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Power radiated off the spirit as she stared them down, imperious and unfazed by the group. Erak towered over her seated form, but he felt small as her hard eyes swept over them.

“I am Prince Sammus of House Greenbough. Seventeenth Prince of the Empire,” Sammus said, his voice proud and clear, not bowed at all by the presence of the powerful spirit.

“Greenbough? I remember them. They brought their king here to my decks, mewling and sobbing as he pledged his undying loyalty to the Throne. Then he gave three of his daughters to the Emperor and pledged ten thousand swords to the Unification.”

“King Veira, the Broken. He was a few generations ago, I have little relation to the man.”

“Piss water in their veins, all of them. That the blood of House Vesir has tainted itself with cowards like your ancestors is a disgrace.” It paused and its lips quirked ever so slightly to reveal shining steel teeth.

“You have the fire of the old ones though. The original warriors who strode my decks and launched themselves against the world. Driven by pride and ambition. You will go far if you don’t find yourself bleeding out in the cold mud.” She left Sammus open mouthed as she turned to look at the rest.

“Crone, I see you. Curiosity bordering on madness. A desire for control. You there, coward who clings to her shadow, your fear and impotent rage is palatable. Warriors, your discipline keeps you moving even as your hearts are shattered, you have my admiration.” The spirit named them all, pointing out and speaking to them individually or in groups until she looked to Erak.

“And you. What pale mimicry of arms and armor do you wear? Daugr’s armor and Helthion’s spear. They stood behind the Unifier or led his armies. Loyal, dependable, fearless, dutiful. I can see the chains of duty on you giant-born. They control that hunger inside of you.” She sighed and looked away from them, shimmering in the light as her body and the surrounding rippled.

“None of you are worthy of the mantle,” she said, disappointed.

“The mantle?” Sammus asked.

“I am powerful inside of my domain, that is true. But at the end of the day, I am a ship’s spirit. And a ship needs a captain. The one who controls my mantle has the strength to command me.”

“And if they aren’t to your liking?” Sammus asked.

“Fools and pretenders can cling to power like leeches, sapping away the strength of the Empire. I will not have that on my decks. If one is unworthy and tries to push their claim, they will find that death is not always fast.”

“Are you willing to kill that giant asshole in the portal over the Iron Cathedral?” Erak asked, his fingers wagging clumsily in his gauntlets.

“Spirit. Find your courage and speak for your partner. You must not judge us based on the whelp. He is young and naive, like a child.” Pomp slowly poked a head out of the shoulder of Erak’s armor and looked between the two figures.

“Erak wishes to know what needs to be done for you to kill the creature in the gate above the Iron Cathedral,” Pomp’s voice was much more subdued, his earlier behavior curbed by Sword’s very presence.

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“My mantle is the Captain’s Sword. A priceless relic that was forged by the dwarf Hothvar the Iron-Handed from the hull of the first ship I sent to the earth’s embrace. The lickspittle who held it took it to cavort with whores and drunkards down below. He is dead, but someone else has picked up the blade. Someone who may be worthy. I can feel their fire, their desire to exert their will and seize the horizons. Bring them to me and I will be able to activate my guns.”

Erak wished to spit and curse. Another quest to deal with before he could reach the Queen. He looked past Sword and towards where the Palace would be. All he could see were the fires framed by the night, the skies choked in a blanket of smoke.

“The Palace still holds,” Sword said. Her hands waved at the viewport and the glass rippled and the view changed. The everpresent smoke and flames disappeared, the night turned bright as daylight but no building were seen. Instead the sky was filled with motes of black-red energy and the when he looked down the city was awash with these dots.”

“Essence. That is what you are seeing now. As a spirit, we straddle the realms, physical and ethereal. Look to where the Palace is,” Sword said.

Erak looked and swallowed hard. It was a torch in the darkness, glowing gold and crimson as it raged against the sea of black-red dots arrayed against it. He glanced at the Iron Cathedral and the inhabitant above it and his mouth went dry. The portal was blazing white-gold and the creature chained to it had a core of white so bright and fierce it made his eyes water. The thick black cords of corruption ran through the outer edges of the massive shape, inching slowly to the untouched center.

“Once that being is fully corrupted, the Palace will fall. The defenses can not hold against something of that magnitude. Bring the mantle holder to me and if they are worthy, then we shall sail the sky yet again and serve our true purpose.” She froze and her smile widened further revealing a mouth with too many teeth. She chuckled low and deep and it was the sound of ships breaking, explosions, and men screaming.

“We shall erase these vermin from our world and then, and then,” she looked at the portal and Erak knew she was seeing distant planes and new worlds to conquer.

She shook herself out of her reverie.

“But first, a Captain is needed. Down there,” she pointed and the viewport magnified until Erak was seeing a mass of gold and crimson dots fighting hordes of small black-red dots.

“Bloodsworn. You shall do this alone. If you succeed, I have a boon for you.”

“No,” Nevia said, striding forward.

“Child, there is much to do and there is no crew. I have not sailed to war in centuries and the peace has made me…rusty. You shall need every hand you have to prepare for the fight ahead. Bring forth those below in the Armory and we shall staff these halls once more. The Bloodsworn will only be slowed by you. These creatures are strengthened by the darkness.”

“It’s alright. You have done your duty, and now I must do mine,” Pomp said from his shoulder.

“The Bloodsworn will return. He is not the type to fail,” Sword said.

“Let Erak go. We will do our part here and get this old girl ready to fly and commit war crimes again.” Sammus patted Nevia’s shoulder and the woman stood down.

A shape was flying towards them. Larger than the rest it was the same sickly colors as the Hellspawn but thrice their size. It sped across the city towards them at considerable speed, but it’d still be several minutes before it reached the ship.

“Bloodsworn, a challenge for you. There is a functioning elevator there,” Sword pointed toward a door against the back wall of the bridge.

“Go up and kill whatever that is. Until my guns are online, I have precious few defenses from an outsider attacking me.” Erak nodded, frustrated by another delay, but he knew missions could go astray. This was the final piece he needed to get the ancient battleship on his side, then he would kill this foe, retrieve the mantle, and bring it back. He didn’t look at his companions as the door to the elevator closed and he was whisked to the top of the ship.

His heart began to pulse that eager beat once again.