Boisterous laughter and the clinking of glass reverberated against the brick walls and ebony floors of the tavern, drowning out the noises of dancing dice and creasing cards. By the skin of their teeth, the especially loud guests had traversed the tempestuous waters ravaging ship after ship as of late. Though thankful that I made it to the port alive, things weren’t boding well for my stomach. Beer cures sea sickness, they said. Eat more cheese and salami of questionable shelf life, they said.

The shit-stained toilet in front of me was coated in bubbling ale, finely aged salami, and cheese even rats wouldn’t lay a paw on. I guess I should have acquainted myself with this privy if I was going to show it such a wild time this sublime evening. Hi, my name is Alene. We’ll be spending a lot of time together tonight… Is what I would have told Mr. Toilet had I not jumped straight into intimate action with him.

I put Punch and Line in my quaint, brown backpack right next to my hygiene supplies and cash. There’s no way I was going to let my beauties rub up against the unsavory porcelain gentleman that my arms are currently wrapped around. Although I conceded my body to courtship-ending acts of unsavoriness if not discussed and consented to earlier, my blessed steel knuckles were above this.

BLEH.

Okay, I think that was about all of it. Chunky residue slipped down my chin and dripped onto my auburn curls. Dammit. I had been holding my hair back while I was spurting miasma into the outhouse air, but I let go of it after I finished. I knew I should have tied it up beforehand. My concealed chainmail clinked as I wiped off drops of half-digested bar appetizers from my cloak. Time to go back inside and indulge myself a bit. Who knows what’ll happen tomorrow? Reanth Port isn’t nicknamed Wraith Port for nothing. But I guess they don’t call me the Boxing Revenant for nothing, either.

With a cough and a hop I left the stall. I brushed off any leftover dirt and liquid from my leggings—black, thank god, the best way to hide stains as I’ve alway been quite messy in more ways than one. Throwing up cleansed my system more than two livers could ever, so it was time to get back to drinking. Maybe I can beat my record of eight seconds chugging that thirty-five proof. Sweat dampened my excited palms. I could already feel the wooden grip of a tankard in my hands. Swiftly, Alene. Swiftly.

“Any… change?” a gruff voice bellowed in the alleyway between the tavern and the building whose outhouse I demolished; dark jeans and a black cloak slumped in a dank puddle. Even the scent of salt water barely being held at bay by the port’s concrete edges couldn’t mask the odor of mildew and garbage leaking out from the alley.

“Nah, sorry. Don’t have any on me right now.”

“Then, what’s that jingling I hear when you walk?” said the homeless man skeptically, a slurring of drunkenness and a tinge of displeasure in his voice.

What an entitled homeless person. My purse would have graciously spared a few coins had I not needed all the cash I could get for my upcoming tribulations. Even still, I wish I had more to offer than my condolences. I thought I saw an intricate piece of crystal perfection floating down from the sky earlier. Being out in that cold isn’t a fate I’d wish for anyone. I was surprised that I couldn’t see him shivering. Maybe his body had already become stricken with frostbite, blue fingers and toes just waiting to fall off. If it was a child, I would do more than refuse some change, but I needed to let an adult fend for themselves. We all have our own problems in this mess of a world right now.

“Sorry, friend, but that’s not money. Just some equipment.” I apologized.

“Is that so…?” the homeless man mused, staggering to his feet.

“Mhm,” I hummed. My jaw clenched. My muscles tensed and loosened. I didn’t know what he was planning. Men on the brink of death have nothing to lose, so I readied myself for the worst.

“Well, whatever it is, I’m sure it can fetch a pretty penny!” the man snarled. He cracked his neck and lunged forward with a flash of steel between his hands. His hood fell and moonlight, streetlights, and stars danced on his ghastly bald head. A manic smile only seen on someone ravenous for blood twisted across his face. The icy stone scratched lightly against his boots that nearly levitated off the ground. Fast. Really fast. Also not stricken with frostbite.

I bent my knees and readied myself for a counterattack, and I shielded my face with my arm guards. With my chainmail, my only vulnerable spot in this position was my legs; it was a pretty great investment if I do say so for myself.

I deftly swept my leg in a semicircle under his legs. Asshole isn’t gonna get a pretty penny off of me tonight.

The thug was flung into the air, outmaneuvered and already facing defeat.

But his smile doesn’t fade. It turned into an inhuman soul-shaking leer. His eyes turned black and started oozing sludge. A sable, third arm rippling with a nasty aura hurtled from his cloak with near imperceptible speed. An Atrocity in the city. These things are getting bolder everyday. The thug catapulted himself off of the dark appendage from the concrete and aimed a skydiving kick at my face.

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Hot blood pumped through every inch of my body as I bent backwards until my back was parallel to the sidewalk. The steam from my breath caressed the bottom of his foot as his boot barely whizzed by my face. Water sprayed against the walkway as he barreled into the portside sea.

Fuck. This wasn’t some random mugger. Sorry, angels, you’re up. The contents of my bag clattered on the sidewalk, and Punch and Line flew to my hands. My fists turned white from clenching the pair of steel knuckles. It’s been a hot minute. Wait, where’s my chocolate? Oh fuck, it’s a bit unwrapped on the concrete. Five second rule. Lemme just pick it up and eat it really quick-

“AHAHAHA,” the Atrocity cackled as it swam to the lower part of the port thirty feet away and hoisted itself up from the water. Even with his clothes drenched in body-numbingly cold saltwater, his vigor didn’t falter. Neither did his speed.

Fuck you. My chocolate came first. Lemme just pop one of these Mary’s Milkers into my sweet devourer. Wow, the harmonic contrast between boot dirt and sweetness—

“AHAHAHAHA!” the thing sprinted towards me and got ready to skewer me with his long, jagged knife. What the hell was it with Level 3 Atrocities and maniacal laughter?

The Atrocity went for a stab right down my stomach; its knife halted at my chainmail, only managing to push my armor uncomfortably close. Line sent the monster flying as I threw a left hook to his temple. His body ragdolled across the concrete and bounced into the streetlamp near the alleyway. The cloaked man lay still; the sky sprinkled his head with powder that looked as if it could have delicately coated pastries. He attempted to prop himself up with one arm before collapsing back down and kissing the ever colder streets.

He coughed up black demonic blood onto the thinly iced base of the lamp and started to raise himself on shaky legs. Great puffs of steam left his mouth as he wheezed. He must have been astonished by the amount of force that he was hit with just now; I bet he never had any experience against sacred weapons. They’re no joke when it comes to Atrocities, demons, the paranormal, or even corrupted Gods.

“First time?” I mockingly asked. A shit-eating grin crept across my face.

The beast hoicked his head my way and released an amalgamation of a scream and a growl. Teeth gritted and brow furrowed, my face must have resembled a wild dog. Yeah, come here. Let’s finish this.

I readied my knuckles into my out-fighter boxing stance and waited for it to charge.

“GRAAAAA,” the beast let out an otherworldly wail and blitzed me; he threw out a right hook that I caught with ease. The force from the blow stung like hell and sent electricity up my hand all the way to my head. The Atrocity’s left hand brandished his knife and went for a stab straight to my neck. With the knife inches away from my gingerbread skin, I struck his arm and forced him to let go of the knife. Fuck that was close. I nearly got—

“Ahck…” my body coughed out.

It felt like a rough punch to the throat. Electricity ran through my whole body, like I had just shoved a fork into a light socket. Warmth shocked the skin on my neck that had gotten accustomed to the brisk night air. I could hear the teeny splashes of blood trickling onto the ground below. Adrenaline pulsed through every part of my body, setting my body aflame. That warmth is unforgettable. After the sensory overload, everything began to go numb and my neurons worked to circumvent the extreme pain that my body should be feeling right now. I’ll never get used to the feeling of my tissues and muscles getting pierced.

The Atrocity smiled at me with inhuman pleasure and pulled itself closer, digging the knife deeper in my neck with his jet black third arm. He had taken the chance to catch the knife with his last arm when the dagger fell. I had anticipated it, but I didn’t think it was going to happen so fast.

Now I’m pissed. I let go of the creature and delivered a jaw-crushing blow to his chin with Punch. An audible crunch crackled through the air on contact. The atrocity dropped to the ground; his eyes rolled back. I didn’t allow the dazed monster a chance to recover this time. Like a grief-stricken person seeking uninhibited vengeance against their wrongdoer, I mounted the asshole and started bludgeoning his head in with Punch and Line. One of his eyes bulged, popped out, then got smashed under the blows of my knuckles.

The face of the monster was quickly disfigured into an uglier mushy mess, not unlike the mushy mess that I decorated the outhouse with. The Atrocity socked me in the face and the neck, leaving me with a nasty black eye for later. His resistance was futile. My barrage of blows didn’t stop. More cracking filled the air. Grey matter spurted onto my face.

I didn’t stop until I felt the Atrocity go limp and its chest stopped heaving. For the finale, I yanked the knife jutting out of my neck and stabbed it into the creature’s chest.

The smell of iron filled my nose as my neck continued to bleed, but only for a few seconds. My injury was enveloped in a dim, holy light, and the wound healed itself like it had been just a deep scratch. The blood calcified on my neck. My pain went away and it was replaced with relief and warmth. Thank god he was dead. Had I pulled out the knife earlier, I could have risked losing too much blood. Especially if the fight had somehow gone on longer than that. I’d have to thank Punch and Line later for fixing me up, like always.

I made sure to pick up my things and tuck them nicely back into my purse. While searching the Atrocity’s body, I found a nice pouch of gold hidden in a secret pocket within the weavings of his inner cloak. Damn, this beggar was richer than me. Well, we were going to put this money to good use tonight. I shook the bag of coins with a lustful smile on my face. Man, do I love a big bag of money. But to run into an Atrocity of this strength in the city must have meant that we were getting closer to the God of Tempests. Finally, we were making progress again. We’d also have to be ever more vigilant.

Some people are good at art, music, or writing. I guess my talents are drinking, gambling, and fighting. Back into the bar we go now.

Bursting through the door of the tavern, I asked the crowd, “Hey, who’s down to get more drinks with me?”

I was initially met with silence when I barged in covered in blood, dirt, and black ooze—only for a moment, though.

Cheers filled the tavern, vibrating the worn down pub.

“Alright, rounds on me for the rest of the night then!”

Glasses broke and the tavern seemed to creak and sway as the happiest sailors alive roared.