“I am Casari.”

It was a great relief to say those words, after a millennia. It was an exultation. It was a statement, that no longer could the beast be caged.

He was the thing generations of children believed lived in the dark. They knew him as demon. His very name was a curse.

And now, he was free. Both in body, and in mind. He could accept who he was again. All of who he was.

For a thousand years he had languished in a crystal prison. But now he was free. And no mortal soul could stand against him.

He said it again, because he could scarce believe he had left the words leave his tongue.

“I am Casari.”

After months of pretending to be no one, at all, his true name was spoken again.

Before him, Priest Ralad, one of the holiest of the Citadel, trembled. A High Priest trembled in his wake.

“You, you’re a demon?” he asked, in fear.

“I am no ordinary demon, Ralad.”

The High Priest quickly removed his hand from Casari’s shoulder, and uttered a prayer.

“God preserve me.”

Casari took a deep breath.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I have no intention of harming you. I have more pressing matters to attend to.”

Casari pushed the key into the lock of the next door, and twisted.

Within was a brute. He got up, as he saw Casari was no guard.

“What’s going on?” he asked, in guttural tones.

“Setting you free.”

“I’m a murderer, you know, man,” he said proudly. “Killed twelve. You don’t scare me.”

Saying as much, though, was proof of the opposite.

Casari let him out, then unlocked all the doors, to all the cells.

When he was done, forty scum stood before him. Off to the side, Ralad sat against a wall, muttering prayers under his breath.

With his back to the grate, still devoid of any approaching soldiers down the stairs, Casari spoke to the assembled men. He doubted most of them had ever been so quiet, patient, or orderly before in their entire lives. However, Casari’s dominating presence was more than enough to give all before him restraint.

“I am Casari,” he said. “Casari is Koranor. A thousand years ago, I nearly broke the Arathou Dynasty. You know me as demon.”

The thugs stood and looked at him, transfixed. Others would be horrified; others would repent their sins in his presence, but not these men.

These were the worst of the worst.

Casari knew that, to a man, they believed him, when he gave his name, and, to a man, they thought he was their god. A god of slaughter.

“You are breaking out, today,” he told his minions. “You will make the crew of the Wretched understand for the first time what that name means.”

There were nods, grunts, and shouts of affirmation, as Casari pivoted, and turned to the grate, that protected the staircase to the upper levels.

He spit a vial from his mouth, to his hand. It was Savel’s vial. Savel’s vial of Wrath. He had kept it all this time. Guards had searched his mouth of course, but he had found ways to keep it hidden.

It was fitting, that the mere drink of a demon would be enough to melt the steel before him.

Casari, in a sudden, violent gesture, broke open the vial against the grate. The grate hissed, the grate steamed, and the grate melted.

When all that remained was weak, warped, and twisted metal, and all the Wrath had been used up, Casari kicked the grate down.

It fell easily from its post.

Casari turned back to his followers. “Come with me,” he said.

And come they did.

Casari pivoted once more, and headed up the stairs. The forty convicts followed him.

As Casari ascended the stairs, he saw that they were empty. There were only two levels below deck, and, when he reached the door to the upper of the two, Casari stopped. He spoke to his followers, without looking back at them. “Secure this level, and free your fellows,” he told them, tossing the key ring over his head, back in their direction. He then heard a man catch it. “While you do this, I will deal with the deck.”

Casari then swiftly continued to climb the stairs, as the murderers boiled through the door Broken had indicated. To a man, they obeyed his whim.

Casari was alone when he concluded the staircase, and stepped upon the rain-tossed deck.

Guards despite their fear, converged on his position, holding their weapons high.

But, in a sudden moment, Casari was gone. He had not blurred. The answer was more mundane than that. He had faked right, and gone left, in a fraction of a second, and now, as the guards looked for him, in the opposite direction from where he was, Casari crouched, hidden behind a row of barrels.

He then turned, and taking pains to remain unnoticed, and thus, unencumbered, stalked towards to main cabin, where, despite the raging storm of the night, lanterns hung, shining light.

Creak.

Casari opened the door, noticing that within, several men huddled together, speaking.

They turned to him, and stood from their chairs when he entered, eyes wide with fear.

One of them, a tall, burly man, obviously the captain, gained enough courage to speak.

“You will not get away with this mutiny!” he said, almost shrilly.

“Captain Ezea Radi,” said Casari. He looked about the brightly lit and excellently furnished cabin, that was in such contrast to the raging winds, and piercing chaos, that fluttered in from the outside. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

As Ezea’s mouth worked, Casari took one step further into the cabin, then another.

“You know you will die, soon,” said Ezea, darkly. His hand edged for the sword at his waist.

“Mortals die,” said Casari, in tones overlaid with guarded rage. “I am something else entirely.” He paused. “And, I beg of you, do not think of this as a mutiny. I never swore an oath to you.”

He continued slowly working his way within the cabin.

Ezea, apparently fed up with Casari’s tone, with his slick manner, drew his sword in one smooth motion, and charged, as his fellows reached for their own weapons, to assist.

Casari could have killed them right there, but he wished to make things more interesting. He turned.

At the door, behind him, a group of guards had massed, finally realizing where he had gone to. Before the Makini soldiers could do anything, before Ezea could attack from behind, Casari rushed forward.

In a great leap, Casari jumped over the heads of the soldiers at the door, and landed on the other side of them.

He was back on the deck. Back in the pouring rain.

As the guards chased him, not knowing they were chasing one who was all but death incarnate, Casari leapt upon the railing, and looked down at his pursuit, balancing above the frosty sea.

And there, as the men came at him, Casari drew his twin proffered blades. He crossed them into an x, in front of his face, and stood still, and the guards continued to rush at him.

The first two tried to get up onto the railing as well, on opposite sides of him. As they managed to stand, slowly, hesitantly, Casari struck at them, simultaneously, with two stabs, while looking at neither.

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He stared straight ahead, as he removed his blades, and the two bodies plunged into the ocean.

But those two were only the first wave. The supply of guards was quite limited, Casari knew, and a substantial portion therein was either dedicated to dealing with the convicts in the bowels of the ship, or were already dead. Even still, half a dozen guards were still against him, not including the captain, and his officers.

But even still, Casari invited them to bring it on.

Casari came at them darting off the railing, and leaping from one end of the ship to the other, bringing death as he went. He used the mazelike deck, with its stocks, crates, and barrels, to his best advantage.

And soon enough, Casari had cut clear across the ship to the other side, to the other railing.

He leapt upon it, and a moment later, Ezea, hurtling towards him, slammed hard against his middle, catapulting both of them over the edge, into the sea.

Casari could have prevented his fall. There was a sail rope suspended nearby, and it would have been a simple matter to grab hold of it, and let Ezea fall to his doom.

But Casari had a sudden desire to be the end of the captain, rather than just let the waters take him.

Casari allowed himself to fall.

A few seconds later, he, and Ezea, plunged into the water, separately. The captain bobbed up immediately for air, gasping breath, but Casari stayed underwater.

Underneath, all was a dark blue. Casari allowed himself to sink, even as his eyes, compensated for the liquid around them, saw the kicking legs of the captain, as he treaded water on the surface.

Casari pivoted, until his legs were up, and his head was down, and kicked, hard. His legs shot up and out of the water, slamming Ezea in the back of the head. The captain yelped, and Casari grabbed him, and forced his weakening body under the water.

And, so, the two of them floated, two feet below the surface, with water all around.

Ezea became acutely aware he was running out of air, and panicked, frantically kicking. Casari merely grabbed him around the waist, and pulled him deeper into the water.

And then, perhaps ten feet down, he stopped descending, and grasped hold of the captain’s wrist.

Ezea tried to struggle for air, as Casari calmly held him, his firm grip unbreakable.

And eventually, the captain took a breath. He quivered, and then was calm. Casari released him, and let him sink.

And then he swam for the surface. Casari took his first breath of air for the first time in three minutes. He didn’t need it.

Casari arose to the surface at the side of the Wretched. The hull of the ship loomed to his right, flat, with seemingly no surfaces to climb. The deck was perhaps twenty feet up.

Casari dove down again, then leaped from the water, straight up. His fingers found grasps on the nearly flat hull, and he twisted, continuing to the sky.

Then he, clothes now waterlogged, flipped over the railing, and landed on the deck.

He had been to the murky depths, but he was back, now. Even as a pool of water coalesced at his feet, Casari drew his pair of bloodstained swords.

He had not been gone long. Guards still stood upon the deck, and looked upon his reappearance with horror.

Casari slew them. When corpses littered the ground, and not a Makini breathed free upon the deck, Casari strode down the stairs, to the lower levels.

He was interested in seeing how much progress his band of murderers had made.

On the middle level, as he strode through the halls, where the small crew had lived, and the lesser of the convicts had been housed, Casari gazed upon a scene of destruction. Newly freed prisoners were everywhere, rejoicing with their brethren, explaining just what it was they would do when they got back to the mainland. Bodies lay everywhere, both of crew, and of convicts, that had died to bring them down, but through the horror, Casari received his due respect.

Even as he walked through the halls, heading in a direction only he knew, as the convicts saw him, they stopped talking, and stared at him. There were shouts of approval, and even head nods. What there were not, however, were disbelievers.

Not a single fallen soul challenged Casari, as he walked amongst them. Even those who had not been freed by them had heard: he was their savior, and he was an ancient and all-powerful demon.

Casari allowed his face to be graced by a tiny smile.

He continued onwards, until he reached a deeper part of the ship, where the last few guards and crew hid; where the last few guards and crew were slowly being hunted down, and massacred.

Casari turned down a hall, and gazed upon the door to the room, that had been where he had been interrogated. He heard sounds of crashing inside, and a familiar sounding voice, briefly crying out.

Casari opened the door, and stepped inside.

Within, things were as he expected.

On one side of the table, crouching, looking horrified, was Alsi. On the other side was one of the murderers. Casari recognized him to be from the lower level.

The convict was a big, strong, powerful man, with a grin on his face. The grin of one who was finally going to get to do something he wanted again, after a long, long absence.

The murderer acknowledged Casari with another grin, and then refocused on Alsi. All hope seemed to have left her, as she backed up against a wall, and stood there, as the murderer circled around the table to reach her.

Casari could have left things as they were. He could have walked out, right then, and left Alsi to the murderer’s tender mercies, mercies she would undoubtedly not survive.

But Casari chose not to walk out.

“Leave,” he called to the murderer, as he stood at the door. “I have business with her.”

The murderer glanced back at him, pausing at the end of his cat and mouse game. “I don’t think so, boss,” he said. “She’s mine.”

Casari strode over to him, and the murderer abandoned his focus on Alsi, to stare at Casari. He crossed his hands in front of his chest.

Casari walked slowly, ever so slowly. “I am giving you a last chance,” he said to the murderer. “Leave now.”

The murderer’s hands balled into fists, as Alsi watched, pinned to the wall by her own sheer terror.

“She’s mine,” said the murderer again.

Casari halted no more than a foot away. The man he faced was slightly taller, but Casari’s gaze forced the man to slump to his level.

Casari reflected that once, months ago, he had been faced with the task of rescuing a different damsel in distress.

Then, he had used finesse, to carefully duel the oppressor, before winning the battle. Casari saw no such need for such elaborate ritual here.

There was a man before him, that needed to die. Casari saw no reason to honor the trappings of society.

Before the murderer could react, Casari grasped him by the belt, and flung him with force clear across the room.

The body impacted the far wall, and there was a wet crack.

And then a dead man peeled off the wall, and fell to the ground.

Casari noted this, duly. Blunt force could sometimes be just as effective as the more enlightened arts.

He walked for Alsi.

She cowered before Casari, as he moved to stand directly in front of her.

“Alsi,” he said. “Alsi as Sarani. I stand before you now, our situation much reversed. Just as I told you, I am free. What I foretold has come to pass.”

And as Casari spoke, with his eloquent words, Alsi looked at him, in fear. Much of her red hair dangled in front of her, but it could not hide the look of terror, in her eyes.

“You did not save me out of mercy,” said Alsi. “What do you intend to do?”

“Do you know who I am?” asked Casari.

“An ancient and powerful demon, or so I have heard.” Alsi laughed weakly, pressing herself further against the flat wall, as Casari stood before her. “And I thought you were an innocent to be pitied, in all of this.”

“It would be hard to be further than the truth, Alsi,” said Casari. He gave his own laugh, and the shadows seemed to tremble.

“I beg of you,” said Alsi. “Tell me my fate.”

Casari took a deep breath. “It is how one treats the helpless that defines one’s character, not how one licks the boots of ones master.” He took a pause.

“When I was imprisoned on this ship, when you thought I was helpless before you, you coursed lightning through my frame with thunder shockers. It was not your hands that held the devices, but it was your words that guided the guards. In my weakness, you failed to show benevolence.”

“Is that so wrong?” asked Alsi. “I did my job. I had little choice in the matter. And, as it turns out, as a demon, as Casari, somehow freed, you deserved every ounce of pain I could give you.” She caught herself, and gasped at her boldness. “I am sorry, my lord. Forgive me that statement, if not my life.”

Casari studied her.

“How do you wish to die?” he asked.

“I suppose I cannot say old age?”

“No,” said Casari firmly. “You cannot.”

Alsi seemed to be crying. “I don’t care,” she said. “But I beg of you to make it quick.”

Casari drew one of his bloodied swords, and rested it in his left hand. “Put your head on the interrogation table, Alsi,” he said. When she hesitated, he said, “Do it now.”

Alsi knelt, and did as he asked. She closed her eyes, and her whole body shuddered in anticipation of the blade that would come down and end her existence.

And yet, it did not come. Casari smiled, as he sheathed his sword. Fate was odd like that. Perhaps one day, she would understand why he had spared her.

“Why do you wait?” Alsi whispered, her eyes still tightly shut.

“Because,” said Casari, “I do not intend to kill you, now. Get up.”

And Alsi did so.

“You have lost much in your life,” said Casari, to her apt attention. “So much, that you were willing to give all you had left up, without a fight. You are, in the terms of my former persona, ‘broken.’

“And thus,” Casari continued, “you can be molded into something that matters, again.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Everything your soul can give,” said Casari. “And, in return, you will be given true purpose.”

“Why…why did you spare me?”

“Remember my maxim, Alsi. Remember the essential truth I have told you. You were molded by your masters to strike against me. Doing so was not your idea, not even truly your choice, and as so, not your fault. And I can forgive any harm against my person. And so I will, with you.”

Casari spread his arms wide, and shouted to the winds, “Talon!”

And within moments, the owl, which had, obviously, been freed from its cage during the fighting, flew in.

Talon landed on Casari’s left shoulder.

I have heard things about you, the bird cooed. Horrible, horrible things.

“I know that in the culture of the Great Blacks,” said Casari, “little stock is put in idle rumors. Judge me for what you see me to be, with your own inquisitive eyes, and not by what others I said. I can assure you, our partnership and friendship will not be betrayed on my part.”

I will give you a chance, hooted Talon. I will vest trust will you.

Casari knew the bird said what he did, because he wanted to believe that there was still hope, justice, and fairness in the world. And he knew he would not betray Talon’s trust. He did not lie.

Casari noticed that Alsi was staring at him, and his newfound companion.

“See,” said Casari, “others can trust me. Talon, who you once thought to be on your side, trusts my companionship more than he trusts the cages of the Makini, and understandably so. In a way, you share similarities with him, for in a way, you were caged, and now I set you free, so that under my supervision, you can grow.”

Alsi nodded, as if she was in disbelief. “How can you speak to it?” she asked. “How can you understand what the owl is saying?”

“He,” Casari gently nudged. “Talon is a he, and he is aware enough to know that, when you speak as such, you slight him.”

“I’m sorry,” said Alsi, immediately.

“You should wait until the words you say are the truth, before speaking them,” said Casari. “But do not worry. In the future, you will have time to learn about which I speak.”

The three of them looked at each other. Casari then twisted to the closed interrogation room door, before refocusing on Alsi.

“Are you ready to walk from here?” he asked her.

“What do you mean?”

“The former inmates of the Wretched now line the ship’s halls,” said Casari. “I freed them, but that does not mean they will look kindly upon you, one who oppressed them. Even under my protection, you will still be a target. The murderer who now lines the floor of this room is testimony to that. Are you ready for their scorn?”

Alsi, with her fingers, brushed her hair back behind her head. She readjusted her stance to stand a little bit taller, though she still slumped.

It occurred to Casari that even in her despair and confusion, even in the conservative Makini uniform she wore, on this day, she still looked pretty.

“I am ready now,” Alsi announced.

“Good,” said Casari. “Then we shall go.”

The pair turned for the door.