Walter's corpse rested across Kincade's shoulders, like a hunter with the boar emerging from the forest; the dead weight did not slow Kincade's march forward, not one step lost pace. Rage-fuelled Kincade and he would not succumb to exhaustion; fate had given him the soul and drive to finally be free from the terrors of his life.

Step by step, Kincade marched down the corridor. Walter's blood ran from the body onto Kincade's shoulders and down Kincade's back and front. Covered in another's blood, he was every part the mad pirate of the stories told, selling the need for bounties levied by governments and organizations like the Steamspire Royal Trading Syndicate.

From Kincade viewpoint, the ship was alive with the sounds of fighting, the yells of the conqueror, and the screams and thuds of the conquered. All of it was his doing, his organization, and his leadership.

History was full of cultures that glorified death, from the secret societies of the old Roman empire to the first civilizations of the Americas and a hundred others. But, at the center of it all. It was always that one human that pulled others to them, that showed and offered a new world, a different world, and this was no different. So, in his arrogance, Kincade had deemed himself to be that magnetic personality and invited the others to capture this ship. Joining him and escaping from the shared fate that evil men had assigned them, one and all. Their organization, Steamspire Royal Trading Syndicate, has its hands washed deep in the blood of men for the profit of just a few Kings, Queens, and industrialists who should be branded pirates themselves. Still, Steampire just had too much wealth to be anything other than upstanding.

Rounding a corner, Kincade approached the stairs to the main deck, climbing step by step until he emerged into the fresh winds on the deck, the body of his latest victim still hosted upon his back. The moonlight shone down on him with the reflected light of a distant sun muting Kincade's red cape of blood. The night did nothing to hide the chaos. Bodies were running into each other, fighting with pistols that had long run dry of shot, and the whole ship had devolved into a brutal hand-to-hand scramble for life.

Behind Kincade, a familiar voice barks out commands, orders, and curses, yelling loud enough to drown out the paddle wheel's slapping against the ocean and

"You! Kill that bastard's son!" Wallace screams at one of the few soldiers left. Kincade slipped Walter's body off his shoulders to hold him by the waist with one of Walter's arms over Kincade's shoulder. Without the blood cloak, it would look like Kincade was helping a drunken friend home before dawn's light.

"Wallace! Help!" Kincade called out, affecting the accent of his macabre Walters puppet as best he could. Wallace peered back into the night.

"Walters, is that you?" Wallace called.

"Aye." Replied Kincade, hoping to keep the rouse going and take a few more steps forward.

"Well, be quick about it, man, come to hear and let us end this farce, strife," Wallace yelled, raising a small gambler's pistol almost invisible in Wallace's bear paw of a hand and firing at a man climbing on top of the cabin.

The man took the gunshot with a growl, tumbled forward, losing his footing, and continued sliding down a slight slope in the cabin roof. The man's fall from the roof was accompanied by a child's cry, "No! Save him." Yelled John as he rushed past Wallace towards the falling man holding onto the lip of the roof some eight feet about the deck. A pool of the man's blood was forming under him. Wallace lumbered forward until he could reach out, grabbing John, he pulled him close, holding him in one hand with a knife in the other.

"What part do you have in this with this business." Wallace hissed at John.

"Get off me." Yelled John back at Wallace, spitting in his face.

Wallace lifted the knife, the octopus etched on the pummel, to cut John from ear to ear. When the fire and moonlight glinted off... another blade. A blade that some drew across Wallace's wrist, holding the knife. Forcing the big man to drop the boy as he yelled out in pain. Wallace spun to look directly into the face of Kincade.

Kincade launched himself forward to deliver a head butt to his tormentor, Kincade only managed to catch Wallace, the much taller man, in the chest. With his right fist, Wallace punched out at Kincade, striking him on the side of his head. Kincade spun like the Brazillian capoeira fighter and hit Wallace, slashing a knife blade across Wallace's arm again. The cut was deep. Wallace grabbed his arm to staunch the flow of blood from above him. Blood pulsed down Wallace's shirt and dripped from his elbow.

Kincade saw the man who had fallen rise to his feet. In a burst of strength and speed, he rushed at Wallace like a rugby player who could see a win and some idiot who had been needling him all day. The man's shoulder dropped and drove into Wallace by the waist. Pumping his legs up and down like a number eight, tall and solidly built man with the smell of the goal line chalk in his nostrils, this beast of a man pushed Wallace back, lifting him off his feet and moving towards the ship's railing. Like the best rugby player, the man drove forward, seaming unharmed by a gunshot.

Kincade stood and rushed in to join in the maul. Both men felt kinship and companionship. Roaring like lions, they clawed and scraped to push forward, driving.

Wallace yelled and screamed every curse he could, his size, strength, and bulk overcome by lifting him off his feet. Kincade and his fellow slammed into the railing with Wallace's lower back. Wallace grunted in pain and grabbed at these two minions of fate and death, rapping his fingers into their shirts. Kincade ignored Wallace's hold, slipped down to grab his tormentor by the back of his knee, and lifted. Months of shoveling coal had given him a body of laborer strong and solid, and he used these boons for all they were worth. Wallace's arse was now waving in the air above the night sea. But his hold on his assailants was fast, sound, and true.

For his part, Kincade just started to punch and pound Wallace in the arm, gut, and shoulder like a shark with prey in its jaw. Kincade thrashed at every part of Wallace he could reach without a plan, just animal fury bashing fist against the prey. Wallace, with both his hands holding on to his would-be killers Wallace, was unable to do anything other than spit curses and take the blows.

In one last effort, Kincade placed a foot on the lower rung of the railing and started to climb one rung at a time, lifting Wallace up and finally over.

"Not yet, my lovely!" Wallace screamed back at him as he fell and pulled both men with him. Kincade let go and grabbed the ship's railing; the other man did not and was taken by the darkness and the sea. Wallace held on to Kincade's leg and was laughing.

"We both go," Wallace screamed at Kincade, and hand over hand, the big man started his climb using Kincade like a rope. Kincade looked out into the sea's darkness, finding peace.

Then, letting go of the rung with just one hand, he swung down at Wallace with all his energy, pounding him one last time.

"No, you're going," Kincade yelled back.

The blow landed, and Wallace fell into the darkness of the night sea air.