The force of his stare pressed upon you, making one thing frighteningly clear: you had failed.
A second within his gaze’s heat and you found the person nearest to you, the Admiral Amartha’Rumulri, and you hid behind her, not even daring to peak your eyes out. Bursts of laughter, all around the ship called Phantom’s Agony, and beyond it. Through it all, you heard a sigh, its producer unmistakable.
“Not one slumbering thing right; not my bluefish,” Yurathes said. “A mistake, from the day you were born.”
“Out of line, Rath! He’s just a child!” Amar said, and you felt more confident about who you chose to protect you. Felt more confident about peaking out at your father. Eyes of fire lied in wait. You wilted. You went back into your hole.
Not a sigh that time round. Laughter, from him.
“I’ve got five other children. None of them craven like him. None of them hiding behind their fellows. Each far better Sailors than a bluefish will ever be!”
“At least I’m not a human,” you blurted out. Dead silence across the Phantom’s Agony.
Footsteps. Coming closer. Your stomach tightened. Amar was walking away. Follow her! But he was already between you two. Yurathes knelt, leaned closer.
“What was that, bluefish?” His breath smelled of Pipe-smoke.
His gaze you avoided like the plague. Until any more minute of it became unbearable. He didn’t ask again. Just waited. Till you spared him a gaze. Eyes of fire. Eyes you inherited. He might’ve been the Wrathful pirate king, but you had a second parent. And through her, the entirety of the Ocean was your domain, not just the many fleets of many ships she could wreck with a single storm. The Phantom’s Agony started to shake. Clouds in the sky darkened. Laughter turned to shouts and yells. Eyes of fire widened.
“Stop what you’re doing boy.”
“So I’m a boy now? Not bluefish.”
“Throwing a tantrum because of a name! More baby than boy,” Yurathes said, and twenty docks to the east, sea-water lunged into the sky, carrying a ship up with it. Red String, you thought it was called.
The King’s head turned and rose, gazing at the column of water keeping the ship from dropping back down, the screaming sailors still atop it, and the unfortunate among them who were starting to fall from it, some hitting the decks of the ships closest, while the ocean took their far-lucky compatriots in, bolstering their fall.
“Maybe. More man than you, [pirate.king],” you said.
“D-Drop th-them down. Now,” He stuttered, eyes still on his people.
“You’re sure you want me to do that?”
Amar moved toward you, sword whistling as she unsheathed it, and leveled its colorless blade at your blue-skinned neck. “You heard the King, eh? Drop. It. And if anybody else dies, so do you.”
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Another fell, their cries flailing past the curses and demands yelled out by the [Pirates]; some of the closest directed at you. The fallen crew member didn’t meet the sea, and the Cloaked Blade made a cut; shallow but clear. Green met the sharp edge before running down your neck.
“Stop calling me Bluefish, human.”
Amar and your father shared a look. The blood reached the shirt front of your brown tunic. “What?” The Pirate King asked.
“You heard me.” The watery hand started to falter, thin down, as your Energy Artifica started to run out. “Quickly. Before the skill is done, and your precious String is stranded all the way up there.”
“I will not be strong-armed by—”
“Do what the child says, Rath,” he opened his mouth. “NOW!!!”
The hand began to bend. The Pirate King pursed his lips, eyes glaring at his wife before they turned to gaze at you. A silence, his and yours, reigned the space between you two, cutting through all the spit-addled shouts, and splashing, and falling water. The ship began to tilt.
His head tilted up, and you knew. “A Bluefish doesn’t have a name. No matter how many ships you destroy in the pursuit of it. Let your power run out. See what I do after.”
You went empty, knees falling onto the wooden deck. The column burst apart, droplets scattering in all directions but up, faster than lightning, heavier than the sea itself. The blade next to you faltered. Punches took up their post, and went further. A blow sent you off your knees. A kick to the chest made you wheeze. Your eyes gazed up at the white, dirty sail of the Phantom’s Agony. Amar tried to stop him, but he pushed her off, and raised his arm, poised for another hit…
It never came.
One moment, the sail catching your eye billowed in the wind and the next, it was dotted with holes—some bloody—hanging on the foremast alone, the ropes binding it to the main and mizzen all but severed. Yurathes cried out, a few feet away from you. The droplets. Had he been hit? Raising your head, you turned to look. Yes. He had been hit. Blood oozed out of holes in his hand, thigh, chest, and ear, but that wasn’t why he was weeping. Cradled in his hands was an Admiral, holes ten times as many as the King’s covering her front, green frothing at her mouth, eyes dazed. Your eyes went up. Twenty docks away to the east, right below the clouds, A Red-String continued to stand, the remainder of its crew filling the gunwale, looking down at their thinned down fleet. Head going back down, you closed your eyes and listened to the shore. Murmurs from on high. Yurathes’ sobs. A few wails beyond the ship. The roiling waves. And a reigning agony; yours and the Phantoms.
“What have you done?” Yurathes would say every few moments, but not to you.
Soon enough, footsteps joined the near-empty throng, coming closer till they stopped a few inches from your head. One of your eyes opened and you gazed at the stranger. Dark-green armor covered his body, a sigil of two sea-horses tied together by seaweed, emblazoned on his chest. The [ocean.queen’s] sigil. His hair was black, short and matted. And his skin was blue.
“Who are you?”
“Zenda’Ataru Meweso Systemborne. Son of [Oshvepertha], and most importantly, your mother’s friend,” he said, before static enveloped your mind. “Item attained: The [Cloaked.Blade] of Artha’Rumulrius, 7/7 uses left. Do you accept, Tolemvaria Amva’Kathele Sitiso?”
The Cloaked Blade of… the sword which cut you. But she wasn’t… “No.” You didn’t need to think about it. The sword was your step-mother’s. An heirloom. Not a spoil of war.
“Understood. Class attained: [pirate.prince], Level 1. Do you accept?”
Pirate Prince. What your father had wanted you to be for as long you could remember. What all your half-siblings on his side were. His legacy. His tools. “No.”
“Understood. Half-Class attained: [Phantom], Level 1. Cannot be accepted till the day of your death. Curse-Upgrade attained: [Merman], Level 2. Class attained: [ocean.prince], Level 1. Skill-Upgrade attained: [Hand.of.Neptune], Level 2—20/14 uses left. Do you accept?”
Phantom? Ocean Prince. Your mother’s legacy. Heir of the entire sea. You could see her. Could ask her why… “Yes. To all of them.”
The Pocket System smiled. “Understood. The Ocean Queen has requested your presence. After we’re done here,” he said, and your soul started to scream, morphing so it could support your ascension.