“Rand is the coldest bastard I have ever met. That is why I follow him.”

-First Mate Graeshka ag Gar, 185 U.E.

 

Rand’s men spilled onto the chain. Quintilla’s crew fired on them, picking off a handful and sending them falling into the sea, but the remainder were already starting to make it across.

“Kurko, get that anchor off!” Quintilla shouted. Kurko nodded and bashed pirates aside with the Knocker as he made his way towards the iron cross that dug into her vessel.

Rand had stocked up on disposable crew before skipping port, it seemed. Nearly a dozen pirates had already boarded the Tits Up, forcing her crew into desperate close-quarters combat. Even Kazzul had exited the cockpit and was firing a pistol into the enemy.

One of Rand’s men barreled towards Quintilla, howling and swiping with a knife. Quintilla sidestepped, stuck her revolver against the back of his head, and blew it out his front. She spotted another pirate stepping up to Stephan with a heavy axe. The cook was already grappling with Rand’s wildkin first mate. Quintilla put two bullets through the axe-wielding pirate’s chest and let Stephan fend for himself.

Turning around to find Taira, she jumped as a bullet whizzed past her ear. She spun just in time to see a machete coming her way and duck under the blade. The man on the other end of it smiled a golden smile.

“Rand,” Quintilla hissed.

Rand leveled a pistol in his main hand straight at her heart. She batted the gun aside with her maimed left and shouldered into him to make space. He stumbled back, laughing, biomech leg spitting steam.

“It’s finally come to this!” Rand bellowed. “Wenezian and Rand, together ‘til the end. It’s almost poetic.”

“Shut up and die!”

Quintilla aimed her revolver, trying to line up a clean shot in the tumult. Rand ducked behind one of his men at the last second, and Quintilla shot him instead. Rand shoved the man aside and charged, machete held high.

Quintilla sidestepped the first swing and blocked the second with the flat of her gun. She slapped Rand across the face with her left and shot him in the gut while he was reeling.

The gold-toothed captain stumbled, legs weak, his grin turning to a grimace. He dropped his pistol to clutch the wound.

“Not as easy as killing children,” Quintilla said. “Although, as I recall, you couldn’t manage even that.”

“Oh, I’ve squeezed the life out of a few kids in my day.”

They circled each other, stepping over the growing number of corpses that littered the main deck. Quintilla aimed and fired, but Rand anticipated it and stepped out of the way. He rushed her, swiping with the machete. She dodged the blade, but he carried into her with his full weight, knocking them both to the floor.

Quintilla’s head whipped back against the deck. Her vision swam, skull crackling with static, and the revolver slipped from her fingers.

Rand got his weathered hands around her throat and squeezed, thumbs pushing into her windpipe. She gurgled on nothing. There was no air. She batted against him, went for the crook of his arms to knock his grip loose, but he was strong.

He lowered his face towards her, grinning, and she could make out every pockmark and pore on his weathered face.

“I’ve earned this,” Rand said. “I deserve that treasure. You Wenezians always had a knack for getting in my way. I’ll be putting an end to your wretched line today.”

Quintilla gasped, growing desperate, clawing at anything within reach. Her body screamed for air, and she grew faint as the blood to her brain was cut off. She kicked and caught Rand in the crotch. He tumbled off her with a howl, and she drew in a few sharp breaths as she coughed and spluttered.

Sitting up straight, she reached for her revolver. Rand was still wailing as he nursed his bruising manhood, back against the open hole in the ship’s hull. She aimed at his head. No room for mistakes.

Rand rolled to the left with a growl and her shot whiffed. He raised his biomech leg and pressed a button on the side. The prosthetic shot out with a bang, sending him sliding. It hit Quintilla in the gut and she doubled over. The gun fell from her grip, and a dribble of vomit escaped her parted lips.

Her legs gave out and she sank to one knee. Vision swimming, breaths catching, she looked up and saw that Rand had crawled over to her revolver and picked it up. He dragged himself up by the wall, standing on one leg, and looked over to one side.

“How about this one?” he asked. “I’ll do you a favor and killed you last.”

Quintilla followed his gaze. Taira stood away from the fighting, arcane energy crackling between her outstretched hands, eyelids flickering with intense focus.

Rand aimed the gun at her.

“No!” Quintilla screamed.

She rose on unsteady feet, shouldering aside a pirate who was in her way, and built up momentum as she rushed the man who had killed her parents.

Quintilla tackled him. They both went out the hole and into open air.

She fell, wind tugging at her clothes and howling in her ears. The glittering Shipbreaker Sea stretched out before her, an endless field of sapphire blue dotted with green islands, birds like white dots playing at the surface.

It was beautiful.

Rand was screaming, begging for his life in half-a-dozen tongues as he clutched at a handful of holy symbols worn around his neck, each for a different deity.

Quintilla saw a larger island as she spun lazily around and around, what had to be Dead Echo.

So close. She felt like she could almost reach out and touch it.

They were picking up speed, getting closer to the sea. Those birds didn’t look so small anymore. She could almost make out the black of their eyes against the white of their coats.

Quintilla tucked in her arms and legs so that her body made a straight line. She shut her eyes, but not to pray.

All she saw was Taira’s face.

She hit the water. Hard as concrete.

Felt bones crack.

Then nothing.

*****

A maw bristling with sharp teeth snapped at Stephan’s face.

Stephan leaned back as far as he could, keeping the wildkin’s shotgun as a buffer between them as they grappled for the weapon. His Rivello lay discarded somewhere in the chaos.

The wildkin was stronger, faster. Stephan wouldn’t be able to hold him off forever.

“I am Graeshka,” the wildkin growled in broken Low Elandran. “I long to taste your blood on my tongue.”

“A pleasure,” Stephan worked out, tossed around as he desperately kept hold of the weapon, “but I’m afraid I need to keep my blood on the inside.”

The wildkin finally wrenched the shotgun out of Stephan’s grip and kicked him away. Stephan stumbled, tripped over a body, and fell onto his back. He tried to crawl away, but Graeshka placed a clawed foot on his chest and pinned him down. He stuck the fat barrel of the shotgun in Stephan’s face, pressing his nose flat.

“I would allow you a moment’s prayer,” Graeshka said, “but you Concordians believe in nothing.” A shower of dark anima sizzled behind him.

A sliver of cold steel pushed out through his chest. Graeshka’s breath went out with a shallow gasp, and he dropped his gun with a heavy clatter. He fell away, and Yin stood there in his place.

She reached out a hand. “Come on, dad. Get up. You’re embarrassing me.”

Stephan would have laughed if he didn’t think he might break out crying instead. He took Yin’s hand, and she began helping him to his feet. The ship shuddered as Kurko finally knocked loose the drain anchor, sending three pirates hurtling into the sea as the chain went slack.

A clawed hand caught Yin by her collar and pulled her to the floor. Stephan fell back on his ass. He watched dumbly as Graeshka the wildkin descended on top of her, holding her up by her bodysuit while pummeling her face with his free hand.

Yin was strong, but the blows came too fast. All sense was knocked out of her, and her head lolled as the man beat her again and again. Her face bruised purple, and blood gushed from her nose.

Stephan’s body moved on its own. He stood, grabbing the discarded shotgun as he went, and stomped over to Graeshka. He kicked the wildkin in the gut and sent him tumbling onto his back. Foot on his throat, Stephan unloaded into the wildkin’s open mouth.

One shot.

“Don’t.”

Two.

“Fucking.”

Three.

“Touch.”

Four.

“My daughter!”

The gun clicked empty.

Graeshka’s head was a mangled, gory mess, completely unrecognizable. Stephan took a step back, panting, and threw the shotgun aside. He brushed bloody bone fragments from the lapels of his suit and bent down next to Yin, ignoring the fighting around them.

She quickly came to, eyelids flickering open. He wiped the blood from her face with the edge of his sleeve.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Uh… think so,” Yin said. She sat up and clutched her head. “Feel like I got hit by a car, though.”

Stephan looked around. Kurko put down one of Rand’s crew by stomping his head flat. Kazzul was wandering around the main deck, putting two bullets into the enemy fighters on the floor who were still moving. The kithraxi were feasting on an overweight Ashlander, chittering as they dug open his stomach and spilled his entrails.

The fighting was over.

They had won.

Stephan slowly stood. He counted crew members, then scanned over the corpses.

One person was missing.

“Where is the captain?” he asked.