Chapter Ninety-two
Krissintha Arlonet Dar-Ghelain gawked at where the ork captain had been a moment ago. She had a good idea of what had just happened — Kevin of course once again — but it would have been nice to have a warning, or at least a stray word or thought from the spirit. Would have been even nicer if he hadn’t killed the brute. Because he had, hadn’t he? Surely, disappearing like that meant he was dead, didn’t it? What was she to say to Master and Captain Fenar now? So, for a moment she didn’t know how to react. Even the four, shield-bearing ork bodyguards seemed shocked and confused, looking left and right, one of them scratching his head at the sudden mystery of his captain’s disappearance. Then the moment passed.
As if on cue, the four orks quickly overcame their bafflement and decided to focus on the enemy. They roared in anger, glaring at the two masked spiritualists, then lunged at them as one, shields up, axes and maces held high.
Krissintha didn’t hesitate; she moved fast, trying to keep up with her self-appointed, slightly crazed bodyguard, and dodged and parried the strikes coming her way. Her Mana-coated blade sliced into the shield of one of the orks — the wooden thing proving to be less tough than their bones — then she jumped back as half of the shield fell away, to avoid a mace to her face. From the corner of her eyes and obstructed by the mask, she could just about see orks and slaves collapsing near the edge of the deck — probably Kevin’s work — as the first of the Furious Fist’s marines were rushing across to the galley using the planks they had laid between the two ships.
Another strike of the same mace came dangerously close, the green barbarian determined to bash her head in, but with a surge of Mana she was fast enough to dance around the green bastard. She jumped, and her blade pierced the beast’s neck like a hot knife going through butter. It really was the only place where she could easily inflict a lethal wound; even with her familiar’s power at her disposal, it was difficult, often impossible to cut or stab through their ribs and into their hearts. The belly was an option, but they were quick to protect their guts with their arms. Luckily, orks seemed to think their necks were out of reach for a small human, so it was an easier target for a spiritualist.
Black blood sprayed and covered her mask and cape as she pulled her sword and landed on her feet. The ork wobbled first, then hit the floor with a thump, the shocked expression frozen on his ugly, green face. Krissintha looked around to see who the next opponent would be and found none. Kiwa stood holding her sword in the air in a victory pose, three orks in various states of beheaded at her feet. Damn, the elf was just too good, and for some reason she still called her “boss”. Krissintha was sure the time would come when she’d have to start calling her that.
And that was it, the battle was over, at least for her. The crew of the galley — having been decimated by the invisible, soul-eating menace that Kevin was — didn’t stand a chance against the marines as they boarded the ship from two sides. The elves made short work of the defenders; their spears and hatchets working gory wonders, and in a minute, those of the enemy still alive lost the will to fight and surrendered. There weren’t many of them left on the deck: some ten orks and twice as many slaves, and the marines quickly disarmed and herded them towards the bow.
She let out a breath of relief and pain as she let go of the Mana she was keeping in her body. She wondered if she should join the corpses on the deck-floor for a rest. This whole battle was … what? Five minutes? How could her entire body ache after just five minutes? Was there something about using a familiar’s power she didn’t know? She couldn’t recall any of her father’s retainers — or Kiwa for that matter — complaining about this kind of pain. Then again, Kevin wasn’t exactly a normal familiar, so could that be the reason? Or had she just simply used too much of his Mana in one go? She didn’t know, and she remembered there was another thing she needed an answer for.
Kevin, what the hell happened to the captain? Did you eat him? She asked, momentarily horrified by how normal the question “did you eat him” had become.
Ooooii! Whaddafugg? Lemme outa here, ya ganks or imma skin ya alive! A familiar, deep and growly voice filled her mind.
Well, he is … fine, sort of. As you can hear. Kevin said, chuckling nervously.
I’m … I’m scared to ask, but I will. What did you do to him? Krissintha sent the question into the voice-chat, her mind reeling from how loud the ork captain was.
Listen ‘ere ya ganks, what the fugg didja do to me? I ain’t seein’ shit ‘ere. Why ain’t I movin’? Where’s mah fuggen’ body? Where’s mah fuggen’ ship? Where the fugg am I?
Oh bro, you forgot to disconnect the comm-thread when you pulled him in, didn’t you? Hank laughed almost maniacally. You never cease to amaze.
Aww, shit! Hold on, let me check. Kevin said, then went quiet.
Krissintha was about to demand a proper explanation — this talk of comm-threads and Hank finding Kevin entertaining answered nothing as to what had happened to the poor ork. And she couldn’t believe she was beginning to feel sorry for the green bastard for having to endure the fumbling of not one but two Tentacle Horrors. Then again, Raagstrom Raagh, the captain of The Raagh’s Uncontested Might, seemed to be alive or thereabouts, and that was something she could report to Master Fenirig Arte. Or Fenirig Arla.
The captain of the Furious Fist just stepped off the plank and onto the deck of the galley, glaring at Krissintha as if she was holding her responsible for every single piece of misfortune in the world. For the first time, she was happy Kevin had insisted on the masks — she could pretend she didn’t see the woman, and no-one would notice she was looking away on purpose. On the other side of the deck, striding on a similar plank, Captain Rimarle Alas of the Righteous Wrath arrived, followed by some of his officers, and of course the ugly-cute dog, Fifi, in his arms.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
***
‘Hm. Adequate,’ Captain Fenirig Arla stated, looking like she was more impressed by the dirt on her boots than Krissintha’s performance.
Adequate? The nerves on this woman! Kevin growled angrily.
We should eat her. Hank suggested, his thought-voice deep and dark.
‘Not bad, not bad,’ Rimarle Alas said, while stroking the head of his pug. ‘I lost five marines. It’s sad, but I’d expected worse. Much worse.’
‘I lost three,’ Captain Fenar murmured menacingly, still glaring at Krissintha as if implying that the losses were her fault somehow.
She hadn’t seen how those marines died, and sure, it was sad, but there was no way she’d take any blame for it. She straightened herself, looked the captain in the eyes as much as it was possible to do so with the mask on, and said,
‘We did what we needed to do, and we did it well, captain. So did your marines. That’s all there’s to it.’
‘Hm. Well said.’ The woman nodded, the expression on her face morphing from furious to simply annoyed. She glanced around at the corpses scattered near them. ‘Which one of these fuckers was the captain of this floating piece of shit? I was under the impression you were going to capture the bastard alive and provide some extra intelligence.’
‘Oh, was that the plan?’ Captain Rimarle Alas said, sounding — or perhaps pretending — to be surprised. ‘I thought it was weird that some masked fellows were running up and down here.’
You guys were shooting at us, pugface! Kevin screeched at the man. Luckily, he couldn’t hear the spirit.
We should eat him. And his dog. Hank suggested. Unsurprisingly.
Who eatin’ who? Whadda fugg’s going’ on ya ganks? Raagstrom Raagh — or maybe just his soul — demanded explanations.
It was getting crowded in her head, and Krissintha did her best to ignore the loud voices.
‘I’ve got the barbarian captain,’ she stated confidently. Perhaps because the fight against the green brutes was still a fresh, minute-old memory, or perhaps because of something else, she found the captain of the Furious Fist a lot less intimidating than before. ‘We can interrogate him at your convenience.’
‘Where is he then?’ The captain raised her eyebrows.
Uh. Kevin? Time for an explanation, if you don’t mind. She called on her familiar.
Well, so, I pulled him into two of my storage rooms. His body is in Jack’s Room, right next to some deer carcasses. His soul is squished between my new Soul Shields in my Spirit Room, but I forgot to take out the new comm-threads from his soul, so it basically went through the Black Essence Portal along with him and is still attached. Imagine that. I didn’t know this could happen, and the guy’s soul is still conscious, and he just won’t shut up. Heh, he probably thinks he’s in hell or something. Anyway, I think I can put his soul back into his body, just like I did with that stupid guy’s pug, and …’ Kevin’s lengthy and mostly indecipherable explanation came.
Fuggen shit! I’m in Hell? Get me outa ‘ere or I’ll smash yer heads, ya ganks! Raagstrom Raagh demanded.
Hahahahahahahhaaaa! Hank laughed.
Krissintha had no choice but to take parts of Kevin’s account of things and put something coherent together for Fenirig Arla.
‘My familiar took him to Hell and is holding onto him there … for safekeeping. He can bring him back, and we’ll be able to talk to him,’ she presented the answer she thought would be easy to understand, and probably close enough to the truth.
‘Your familiar can drag people to Hell?’ Captain Rimarle Alas asked, taking half a step away from Krissintha and Kiwa. Even Captain Fenar looked like she was having second thoughts about … something.
Krissintha enjoyed the moment while it lasted — it wasn’t every day that one of the Fenars showed any surprise or hesitation.
‘Yes, well, he’s a nice familiar, but sometimes he has the tendencies of an evil spirit. Especially when he’s angry,’ she explained, grinning under her mask.
‘I can’t believe my father chose to associate with someone like you,’ Fenirig Arla muttered, shaking her head, then sighed. ‘Very well, we’ll interrogate the barbarian later, be ready to bring him back when I call you.’
You will be able to bring the ork back, right? Krissintha asked.
Should be able to. Never done this before, but I think it will work. Kevin replied.
‘We’re ready whenever you are.’ Krissintha nodded.
‘Hm. Good.’ The captain nodded as well. ‘Now, we need to start clearing out the cabins and the decks below. Who knows how many of the green fucks are hiding down there. Feel free to participate.’
Ohoho, more food for us, and my dear Tilry’s looking hungry. Hank cheered.
***
It seemed the rangers — by orders of the captains of their respective ships — had all stayed behind, and it was the marines who had the privilege to systematically go through the entire galley, find any orks that might be hiding in the dark corners down below, and to deal with them. But Captain Fenirig Arla was the generous sort, expressed her desire to let Krissy take a crack at it first, then walked away to deal with something else.
It wasn’t hard work, much to Kiwa’s dismay, who still seemed to be in a mood to fight. All Krissintha had to do was to walk from one end of the quarterdeck to the other, aft to bow, and Kevin’s long and invisible tentacles did the rest. That’s what clearing the rowers’ deck looked like. She wasn’t surprised that the marines escorting them couldn’t keep their nervousness off their faces. The rangers — especially the ones that had taken part in the anti-evil-spirit exercise — were aware that Kevin had abilities normal familiars didn’t, but it must have been disconcerting for the marines to hear the screams of the people down in the rowers’ deck, the rattling of chains as slaves tried to free themselves and flee, and the roaring orks falling silent one after another.
Krissintha had seen the results of Kevin’s so called “levelling”. Some might have used the word “hell” to describe it, and while she did think the word was a little strong, she wasn’t looking forward to going down to the rowers’ deck and witness the process. Hearing the conversation between the three spirits was more than enough: “getting full”, “reaching Level 35”, “longer tentacles and faster Essence collection”, “Tilry reaching Level 6 or Level 21 depending on point of view”, and other such things. The growth of spirits was a costly thing, and she was glad Kevin was responsible enough to have their enemies pay it. Had it been just Hank, the world might not have been so lucky. Then again, Hank was kind of Kevin’s fault, so … well, it was best to not think about it too much, because if she did, she might not like some of the conclusions she’d inevitably come to.
Slowly but surely she reached the last hatch near the bow, and she could already smell the stench of sweat and piss steaming up from below, bringing with it the memories of the Graal’s Enormous Pride and the events that had taken place there. She wished she was somewhere else, but wishes were of no use here. She glanced around; only Kitala Iwani seemed eager to descend into the bowels of the galley, but she was waiting for her to go first. And first she would go.
‘Oh hell,’ she muttered just to herself, and stepped onto the ladder.