Several hours passed, and Roxanne lay in the Humo Robinson’s infirmary, still unconscious from the effects of Balthasar von Ragnar’s potentia, Rex Vi, on top of her injury from being stabbed by Corcoran. Carne sat next to her, monitoring her vitals, as well as Schwarz’s. A flicker of movement from Roxanne caught his eye.
“...! Roxanne!” Carne’s voice trembled with relief.
“Hm…? Carne?” Her voice was barely a whisper, groggy and distant.
Suddenly, reality snapped back into focus. Her eyes widened. “Carne! Where’s Andy?!”
Carne grimaced, then lowered his head, unable to say anything or even meet her gaze. Roxanne grabbed him by his collar, tears forming in her eyes. “I said, WHERE’S ANDY?!”
Carne simply stood up and said “follow me.”
Roxanne did as she was told and got out of bed. She stumbled a bit, but she readjusted herself, rubbing the bandages on her belly where the stab wound was. She followed Carne as he walked to the Robinson’s morgue, where the dead bounties were usually kept, attached to the infirmary. “No…” she thought, tears streaming down her face.
Carne opened the door and pulled out the drawer. And there it was, Andy’s chilled corpse with a massive, bloody, gaping hole in his chest.
Roxanne's world crumbled in that instant. She let out a guttural, soul-wrenching wail that reverberated through the gondola. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed over Andy’s body, her sobs uncontrollable. Memories of Rusila’s innocent smile as she drove her fist through Andy's chest flooded her mind, as vivid as if it had just happened. The horror, the helplessness—all of it came crashing down.
Carne said and did nothing as Roxanne sobbed her eyes out and screamed until she was hoarse. It seemed like this persisted for hours, though in reality it was only about thirty minutes.
After a solid half hour of screaming and crying, she stood up and said nothing for a good fifteen minutes. She just looked at the corpse, looking at every detail: the gaping hole in his chest, the look of terror on his face. She stood there, then turned around and walked away without saying a word.
A five-year-old Roxanne hid behind her mother’s skirt. Her mother chuckled and said “it’s okay, Roxanne. You can come out.”
Five-year-old Andy laughed and said “you’re shy!” Young Andy ran over and gave her a big (for their size) hug. “We’re friends now! I’ll show you around, Roxie!”
“R-Roxanne…?” asked Carne.
Five-year-old Andy brought Roxanne to the beach. Sapphire-shelled turtles crawled up onto the shore to lay their eggs.
“They’re… so pretty…” said young Roxanne, clutching her shabby doll.
“Mmhmm! They come by once a year! Mommy says that’s why this place is called Blue Turtle Island!” Andy replied.
She said nothing and kept walking. As she walked, she pulled out her hip flask and chugged the whole thing.
“I think… I wanna start a restaurant…” said sixteen-year-old Andy.
“Oh, I just love your cooking!” exclaimed sixteen-year-old Roxanne. “You cook even better than my parents!”
“And… maybe we could work together…” Andy said with a smile. “You could serve drinks.”
“You mean… like, hooch?” Roxanne asked. “I’ve never had it before…”
Andy laughed. “My parents have a secret stash of whiskey hidden in the pantry. Let’s try it tomorrow night after our parents go to bed!”
Roxanne reached the kitchen of the Robinson. She started digging through the pantry, and without a word, pulled out a huge bottle of normally contraband high-proof whiskey hidden in a secret compartment.
Teenage Andy laughed to himself as he poured a glass of the whiskey for himself, then one for Roxanne. They sat together in an empty field, surrounded by a few trees here and there.
“You sure this is a good idea, Andy?” Roxanne asked.
“Of course! This is the kind of stuff we’re supposed to do when we’re young!”
Time passed in a flash, and soon as it was an hour later. The twin moons were high in the sky.
Andy hiccuped and his face was flushed bright red. He laughed and asked “how… how ya feelin’... Rrrrrroxie?”
Roxanne’s face was also flushed. “I feel…” she hiccuped. “Awessssome…”
“Hey…” she said.
“Yeah…?”
“I thought of… sssssomething else we’re supposed to do when we’re young…” Roxanne said with a sly smile on her face.
“Wha… what’s that, Roxie?” he hiccuped.
She threw himself at him, and they started to kiss passionately. Soon, the whiskey bottle was knocked over, but neither of them cared.
Roxanne made her way to the promenade, sat down at a table, and uncorked the bottle. She started drinking it straight with nothing to water it down.
“They said alcohol is going to be prohibited nationwide. The Supreme Court of Losan says we’re all a bunch of drunks…” young Roxanne said as she read the newspaper.
Andy immediately chugged the whiskey glass he had off to the side and exclaimed “What?! What about the business?!”
“I don’t know…”
Roxanne kept chugging the whiskey. Even as it burned going down her throat, she only paused for a moment to pull out a box of cigarettes. She chose one and lit it up, taking a puff between mouthfuls of whiskey.
Twenty-one-year-old Andy and Roxanne stood on the beach at sunset, the same beach they had gone to often when they were kids to watch the turtles. “Hey, Roxie?” Andy asked, hand in his pocket.
“What’s up, Andy?”
“Well… Y’know how we’ve been best friends since we were tiny, tiny kids?” Andy asked, starting to sweat.
Roxanne blushed. “Y-Yeah…?”
“I… wanna keep doing that until we’re dead…”
He pulled out a ring with a tiny sapphire from one of the gem-backed turtles embedded in it. “I know it’s not much, but… I love you, Roxie…”
He dropped to one knee. “Will… Will you be my wife?”
Roxanne looked down at him, tears beginning to stream down her face. “Of course I will, Andy! I love you too!”
For thirty minutes, she did nothing but chug whiskey and chain smoke cigarettes. Shaska came into the promenade and sat down next to her. The huge bottle was always three quarters empty, despite it being mostly full when she started. Roxanne showed no outward signs of being drunk, despite having had enough alcohol to kill a man twice her size.
“Hey, King of Pain, are you there?” Shaska asked, snapping her fingers in front of Roxanne’s face. “Helloooooo…?”
Roxanne continued to say nothing.
“I didn’t know you smoked. Most guys find women smoking really unattractive,” Shaska said. “But I suppose things are different after the Great War…”
Again, Roxanne said nothing, and chugged more whiskey.
“Well, listen, it’s been a rough day for all of us. Why don’t you make us some dinner and a nice round of drinks?”
Roxanne stopped mid-sip, lowering the bottle and fixing Shaska with a look of disbelief. “Excuse me?” she asked, her voice cold and distant.
Shaska barely batted an eye. “You know, what I pay you for? We took a huge loss back there,” she said, her tone blunt, dismissive, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
The blood rushed to Roxanne’s head. Her vision tunneled, and before she realized it, her grip on the whiskey bottle tightened—then tightened more. She squeezed harder, the tension coiling through her fingers like a vice, until finally the glass shattered in her hand. Whiskey spilled across the table, mixing with the blood that now dripped from her fingers. When she turned to Shaska, there was nothing but raw, demonic rage in her eyes.
“I just lost my husband! The love of my life—since we were children! BRUTALLY MURDERED right in front of my eyes by some creepy, psychotic princess! And your main concern is ‘Hey, Roxanne, why don’t you make me a drink?!’” Her voice shook with venom, but there was no stopping the flood. “Except you didn’t even say that, did you?! Because in all the time we’ve been together, you STILL don’t know my name! It’s always some random bullshit!”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
She blew out a thick cloud of smoke between gritted teeth, her hands trembling as her anger reverberated throughout the Robinson. Members of the crew, except for Schwarz, who was still unconscious, began gathering near the entrance of the promenade, drawn by the commotion. Shaska, for once, was caught off guard.
“Serenicus damn you, I cannot believe you! I remember when we first met—you said you were bad with grieving families. Guess what? You were right! You’re not just bad—you’re the worst! You don’t even care that someone just died. Andy wasn’t a person to you, just a lost business venture! Those old employees were right about you! You’re a terrible boss! You don’t know ANY of our names! ‘Hey, snake girl! Hey, pretty boy! Hey, random name that doesn’t make sense that isn’t Roxanne!’"
Tears streamed down her face, her words turning more vicious with each passing second. “I’m sick of it! I can’t believe I let you get away with this for so long! You… you don’t care about anyone but yourself! No wonder everyone leaves you! No wonder you’re pushing fifty and still single! Everything, everyone, is just a vehicle to make money for you! And the worst part? I’m stuck with you! I’m on the other side of the planet with no way home, no knowledge of how to sail or fight, wanted as an accessory to mass murder! I’m just a normal woman in a world full of superpowered weirdos! I… I…”
Her voice faltered, breaking into sobs once again. Lulupo stepped forward, arms open to console her. But Roxanne’s grief was a maelstrom, and she pushed him away as soon as he touched her.
“I haven’t known life without Andy for twenty years… I… I’m so lost without him! I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!” She collapsed into herself, crying uncontrollably.
Lulupo approached again, this time softer. “Roxie, darling, I’m so—”
“SHUT THE HELL UP!” she screamed, shoving him away with renewed fury. “ONLY ANDY GETS TO CALL ME THAT! YOU DEGENERATE CROSSDRESSING QUEER!”
Lulupo staggered back, eyes wide with hurt, but he said nothing. The room was filled with the sound of her sobbing, harsh and ragged.
Shaska took a slow drag from her cigar, her face impassive as she watched Roxanne fall apart. After a beat, she spoke again, her voice steady. “You wanna learn how to fight?”
Roxanne’s sobs hitched. She looked up, blinking through the tears. “Huh?”
“I asked, ‘Do you wanna learn how to fight?’” Shaska repeated, each word sharp, like she was cutting through the fog of Roxanne’s grief.
“What...?” Roxanne wiped at her eyes, her mind still swirling in confusion.
Shaska leaned back in her chair, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. “I bet you want revenge on that creepy girl–the one with the king, right? Well, you can’t get it unless you learn how to fight. Any old schmuck can use Aether, it just takes training.”
Roxanne’s brow furrowed, trying to process the offer. “Wh-what…?”
“All that hooch must’ve messed with your mind a bit,” Shaska said, tapping her temple. “Normally, if an employee yelled at me like that, they’d be fired on the spot. But I need muscle if I’m gonna put the hurt on Smoky Mart corporate. So, here’s the deal—you help me, and I’ll help you.”
Roxanne’s tears slowed. “Help…?”
Shaska nodded. “I’ll teach you how to use Aether. How to develop a potentia ability. I’ve got connections in Piscomare—military types who can train you further.” She exhaled more smoke, her voice lowering slightly. “But this isn’t charity. You need to get it together.
“Calm down, get your head on straight, and meet me in my room when you’re ready,” Shaska said, standing. Without another word, she walked out, leaving the crew in stunned silence.
----------------------------------------
In the heart of Oppidapolis, the capital of the United Provinces of Losan, President Gamaliel sat at the head of the Situation Room, his eyes closed as the weight of the world pressed down on him. Around him were his top advisors—military and civil—delivering grim reports about the uprising in Panipuri. The events of the civil war had sent shockwaves through the entire globe, especially with Balthasar von Ragnar’s sudden reappearance on the world stage.
Gamaliel pinched the bridge of his nose, holding back an oncoming headache as General Persh briefed him on the situation. “We have no idea how large Minus World’s forces truly are. Our estimates suggest that the invasion force that took over Panipuri is around ten thousand strong.”
Gamaliel raised an eyebrow. “Ten thousand? That’s not too ba—”
“That’s just the force we know of,” Persh interrupted, his voice grim. “There’s a good chance that this is just the tip of the iceberg. We could be looking at millions, Mr. President.”
Gamaliel’s head dropped into his hands, his fingers digging into his temples. “And you lot let this fester for years because…?” His voice was tight, his patience frayed.
“Mister President, we were preoccupied with the Great War. No one saw this coming,” Persh defended, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
Gamaliel looked up, his frustration boiling over. “Do you even begin to grasp how disastrous this is for my re-election campaign? First, a rogue fed agent wipes out twenty thousand Losanian civilians, and now this—a full-scale invasion of a sovereign nation by some fanatical army that declares war on the entire world. Not to mention the fact they’re targeting us and the Global Federation directly!”
The room was silent, the gravity of the situation weighing on everyone. Gamaliel reached into a desk drawer and pulled out an ornate bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a highball glass of straight liquor. He threw it back like a soda pop without a second thought, refilling it just as quickly.
“How the hell did they even muster that much manpower so fast?” he asked, his tone sharp as he turned to Persh again. “Tell me what we know about Dammerung. Balthasar von Ragnar is from there, isn’t he?”
Persh nodded, though his expression was grim. “Dammerung is still recovering from the war. They’re drowning in debt after being blamed for the conflict. There’s no way they could fund or field an army capable of challenging us—not this soon.”
“So they’re building their forces somewhere else,” Gamaliel mused, his hand gripping the glass tighter. He downed the drink in one go, slamming the glass on the desk. “This is a nightmare. Mobilize our forces, send them knocking on Dammerung’s door. Let’s make it clear what happens when you cross the United Provinces.”
“Mister President,” Persh said carefully, “we don’t have concrete proof they’re operating out of Dammerung. If we attack them now, especially in their weakened state, the international community will turn against us. We’d be kicking a crippled nation while it’s down.”
Gamaliel scowled and poured another drink. “There isn’t enough whiskey in this damn world to deal with this,” he muttered, before tossing back another glass. “Argh!”
He turned to FIIG director Jedhoov, fixing him with a steely gaze. “You. What about that fed division we sent to Panipuri? They were supposed to capture Shaska. Where the hell are they?”
Jedhoov shifted nervously. “Sir, I regret to inform you that Shaska got away. The feds retreated as soon as von Ragnar showed up.”
“Wonderful…” Gamaliel muttered bitterly, shaking his head.
Jedhoov hesitated, then added, “And… this may not be the best time to bring it up, sir, but our intelligence suggests that support for Minus World is growing within our own borders. The youth in particular…”
Gamaliel’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “What did you just say?”
Jedhoov continued, “There are agitators in Losan. People see how much wealth we’ve accumulated after the war. They see their bosses getting richer while they struggle with low wages and poor conditions. Some of the unions are becoming more militant, even sympathetic to Minus World’s cause.”
Gamaliel slammed his head down on the desk, face buried in his hands. “Those damn gearhead anarchists... They don’t know what they’re calling for.”
“This could escalate quickly, Mr. President,” Jedhoov warned. “The seeds of rebellion are already being sown.”
Gamaliel groaned, rubbing his temples as the room fell silent again.
----------------------------------------
The early morning light crept into the Humo Robinson, signaling the start of a new day, but Roxanne's world was still shattered. She awoke with a pounding headache and stumbled into the kitchen, hoping to fill her flask with whatever alcohol she could find. But as she rifled through the cabinets, her search came up empty.
“It… it really wasn’t a bad dream…” she whispered to herself, her eyes falling on her wedding ring. The memories flooded back—Andy’s proposal on the beach, their wedding day, and then his violent death at the hands of Rusila, just yesterday. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she pressed her hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. But after a moment, she wiped her face and composed herself.
Determined, she headed out to the promenade. A Manha Times newsbird swooped down, delivering the latest edition of the paper. Roxanne handed it a losa coin, and as it flew off, she unfolded the paper. The front page was plastered with headlines about Panipuri's fall and Balthasar von Ragnar's rise to power. As she flipped through, a collection of wanted posters slid out. When she caught sight of the bounties, her breath hitched.
Her eyes widened. “This can’t be real…” she murmured, her pulse racing as she read the numbers. She turned on her heel and bolted toward Shaska’s room, the papers clutched in her hand. She pounded on the door with such force that the sound echoed through the ship.
After a brief pause, Shaska cracked the door open, her hair wrapped up, her face slathered in green facial goo, and cucumber slices perched on her eyes. “The hell do you want, bar girl?! The sun’s barely up!”
“Shaska! You’ve gotta see this! Big profits!” Roxanne exclaimed breathlessly, waving the papers in her face.
Shaska sighed, pulled off one of the cucumber slices, and ate it nonchalantly. “Fine, come in.”
As Shaska settled back onto her lavish bed, Roxanne thrust the wanted posters into her hands. Balthasar von Ragnar, labeled as "the Black Knight" by the Global Federation, had a staggering bounty of one hundred million losas. His creepy sister, Rusila, dubbed "the Princess," was worth twenty-five million.
Shaska’s eyes widened as they transformed into shining losa signs, and, with a loud “cha-ching!” sound, coins began pouring out of her mouth in an exaggerated cartoonish fashion. Roxanne, still baffled at how this was happening, subtly pocketed a few of the coins as they clinked onto the floor.
“Vengeance is gonna make us rich, bar girl…” Shaska chuckled, her eyes returning to normal. “These two are worth more than Alphonse, Bensieg, and Luckiano put together!”
Roxanne, still reeling from the absurdity of it all, raised an eyebrow. “But... Serenicus teaches that vengeance belongs to the Father Above and Him alo—”
“Serenicus? Bah! That’s a load of hogwash,” Shaska said with a dismissive wave of her hand, puffing on a fresh cigar. “We’re not here to pray, girl, we’re here to get rich. And what better way to do it than bringing these clowns in? It'll teach the feds not to mess with us, pay off a good chunk of my debt, and give you the closure you’re looking for!”
Roxanne bristled at Shaska’s blasphemous words, her expression tightening, but she held her tongue. “You... said you’d teach me how to fight. How to use Aether and maybe develop a potentia. That’s what I want.”
“That I did, girl, that I did,” Shaska nodded. “But there’s just one problem… it’s been so long since I developed my potentia, I sorta… forgot how it works.”
Roxanne’s face flushed with barely contained frustration. “You’re kidding, right?”
Shaska wiped the goo from her face with a casual flick. “Look, when you’ve been doing this as long as I have, manipulating Aether becomes second nature. What I can tell you is this: it’s all about mastering your breathing, syncing it with the flow of Aether around you. Once you’ve nailed that, and have gone through some heavy personal trauma, much like what you’ve been through recently, you might unlock a potentia all your own.”
Roxanne crossed her arms, her patience thinning. “Uh-huh. And how long is that supposed to take?”
“You could always ask one of the pretty boys for help,” Shaska shrugged, clearly unbothered.
Roxanne sighed, shaking her head. “Thanks for nothing.”
As she turned to leave, she paused in the doorway. “You know, I’d say I’m sorry for yesterday, but I’m really not. Every word I said was true. You are a real bitch, Shaska.”
Roxanne lit a cigarette, taking a long, slow drag as she stared down the woman in front of her. “I’ll talk to Lulupo about training when he wakes up. I’m going to start breakfast. I’m no Andy… but I’ll manage.”
As she began to leave, Shaska gritted her teeth, visibly tense. “Roxanne, wait.”
Roxanne stopped, glancing back over her shoulder. “So, you do know my name.”
“It’s... complicated,” Shaska replied with a sigh. “Look, potentia abilities come from deep personal trauma. And, for the sake of business relations, I guess I owe you mine. Why I’m such a bitch, as you put it.”
Intrigued, Roxanne raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”