The Pirate’s ship launched up with a sickening tug in Diana’s stomach. She laid on Jonah’s bed with him, belts across their centers and legs. They hurtled through the air, so far up the ship had to recycle oxygen. Sitting up didn’t help and neither did laying down. The sky sped past, the clouds so grand in scale drifted by them. At some point Jonah had taken Diana’s hand in his, to her great comfort, a better anchor than the belts. He didn’t release her until the ship landed. The wind violently rocked it, rain pelted it constantly, and thunder ripped across the sky. There was little electricity in a hurricane, but one brought forth by the gods could be unpredictable.

It felt like Diana couldn’t breathe since the ship launched, and yet she kept moving. Her head was so full of terror that it was pushing her conscious mind out. She watched her body move around her room as if from above. Away from Jonah, the unsteady flight and nervousness brought her gorge up in the toilet. Aiko couldn’t send an emotion strong enough to fully stabilize her, using its body instead to support her. She put her armor on, thankful for all the practice. There were wrinkles in the clothing as she shoved on each piece. Horribly uncomfortable, but there was so much going on that she hardly noticed it.

Somehow she found herself on the top deck of the ship. There was a brief memory of leaving her room. Her door felt like the gates of life itself. She could be dead, she wasn’t sure. Blodwyn would kill her soon enough anyway. Her deep green cloak covered her, the hood over her head. Rain beat into the fabric like the arrows it was meant to resist. Someone took her hand once more, she turned to see Jonah, his bronze face hooded, sharp green eyes fixated on her. The color was welcome in the matte gray of the world around them. The deluge might drown them it seemed.

Strangely he didn’t seem as concerned as he should be. He had barely heard about Blodwyn. He didn’t know the fate coming for Diana, for him. If the storm didn’t get them, the white goddess of death would.

“WHERE IS SHE??!” roared the Pirate so loud that her well trained voice was clearly damaged in the question.

That cry woke Diana from the suffocating rain and foreboding. She took in her surroundings, the top deck full of people, the town they were floating outside of, and the smell of smoke that seemed so close. Graycliff looked perfectly fine, many coat wearing figures on the streets, not one of them were gray. They were black greatcoats, dark green jackets, all standing around the solid stone buildings of the mining town. The Magi Kingdom military, enough of them to smother any force smaller than them. Diana had seen this many in parades down the city streets, the last assembly being her sister’s funeral. Scores of soldiers, a dozen or more Paladins, and on the titular cliffs of the town, which ran along its shore, were stationed three airships of modern make. The vehicle’s spider-like shape, the legs as thrusting engines, sat calmly, they had landed a while ago.

“Those don’t look like men who have captured Blodwyn,” Gregore the Guardian said, rain plinking loudly off his full armor. The slick metal had no shine in the sunless sky. He sighed loudly, arms folded in annoyance. At least the man had more composure than the Pirate.

The mermaid was striking the center mast of her own ship, screaming to the heavens. Her clothes were soaked. Her fists were coated in ice, denting the surface of the mast. Her tricorn hat had flown off, her bandana working its way off naturally. Many of her crew were watching her, a good distance away from her fury.

Finally Diana saw where the smoke was coming from, the ship’s engines were in such a sorry state they were hissing heat into the ocean. Whatever poked above the surface was producing a black column of smoke. It was a stomach turning stench of broken machinery and fried electrical wires.

From the town of Graycliff came the Rider on his chariot pulled by four horses of shimmering gold, hooves beating across the sky. Within the rounded cabin was the Ranger, the masked man’s eyes downcast.

The chariot landed on the deck, the Rider in his translucent armor getting off with a shake of his head. “No Blodwyn, no generals, but the Paladins wish for ya to come see what they have,” the slender and hairy man said with disgust to the Heroes on board.

The mermaid’s fists had hit through the protective ice and were dripping watery blood onto the deck. Her raw knuckles showed bone as the chips of icy guard fell.

The Witch was standing idle as the Pirate seethed with her whole chest. “I figured it was a trick,” she said plainly.

The Pirate shouted pure frustration into Fia’s uncaring face, flecks of spit bouncing off the same magical guard that kept the rain off the Witch’s body.

“Don’t blame me for you being so stupid,” she replied.

“Oh, get on the bloody chariot, Angelina, they ‘ave something for you,” the Rider said, tiredly gesturing to the vehicle.

From the floor, Angelina plucked her hat and mashed it atop her head. Diana followed, Jonah at her side. The Guardian grumbled as they silently got on before him. The Traveler trembled beside her, but Diana pulled him closer as the giant man shook the magical chariot.

Out of the depths of the ship came Kalyah in the bright white cloak of a Corpine devotee. The trim of it jangled with every step, bells stitched into the trim of it, a sign that help was coming. The sound drew Angelina’s aggravation, glaring at the healer. The Pirate gripped the trim of the chariot, there was plenty of room left for the Pixie and her small bag of supplies. Her presence had drawn the attention of the quartermaster as well, the devilish woman’s eyes alight with concern.

There was a furious energy in the air as the Pirate and Priestess met eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Angelina hissed above the rainfall.

“If anyone is hurt, I want to help,” Kalyah said plainly, chin raised high.

“Is that right?” Angelina asked.

“Yes.”

“Even an Ash Maker?” the Pirate went on.

“All bodies are sacred to---”

A local clap of thunder came as the Pirate whipped the back of her hand across Kalyah’s face. The Pixie went thudding into the panels of the deck. Harsh red lit up across her pale face and blood was quickly washed away into the grains of the wood. Lucy rushed to her lover’s side on the floor, staring daggers at her captain.

Aiko growled loudly from its place by Diana’s feet, the Druid clutching her staff. Icicles formed around the head of it, ready to launch at the mermaid.

At the same moment, Jonah cried a full chested, “HEY!”

Neither sound, disdain, nor clear threat bothered the Pirate as she stepped onto the chariot. She stationed herself opposite the Guardian, fiery blue eyes staring down all those that opposed her. “This is my ship, I won’t have people who think they’re better than me on it,” she said stiffly. “I’ll send you home with the army there, you’ll never leave again, princess. I’ll throw you back in the fucking ocean where I found you, Traveler…”

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Diana let the crystals fall and Jonah shrunk back. “Are you okay?” she asked the healer.

Kalyah held her cheek, nodding.

The Pirate turned to the injured Priestess and demonic Lucy. “One more word of sympathy for the Ash Makers, and I'll send you back where I found you, both of you. I’m the fucking captain here!! I won’t tolerate disrespect! It’s a fucking honor to fly with the Pirate!”

Kalyah sighed, but Lucy looked horribly frightened.

“Are you coming Fia?” Angelina growled.

The Witch scoffed. “Why bother?”

“Go Ozzy!” the Pirate barked.

The Rider rolled his eyes, snapping the reins. “I’m going, I’m going,” he mumbled.

The houses of Graycliff were sealed up tightly against the storm, the town evacuated as the paved streets were flooded at the gutter. It was a mining town, through and through, many types of minerals and metals laced the mountains overlooking the inhabitants. The trees about them were patchy but strong, the leaves streaming in the winds, some weaker branches snapping off. Few of them resided within the inner limits of the town, random hurricanes hit often enough to deter the population from breakable decor. All the railings, lampposts, benches were cold iron, built thick against any torrent.

Off below the mountains were shelters that housed the normal populace, now the streets were lined with soldiers. Each of them, wearing insulated jackets and waterproof mantles, bowed to the princess and the Heroes as they walked up to the Paladins. Diana kept close to the center of the road, not wishing to see the men that were meant to serve her family, that had joined respectfully in their mourning less than a month earlier. This made Jonah, an unknown factor, have to receive the blunt end of the bowing. His eyes darted around, taking in all he could. The long guns seemed to draw the most attention from him, staring at them as some of the soldiers fell in with the Heroes.

What drew Diana’s eyes was the graffiti on the once plain homes of Grayhill. Some men were trying their best to clean it off the stone, but the paint was magical. All the sprayed on words made the Pirate hiss in pure hatred.

“Here comes the Killer Heroes thumping!”

“Watch out, don’t die in your bed!!”

“The Pirate is a dumb cunt!”

“The Witch can find you, she can kill you!”

“There’s the giant, guarding the Killers!?”

“Riding in to kill children!”

These phrases came with crudely drawn depictions of the various Heroes. There was one of Angelina, a mockery of her sail painting, with many phalluses pissing or worse on her. Another was the Guardian with a cowpate for a head. There was the Rider painted with his spear driven through the bodies of children. None of the phrases or drawings said or depicted anything about the Ranger. None of Diana, or her family. There were a few based off of Heroes long dead though.

“Fuck the Druid!” Then a drawing of Diana’s bare chested grandfather, his eyes made goofy and his many tattoos were childish scribbles to mock him. She couldn’t expect anything less than animosity for the man that sealed away Blodwyn. However, she didn’t feel anything at the moment. Since entering the town a numbness had filled her being. Was the rain too cold? Or had the nervousness of possibly facing Blodwyn, only to be disappointed, drained her emotions?

Jonah leaned into her arm. The rain slicked off his light green jacket, the leviathan’s skin was naturally waterproof. “Are you okay?” he wondered.

“No,” she replied quietly.

“Yeah, sorry, that was a stupid question,” he said with a frown.

“I feel nothing, I might as well be dead,” she said. That was a lie, she thought suddenly, I feel horribly small. Why did she ever leave the castle? There was no battle, no sign of any, yet she felt like she lost a war. There were so many people surrounding them as they stopped before the Paladins. They were suffocating her small form.

“Who’s in charge?” the Guardian snapped at the twelve people before him.

Most military units in Magi had a great number of learned magical people, Paladins, Wizards, Druids, Bards, and Clerics, the rest were given guns. These were all Paladins of a high level of skill, about three units worth of them. They wore great coats, a thick kind of trench coat, armored within and commonly on the top of them.

One stepped forward firmly now, saluting the Guardian, who held the honorary rank of general, by hitting his gauntlet fists together and bowing his head. On the man’s face was a tight magical helm, conjured by his faith. This was a Paladin of Psyin, a diadem encircling his head bore iron spikes as a crown of thorns. His eye slots were black holes and his mouth was covered by an affixed mask, slick and angular. The rest of it fit neatly to him. On his back was a Claymore etched with magical equations. He was tall, but had to look up to the Guardian, as most did.

“Captain Whittaker sir, Paladin of the great god Psyin, I am in charge here,” the man said, hands behind his back, boots together.

His regional accent made Jonah raise his eyebrow and turn his head.

The Guardian breathed heavily. “Whittaker? One of Warwick’s brood?” he scoffed.

The Paladin nodded, a charm on his armor made the rain avoid him completely. “Yes sir, his grandson,” he replied.

“At least they’ve got someone decent here,” the giant man said with a deep laugh. “At ease.”

“Yes sir.” Whittaker relaxed his stance.

The Paladins behind the Captain all shuffled their feet, glancing around in their own full helms.

“What is so pressing we must leave the ship,” Gregore went on, holding a hand up to Angelina. The Pirate looked ready to spring on the man.

“Well sir, we reckon the emergency signal was sent as a joke to y’all,” Whittaker went on. “We can discuss it further in this here diner, our field base. Got some coffee, I assure you, yer gonna need it, sir.” He gestured to the building beside him.

Angelina lunged forward. “Why do we need it!? What else could Blodwyn have possibly done, besides this fucking humiliation?” she snapped.

The Paladin didn’t flinch, bowing his head. “Ma’am, an honor to meet you,” he said. “When we came to the town, as the Ranger warned, we found all the buildings open. In the town hall, we found a message for y’all left by Blodwyn herself.” He gestured once more to the diner. “If you’ll come with me, then we can play it for ya.”

“What did she say?” Angelina growled like a dog.

“Nothing nice, ma’am, but it’s worth a listen at least,” the Paladin said. “Ain’t heard a word from her until now.”

“Fine! Let’s hear what the bitch has to say,” the Pirate sneered. “Make sure your men clean that shit up! I won’t have people seeing it!!”

“We are, ma’am,” Whittaker said, calmly as others passed before him.

“Work harder! It’s a fucking disgrace!”

The Paladin whistled, ordering men that had most likely grown up with wonderful stories of the carefree mermaid Hero and her generosity, to clean faster than they already were. It wasn’t going to come off easily, possibly without countering magic, which they didn’t possess. It was more a Wizard's work than theirs. The rain beat on war trained men as they went back to work. Even though their attire could block the rain and keep them from freezing, it was grueling work. Angelina had clearly stopped caring, letting the men stalk off with her glare at their backs.

Another Paladin tried to skip out of the work and join them, but was stopped by the Captain. "You didn't want to take the damn responsibility here, you can clean the fucking walls," Whittaker drawled to him.

Diana smiled as the man stomped off. She and Jonah entered the long hall diner. The walls were decorated in brass figurines and silverware, all of which were mined and crafted locally. The princess had visited the Jeweled Isles when she was younger. The shine of the Miner's Retreat, this long standing tavern made modern, had stuck in her mind. The aroma of the polished metal hadn't left either.

The Paladin Whittaker entered from the rain and approached them. "Yer highness, a pleasure," he said, performing a deep bow at his core.

"A pleasure as well," she replied.

He inclined his head.

"Is this the message, a fucking radio?!" Angelina yelled.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, moving to her.