Ash crouched silently outside the control room, every fibre of his being attuned to the faintest sound or motion, much like a panther lying in wait. The dim corridor was eerily quiet; the pirate ship felt abandoned, as though its crew had evaporated. Only as Ash neared the main control room did he finally catch the low murmur of voices. With his heart steady, he crept closer.
Inside, two figures occupied the room. One was a gaunt man with sharp, calculating eyes—Malcolm, Ferdinand’s trusted strategist. The other, a burly pirate with a black eye patch, was none other than Ferdinand, the infamous one-eyed captain. Malcolm stood meekly behind his leader, clearly deferential to him.
Ash’s hand brushed against the hilt of his dagger, his chosen weapon for the task. The laser blade he had previously carried was too conspicuous and unwieldy for the ship’s confined spaces. He had discarded it earlier, alongside the bulky escape suit, which hindered his mobility.
Ferdinand was engrossed in barking commands through a holographic display, his gruff voice filling the air. Ash crouched low, his footsteps silent thanks to the plush carpeting underfoot. His breathing was steady, his body coiled for the strike.
As Ferdinand finished his tirade and disconnected the comm link, Ash seized the moment. He launched himself forward with explosive speed, his dagger glinting as it arced toward the pirate’s exposed neck. A single decisive strike would have ended Ferdinand then and there.
But Ferdinand, a seasoned survivor of countless ambushes, sensed the shift in the air. With a grunt, he shoved off from his chair, rolling forward like a ball and narrowly avoiding Ash’s blade. As he tumbled, he slapped the comm system, reactivating the link.
Malcolm stared in dumbfounded shock as his captain sprawled on the floor. "What on Guteisda is he doing?" he muttered to himself.
Ash didn’t pause. His reflexes were honed to perfection, and he pivoted toward Malcolm. His left fist shot out, slamming into the strategist’s midsection with a sickening thud. Malcolm was flung backward like a rag doll, blood spraying onto the pristine white wall as he crumpled to the floor.
The holographic screen flickered to life, and a pirate’s puzzled face appeared. “Boss, what’s going on? Didn’t you just—”
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“Idiot! I’m under attack!” Ferdinand roared, his voice cracking. “Get your worthless hides in here now—” His words were cut off as he saw Ash darting toward him, his dagger weaving through the air like a wraith.
Ferdinand’s single eye widened in panic. He knew reinforcements were minutes away, but he needed only seconds to buy time. Gritting his teeth, he raised his arms to shield his throat.
The blade struck true, slicing through flesh and cracking bone. Ferdinand howled in agony, his voice a guttural scream. Blood poured from the wound as he staggered backward, his mind racing to devise a plan, any plan, to survive.
Ash’s movements were relentless, precise. He yanked the dagger free, sending a fresh geyser of blood spraying across the room. Without hesitation, he thrust again, this time targeting Ferdinand’s throat. The blade found its mark.
The pirate’s body convulsed, his single eye bulging in disbelief as his lifeblood spilled onto the floor. He clutched at his throat, gurgling futilely before collapsing.
On the holographic screen, the remaining pirates stared in shock. They had witnessed their captain’s swift demise in stunned silence. Then, the cries of outrage erupted.
Ash silenced the comm with a flick of his hand. His expression remained cold and unflinching as he turned toward the ship’s control panel. The time for confrontation was over. Now, it was time to escape.
The controls were unfamiliar, and Ash’s inexperience showed. The ship lurched clumsily as he reversed it, colliding with nearby vessels. For a tense moment, he feared the pirates would intercept him, but instead, they merely laughed.
“Look at that!” one jeered. “The boss is playing captain now!”
Unbeknownst to them, their leader lay dead in the control room, and their mockery bought Ash precious moments to adjust to the controls.
Meanwhile, outside, the Oakleaf Squadron was fighting a desperate battle. Ferdinand, their leader, had orchestrated a relentless assault, and the squadron’s mechs were running dangerously low on energy. Commander Ferdinand of the Oakleaf Squadron clenched his fists in frustration. “We can’t hold much longer!” he muttered.
Suddenly, the pirate ships began to retreat. One by one, their attacks ceased. Ferdinand’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A trap? No… it doesn’t make sense,” he murmured.
Wasting no time, Ferdinand ordered his squadron to return to their base ship and recharge. As they moved, he glanced back, only to see the pirate ships accelerating in retreat.
“What in the Farr Quadrant is going on?” he whispered.
Unbeknownst to him, Ash had successfully commandeered Ferdinand’s flagship. Now, with the controls under his command, he steered the vessel toward a safer route. The battlefield that had been alight with chaos only moments before was now eerily still.
Ash exhaled deeply, his knuckles white as he gripped the controls. Victory was his, but it came at a steep cost—a reminder that survival demanded relentless resolve and an unyielding spirit.