME TO US. WE WILL-"

  Grancis has never heard something like that gasp before, and it will be a long time before she hears it again, but sometimes even incomprehensible gods of darkness get out played.

  "You would have done better to play this game with more tact, I'd say," The Captain does say.

  The Black Eye is frozen in horror as it feels something retracting into itself.

  "YOU... MY KIND WILL RETURN!"

  "If that would make you feel better," The Captain says snidely as he continues to focus.

  Amidst the ongoing insanity, the portal loses strength and phases out, freeing Irefall to collapse onto the deck, and The Black Eye to slowly, surely collapses into itself. Further and further it folds into itself, all the way down to the point that it's just a spec of black sand, several to be exact.

  Like a bell being wrung to call for worship, much is made clear to Grancis in seeing this, but even more questions arise — like being given an important piece to a puzzle, but simultaneously realizing the puzzle is far larger than she could have ever anticipated.

  The Captain steps over to the little grains of sand, and as if by magnetism they attract to him and stick, adding to his entity.

  "And that's far enough, Captain!" Irefall shouts weakly. With her left hand she's holding her sizable wound, with the other, she has a weird stick out.

  The Captain scoffs at the sight. "You expect magic to save you when your unprecedented occult tomfoolery couldn't? You already know the end of this story."

  She takes a breath. "Ascard A'kemar-"

  *BANG*

  With his usual crack-shot aim, The Captain shoots through Irefall's hand holding the wand, sending it tumbling over the deck with a few precise clicking sounds.

  The Captain, in the eyes of Grancis as a conqueror of the unconquerable, stands stall and ruthless as he oversees Lady Irefall.

  "Just as I said, our game is over too," The Captain says, nearing the mayor with measured, relaxed steps.

  She doesn't move, but simply stands there, staring into The Captain as if he were a great the blackness, dead inside.

  "Cheer up, my pecan, at the very least you'll be near each other again." He says as he raises his hand.

  “I don’t want to die, Lewis," she says.

  The Captain reaches forward, and Irefall winces to embrace the end, but rather, she feels a caring hand tracing over her shoulder and bringing her in for an embrace. “You know this is for the best, Pertalaine. You know as well as I do that you’re not dying, simply becoming something more true to yourself.”

  She sobs into his shoulder. “After all my plans... you just had to ruin everything.”

  “You cannot defy fate. Now I’m certain you have quite a bit of explaining to do to Beatrice.”

  She brushes her face against his uniform as if to shake her head. “I’m not ready.”

  “You have to be, because you can’t talk me out of taking your soul.”

  “But, Lewis! I’m not ready to go; I’ve only just started!”

  He pushes his forehead against her own, uplifting his cap and sending it to the deck. “On the contrary, dearest, you were ready the moment you decided to destroy others for your own gain.”

  “And how are you any different?”

  He pulls her away, and she can see a smile under his bandages. “This is my job, Pertalaine. You’re not just fighting me, but every loyal man and woman and seasort of my crew. You knew it was suicide to try your hand against me and yet you tried. You’re brave, Pertalaine, I always knew that, but you still have much to learn.”

  “…I’m not interested in your ‘wisdom’, Lewis. My means may have been backhanded, but I knew it was the right thing to do. You’ll never achieve your goal.”

  The Captain shakes his head. “We’ll talk about this some more later.” He raises his arm. Lightning strikes through the air, silhouetting the two to Grancis’ wide, awestruck eyes.

  Irefall jolts into action, pulling herself away, but unable to best his grip. “Lewis! Don’t, please! I’ll be good! I’ll even join your little crew! There’s no nee-” She’s stopped the second The Captain plunges his arm into her sternum. She gasps, flinches, and falls limp the moment The Captain pulls out what Grancis could only assume is Pertalaine Irefall’s soul. He gently lowers her body flat upon the deck as he applies his crushing grip upon the soul, which becomes weaker, and smaller, and darker, until The Captain closes his hand around it completely— Grancis can no longer see it… more black sand?

  The Captain stands back to full height, sighs, and taps his foot rhythmically upon the deck. The ship turns 'round, and The Captain starts for the stairs.

  He passes a shocked Grancis, gripping the cold metal railing for some strange form of solidity and certainty on this sad black sea. He ascends a few steps, and then stops, looking over his drenched crew member, staring out at nothing, quite like Irefall the moment before he took her soul.

  "Miss Vereyrty."

  She slowly moves her eyes to look at him.

  “Are you well?”

  She nods. “I… I think so.”

  "Very good. Get yourself some sleep. I’ll call for you when I need you." At that, he pats her gently on the head, like a father to a daughter, and goes up to his study.

  She sits still a moment, alone and outside in the twisting dark with nothing but Irefall’s corpse to keep her company. After a full minute of staring out into the nothing, and coming to terms with the cruel, hard metal of this senseless life, she gets to her feet and walks to the bunk room. She swings open the door, ignores the flood of questions and cheers from the bevy of sailors, and weakly squirms into her bunk. There is no one to rest with her. She can’t hop into her father’s bed like she did as a child, and Colette is certainly not here. Grancis decides not to ask herself what she’ll do next, her entire being is pointed toward Colette’s well-being. Perhaps The Captain and his seemingly endless pocket of witchery will pull out another trick, or perhaps the side of him she saw this night is his true nature, and even this dark place shall become yet darker. She’s knows not, and she is too weak with pain to ask. Surrounded by her few stuffed animals, the exhaustion overtakes her and she drifts into a dreamless sleep — a cold delay of the persistent agony of existence for those dead inside.

  Everything turns out to be “Perfectly Fine”

  Hours later, she feels a tap from the firm, rubbery grip of a tall seasort.

  “Ey, Cap wants ya’,” Dunklestein says in the dark outlines of the bunk quarters.

  Grancis rises up silently. “Thank you,” she says before lowering herself from her place, working on her coat in the bluish blackness and opening the door to the deck. The Nocturna is sailing again, not flying, and there’s a rare availing of the weather gracing the sky. Grancis does not look up to see the glory of the heavens above her, but rather steps promptly through the cold around the deck and up the stairs. Doctor Estradia is leaning against the handrail on the second deck, nursing off his usual cup of coffee. She stops for this.

  “Is she okay?” Grancis asks.

  Estradia grins. “Oh? Suddenly interested in talking to me now that you need my help, mmm?”

  At least five catty comebacks flash through her head, but she holds fast. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I’m very busy and Colette’s incredibly important to me. I’d be happy to talk to you any time you come by and not when I’m delivering dishes to people.”

  Estradia takes a sip. “Well The Captain needs to talk to you, so let’s do that later.”

  Grancis winces. “But what about Colette?”

  Estradia keeps his gaze pointed out to sea. “…The Captain needs to talk to you.”

  She looks over him a moment, praying for any sort of smirk or humor to cross his features, but there’s only the stern, medical worry of a someone who might not make it — she’s memorized it off her father, who’s had that look on his face more than a few times. “Alright, Docto
r,” she says. “Take care and keep me updated, please.” She steps up to The Captain’s study and knocks.

  “Yes?” Comes The Captain’s voice from behind the door.

  “Miss Vereyrty, sir,” she says.

  “…Please come in.”

  Grancis turns the latch and opens the way, a warm gust of fire-side air blowing from the dark room. The Captain’s sitting next to the fire for a change, with an arrangement of alcohol in wood-colored and clear bottles of any size and label. The scent of pine and woodsmoke hold a strong presence in the room; like walking into a forest, Grancis feels.

  “I hope you’re somewhat rested.”

  Grancis’ life determination springs back into her gaze. “Yes, is Colette okay, sir?”

  The Captain leans back. “Oh? I wasn’t under the impression that I was the one being called in to congress with my commander.”

  “… but we’re in private, aren’t we? We’re not friends?”

  The Captain brushes his fingers against his palm. “Not tonight.”

  Grancis sharpens into a salute. “Sorry, sir.”

  He scoffs and gestures to the other chair. “Have a seat. You can consider this your ‘debriefing’ of sorts,” he says as he pours himself another glass of Dugal’s. “I usually won’t be so forthcoming, mind you, but I feel you, of all people, could use a bit of… closure.”

  She steps over to the chair. “Alright…May I take a drink, sir?”

  The Captain stops halfway before taking a sip. “I didn’t know you were prone to drinking.”

  “I think I’ll start today, sir.”

  He shrugs. “Very well.”

  She takes up a glass and fills it with the clear libation she had the last time she drank months ago. “Thank you, sir.”

  There’s a pause, they both take a sip at different times, and after nearly a minute, The Captain twirls his hand as if to encourage her to go on.

  “Oh my, I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was supposed to do something,” she says.

  “My fault. I should have been more clear. Ask away.”

  Grancis takes a deep breath. “How’s Colette?”

  The Captain stares at her as if he doesn’t understand her words. “I’ll take questions about her towards the end of our chat if you don’t mind.”

  “Why?”

  The Captain takes a sip. “Because it will help keep you calm and unexcited. I don’t want you getting to… hrm, I fail to find the words. I apologize, but please, ask your questions on anything but her.”

  Grancis looks away a moment and scourges her mind for all the inconsistencies: all the strange things that happened in the past few days.

  “Okay… How is Martaine?”

  The Captain jolts as if surprised, and laughs with a drawn out, refined guffaw. “Straight to the big stuff, I see… H-… Martaine is well, Miss Vereyrty- quite alive. I talked to him just an hour ago.”

  Her brows raise in surprise- she thought he died right in front of her.

  “Sir, his injuries were… significant.”

  His smirk is morbid. “Why yes, he was a better anatomy reference than a living human by the time we got to him… He died, but he’s quite alright now.”

  Grancis takes another sip, the draw of its warmth acquainting itself to her quickly. “Okay, so how is he alive now, but died?”

  The Captain hums. “Magic,” he says with such emphasis she cannot be sure if he’s being serious or sarcastic.

  “Ahh… Can I see him?”

  “Ex-Officer Vangair has been… quarantined to the lower decks, but good news: he’s decided to join the crew!”

  Grancis, like anyone on The Nocturna knows, that people don’t get quarantined to the lower decks unless there’s something really, really wrong with them. “How come?”

  The Captain presses a curled fist against his lips pensively. “He needs a bit of time to recover from the shock of all that happened.”

  Grancis finishes her glass, and pours another. “Okay… Boris, Jim, Luisoix?”

  “You’ll be seeing Boris later today. He was quite roughed up in all the fighting, but he’s recovering well. Jim is alright. For all his numerous shortcomings it is quite hard to put that young lad down. He’s in the brig again. Luisoix as well is quite fine, just writing a few letters apparently to further rekindle a relationship.”

  Grancis takes another sip; drinking makes her body feel wonderful, and it’s certainly welcome. It feels like pouring gasoline on the little flame in her heart, making it warm. “How did all this work out? Are you willing to explain how the plan at length?”

  “Oh, you don’t believe you had the whole plan?”

  Her expression is humored, if disappointed. “I believe you told us it was on a need-to-know basis.”

  “Ahh,” he adjusts his cap, “of course.” He clears his throat. “You-”

  “Captain,” Grancis interrupts.

  The Captain hums. “Yes?”

  She stares forward bluntly. “Actually, why do you clear your throat and do human things when you’re not really a human?”

  “…Because there’s a part of me that feels like a human, Miss Vereyrty.”

  “…Thank you, I was just curious…. I would like to hear about the plan too, though.”

  The Captain chuckles as he takes another sip. “Wonderful. As in most forms of warfare, the key was knowledge of one’s opponent. My entire plan was based around keeping Miss Irefall ignorant about the… unique abilities of you two in particular that threw her miles off course. She thought she had looked over every possible necessary avenue, but did not look at you two unassuming ladies to be my hinge pins. It was my priority to distract her with whatever means I had at my disposal as you both did your job.”

  “So… My…” She sighs. “Captain, I feel terrible because of Colette, but nothing else… Was that really my soul you tore out of me? This doesn’t make any sense.” She leans her head into her free hand in thought.

  The Captain jostles the ice in his glass. “Would you believe me if I said it was the only soul you had?”

  Grancis racks her brain, she can feel another impossible-yet-true concept ramming in at full speed into her orderly train-station of a mind. “No… I suppose I wouldn’t.”

  “Now why’s that?” He leans his head in a way that suggests friendliness.

  “Because you’ve lied to me before, and I can’t do anything if I don’t have a soul.”

  “With all due respect to your education, Miss Vereyrty, there are a good many things you can do without a soul.”

  “Like?”

  He looks aside to the grandfather clock — Grancis doesn’t remember it being there before. “Perhaps I was too forthcoming. Just know you’re going to be fine. Let’s move on.” he says.

  She hums into her drink. “Alright, so you basically kept her in the dark by using Colette and I, who have… properties, I suppose, and we’re just supposed to leave it at that for now… So, you were saying about us and the hinge pins.”

  The Captain nods. “Right. It wasn’t a coincidence that she seemed completely relaxed in her environment, because she thought she controlled all the factors. Not only did she fail to see the method of attack, but the quality of her attackers. She relied too much on her servants to relay critical information, which I possessed most of just in ca-”

  “So… The possession thing.”

  He sighs. “Ask away.”

  “Is the black sand a byproduct of that? Like, people have to inhale or consume part of you for it to work, right?”

  The Captain begins tapping his glass. “That’s right.”

  “But… why didn’t you possess me to help fight alongside Colette?”

  The glass tapping picks up in speed. “Firstly, I have to split my concentration on everyone I control, so usually for each person I take I get a little slower. At that moment I was incredibly delegated. I was controlling myself, Miss Tidealane to lower the magic fields trapping us inside and preventing help, and several f
ire teams of her soldiers to sabotage her airship systems. Tonight was difficult, for certain.”

  She squints an eye, and hairs stand on her neck. “…But you didn’t seem any slower to me while doing all that.”

  “That’s because I’m controlling people all the time, Miss Vereyrty. My unfocused, ‘free’ mind moves much faster, but it’s rare I’d be freed up enough to do so.”

  “I see… So you didn’t possess me because it would slow you too much?”

  The tapping becomes harder. “No.”

  “Then why not?”

  The tapping abruptly stops. “Because I can’t possess you, Miss Vereyrty.”

  A chill runs down her spine, fighting the warmth of the alcohol. “Do you know why?”

  “Yes, but again, that’s a lot to explain. It would be a bit much for you to take in at once.”

  “W-” Grancis stops herself. She’s curious, but he’s right; this is all so much to take in already. “Will you tell me why later?”

  “…Certainly. What’s next?”

  “The gentleman that popped in, the fast one?”

  “Either Overlord Chaos or Marcus La’Coss.”

  She hums. “The cloaked one… on our side.”

  “That would be Marcus. He’s… by the definition of most, what we’d call a ‘Grim Reaper’.”

  Grancis takes a deep breath. “And you’re not a ‘Grim Reaper’?”

  He shakes his head. “He was a mortal once, apparently, but after killing as many as he did, The Society of Death or whatever those blokes call themselves hired him as an honorary reaper. They like to do that kind of thing, pulling in celebrity killers and the like.”

  “Why haven’t we seen him before?”

  “He lives in the Enforcement Closet. He doesn’t really appreciate the crew all that much; a bit of a recluse, really. Prefers a gentler sort, believe it or not.”

  “Why’s he here?”

  “To grab human souls the moment they begin to leave the body, or in more extreme cases, forcibly tear souls from vessels.”

  Grancis draws back. “Is that how you saved Colette and Martaine?”