CHAPTER 14: Ambush on the Rising Tide - Part 2

  Beside him, on the wall, hung a pair of severed arms still clutching a pair of hooks. He tossed aside the limbs, grabbed the hooks, and began to climb.

  The upper deck was chaos, riddled with battle and death. The wooden planks were slick with blood he could not take a step without stumbling over corpses. Fire severed the riggings, and sails unfurled like walls of flame.

  Terzionite sailors, aided by Wraiths, were being pushed back by enemy Decimae. For the first time, the Wraiths bleed and die. For the first time, they were mere mortals. Eiran did not want to engage with them; his target was Sciast. He sneaked towards the bow, picking up a sword along the way.

  The situation at the bow was in contrast. Sciast alone faced six enemy Decimae. Two of them had materialized Prana Armor, marking them as elites. What chilled Eiran was that Sciast was not just holding his own but dominating the fight.

  Sciast's white hair, tinged orange by the fire, swung with his movements as he struck the head of one of his foes wearing Prana Armor. The remaining five kept their distance around him.

  Sciast shouldered his staff with one hand, three golden rings at both ends gleaming. His lips curled in a disdainful smile. Even surrounded by Decimae, the thought of defeat never seemed to cross his mind.

  Eiran hid behind a chest beneath the foremast, watching their fight. The enemy Decimae fought in a coordinated manner. A Healer tended to the one whose head had been struck. Of the four remaining, three were Prana Decimae. They attacked in unison, led by the Prana Armored Decima. As their assault locked Sciast's movements, the last Decima fired a green-blue ray.

  Sciast spun as though expecting it, deflecting the ray towards a yard on the foremast. Eiran looked up as the yard above him exploded. Among the falling debris, a heavy object landed five steps from where he was. It was a charred, smoking corpse, holding a still-cocked crossbow. Apparently, it was a seventh enemy who had been lurking behind the rolled-up sails to shoot arrows.

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  A long scream redirected his gaze forward. Sciast had killed the three Prana Decimae. A Mana Decima ran, plunging into the sea – Eiran assumed she would be drowned by the Wraiths. Sciast approached the remaining Healer and Prana Decima, staff in hand.

  The Prana Decima struggled to rise, even though the Heal was incomplete. She grabbed a machete, attacked, and Sciast kicked her chin. The kick was so forceful that the sound of bones breaking could be heard in several places. Her head nodded once before her body fell with a twisted neck and a dangling jaw.

  Sciast then approached the Healer. He was not in a hurry and clearly relishing this. The Healer could only run in circles on the bow deck as he closed in, tightening her space.

  Eiran gripped the sword. Sciast was facing away from him, and he might have a chance. The whispers in his mind kept pushing him to deal with Sciast, instilling false courage.

  “Do it! Do it! Kill! Kill!”

  “You… will fail….”

  A voice from the side snapped him back to reality. The charred body opened its eyes, two white spots like snow on charcoal.

  “Take my crossbow…. Aim, shoot….”

  The man's hand clutching the crossbow was so stiff that Eiran had to wrench it away, breaking his fingers. The man closed his eyes, his face returning to deep black.

  Eiran used the notch on the crossbow to aim at Sciast. He was choking the Healer, lifting him with one hand. Eiran held his breath for a better aim. His index finger slipped onto the metal trigger, and the bolt shot forth.

  Eiran's mouth hung open as the bolt lodged in Sciast's back shoulder. The smile on his face faded as he inspected his back. His expression revealed that he could not believe someone had wounded him, while Eiran was even more incredulous.

  But that was the extent of Eiran's success. When Sciast approached, he dropped his crossbow like a thief discarding stolen goods when caught. Overcome with fear, he could not move, only trembled.

  “What are you doing?” Sciast asked.

  Eiran took a step back.

  “What are you doing?” Sciast asked again. Eiran retreated once more, then twice, and thrice until he hit the railing of the deck.

  Sciast's face was so close that Eiran leaned backward. His expression was as hard as marble, a face devoid of mercy.

  ‘“Control yourself!”’ Nifara’s voice seemed like a call from behind a fog.

  ‘“Quick! Jump!”’ Delforn’s words also failed to pull him from his fear.

  He froze as Sciast opened his palm in front of his face. A red-black orb, like a whirlpool of blood and ink, coalesced in his hand.

  “Neuvane will tongue-lash me for killing his favorite beau. But when have I ever cared about a man's feelings?”

  The energy radiating from his palm clawed Eiran’s skin.

  ‘“This is urgent! Don’t resist me!”’ Delforn shouted.

  Eiran could still see as the red-black orb shot towards him. After that, darkness shrouded him.