They were on their third bottle, the potent liquor flowing freely.
"Do you know any songs?" Immanuel suddenly burst out, springing energetically from the couch.
"We have a war song," Zach replied, taking a hefty swig. "It's more of a howl than a song, really."
"Follow my lead. I'll translate a drinking song for us."
He guided them to stand before the window, linking arms with Syl and grasping Zach's hand firmly.
"...What shall we do with a drunken sailor, what shall we do with a drunken sailor, what shall we do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning!" Immanuel bellowed.
After a few attempts, they found their rhythm, bouncing and belting out the lyrics with drunken joy.
"Shave his belly with a rusty razor, shave his belly with a rusty razor!" Immanuel started and they followed.
As they drank and danced, Syl chimed in with her own line, "Tie him to the mast and leave him 'til he's sober!"
Their singing continued, boisterous and lively, until Zach contributed, "Crown him with seaweed and parade him all day!" They stumbled over fitting the words to the tune, dissolving into fits of laughter, collapsing in a heap, entangled and breathless.
Laughing, they lay sprawled on the floor.
"My mother would offer me a glass of wine to help me sleep.” Syl started after a moment, “I remember once, after a fight with my brother, my father handed me his glass. I drank it, more to avoid a beating than anything. It burned! I was drunk within moments."
"No way!" Immanuel chuckled. "He gave you booze for punishment? That's insane."
"I was ill all the next day," Syl laughed.
"Zach, do you still have family in the city or the sect?" Immanuel inquired.
"In the city, yes. We were shop holders until my abilities as a cultivator were discovered. I was then sold to another family, under the assumption I'd be sent to the Green Spire, but instead, I ended up in the sect," Zach shared, taking another drink before resting his head on Immanuel's stomach, who in turn lay on Syl's. Immanuel gently stroked Zach's hair, mimicking the soothing gesture Syl was doing to him.
"The early days in the sect were good. I worked in the Shop from a young age, always working...
“…The pact…”
“…was close-knit, and after my transformation, I was a devoted member," Zach reminisced, taking a gulp and belching.
"But things changed when I stopped growing. I was gradually pushed away from the huddle."
"The huddle?" Immanuel queried.
"How we sleep," Zach clarified, his voice softening. "We used to sleep together, but then they began biting me…"
"...Training turned brutal. I nearly died several times before attempting to leave, and that's when my situation worsened. Leaving the pact is the worst thing you can do. It's seen as a betrayal"
Immanuel interjected, disbelief evident in his tone, "They nearly kill and bite you, yet you're the bad one for leaving?"
"Loyalty was ours," Zach stated firmly, letting the red bottle slip from his grasp, watching it roll away.
"No biting in our huddle, that's for sure. But Zach, have you never desired a deeper, more intimate connection with someone?" Immanuel probed gently.
"Intimate?" Zach echoed..
"Oh, Zach, there's a world of experiences out there," Syl interjected dreamily, playfully tugging at Immanuel's earlobe.
"That's repulsive," Zach declared flatly.
‘He really stopped developing pre-puberty.’ Immanuel thought.
"Immanuel."
"Zach."
"Is it possible to initiate my stage 4 evolution using the cores we have?"
"Absolutely! We must use every resource! Why haven't you started already?"
"I did not trust you and didn't want to be indebted. But I'll begin tomorrow," Zach resolved, closing his eyes.
Immanuel savored Syl's gentle strokes, eventually drifting into a peaceful slumber alongside his companions.
-------
Immanuel awoke in his own bed, he smiled by the thought of Syl having carried him there. He couldn't help but smile at the idea, feeling a rush of excitement. "It's actually quite liberating that we’re almost always naked on the ship," he reflected while bounding onto the deck. To his surprise, the bridge was deserted.
“We are going to crash one day.” He sighed.
"Wonder where everyone is? We could be heading straight for disaster," he muttered, pausing at the threshold to survey the tranquil sea ahead. Curious, he headed towards the rear cabins.
There, he discovered Syl in one of the rooms, with Lycan Zach resting on the bed.
"Need any help?" he offered, noticing the array of bottles surrounding Syl on the floor, where she was engrossed in some concoction.
"It's under control," Syl replied, her focus unwavering. "Just running some tests."
"I've got plenty of cores, stage 4 and some late stage 3 ones, stolen from the blue dome. I'll leave them here," Immanuel announced, beginning to unload his hoard, including those unused from the Chimera. Being at an early-middle stage 4 himself, he withheld the late stage 4 core and everything above.
"Thanks," Zach murmured softly.
“We do need to get some stage 4 cores so I can start growing again.” Immanuel added wistfully.
After depositing the cores, Immanuel returned to the deck, immersing himself in the fluid motions of his sword forms, the rhythm of his practice echoing softly in the morning air.
-------
As Syl and Zach dedicated themselves to Zach's evolution, Immanuel periodically checked in on them. He noticed Syl alternating between her study and Zach's side, meticulously aiding in the process. Despite Zach's bloodline enhancement, his ability to assimilate cores hadn't improved significantly.
Among Immanuel's collection, however, was a peculiar golden core that caught Zach's interest, a core that seemed to resonate uniquely with him.
Meanwhile, Immanuel, seeking to deepen his understanding of their world, settled into the captain's chair with a selection of books. He found the reading arduous and convoluted. "You have to wade through pages, sometimes entire chapters, to unearth a single useful fact." The lack of punctuation and the dense, continuous script made the task even more challenging.
Frustrated, he eventually set aside the book on aspect creation, finding it of little practical use. "You'd think with paper being such a luxury, they'd focus on writing something genuinely insightful, rather than just puffing up their own importance," he thought.
Overcome by a mixture of fatigue from his time alone on the bridge, and boredom, Immanuel eventually drifted off to sleep in the captain's chair, the book lying forgotten beside him.
-------
After a prolonged period of intensive evolution, Zach finally reappeared on the bridge, looking somewhat stiff but bearing a youthful smile.
"Those cores you collected were really something," he remarked cheerfully.
Immanuel, glad to see him back in action, inquired, "So, did you gain any unique abilities?"
Zach approached and, with the ease of familiarity, settled onto Immanuel's lap, leaning against his chest. "I did," he confirmed.
"And what might that be?"
Zach took a deep breath, and as he exhaled, a wisp of smoke escaped his mouth, causing him to cough slightly.
"A fire-breathing skill?" Immanuel guessed.
"Not exactly. It's more encompassing—a fire aspect. It was tough and painful, but Syl was incredible. She guided me through it all. My entire core has evolved. It'll be a while before I can fully harness it."
"That's remarkable, especially to develop an aspect at stage 4."
He thought about it for a moment.
"It seems unusual. The more we explore the world, the more I realize how limited our knowledge was within the sects," Zach said, gesturing expansively.
"Yeah, I've been trying to make sense of the books we took, but they haven't been much help," Immanuel added.
Can we go flying later?" Zach asked.
“Certainly!”
-------
High in the air, Immanuel's sharp eyes caught a tiny speck in the distance. He tried screeching to get Zach’s attention on it but was unable explain his intent.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Upon landing, they adjusted their course towards the object. As they drew closer, they identified it as a small, weathered wooden fishing boat with numerous lines cast into the sea. The vessel, marked by signs of wear, had a crew of men and women and a modest sail, currently lowered.
"Hello!" Immanuel called out, standing atop the upper deck.
"Nasssa!" came the shouted response from one of the fishermen.
"Can't place that language," Immanuel muttered.
"Say something else!" he called down again.
"Nassa!" the reply echoed, unchanged.
Immanuel descended to the bridge, where Syl was positioned in the captain's chair.
"We should stick to our course, see if there's land nearby. A boat that small can't be far from shore," she suggested.
Soon enough, they sighted land. Nestled between two colossal mountains that dipped into the sea, a city sprawled along the coastline. The surrounding waters teemed with boats, especially concentrated around several areas. They observed the scene from the bridge in silence.
"Zach, can you secure all the hatches and the rear door?" Syl instructed. Zach nodded and walked off to fulfill the task.
"Imm," Syl said, turning to face him. She looked back, an expression of uncertainty flickering in her eyes.
"I'm not sure what we're heading into. We have a ship and cargo of immense value. If it comes to it..." She paused, meeting his gaze directly, "...be ready to fight, and strike to kill."
Immanuel acknowledged her words with a nod, feeling a pang in his stomach.
Zach reappeared, handing Immanuel a pair of large keys.
"Store your weapon," Zach instructed Immanuel. "We're posing as a merchant family. When we disembark, hold my hand. Only summon your sword if a fight is unavoidable."
Immanuel gave Zach a surprised look, impressed by his foresight.
As Syl steered the ship towards a bustling hub of activity, docks became visible.
"Can you lower the sails?" she asked them.
Immanuel and Zach efficiently worked together to take down the sails.
Returning to the bridge, they noticed the ship already slowed considerably.
"We'll anchor when we've lost enough speed, then take the speedboat and use the rudders," Syl planned aloud. “I don't know if they have core drive tech here.”
The city was now in full view, nestled deeply between the mountain ranges. It was a tapestry of low-rise, brown buildings with flat roofs stretching far and wide. As the ship continued to decelerate, Syl moved to release the anchor.
Immanuel couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. The prospect of exploring inns, enjoying good food, and shopping was thrilling. With their cargo, they had enough to live comfortably, perhaps even luxuriously. He pondered the possibility of universities where he could indulge in reading, navigation, and cartography.
The metallic sound of the anchor being released and its splash into the water pulled him from his thoughts. Syl returned shortly after.
They strode out, lowering the speedboat with deliberate caution. Zach had meticulously restored a robe for Immanuel and himself, while Syl donned her unique, intricately designed robe.
They didn't leap into the boat, but instead descended with care, using a rope, wary of unseen watchers.
Rowing steadily towards the docks, they navigated towards a rugged stone outcropping jutting from the water, where they secured their boat. The other people, steering small, agile fishing boats, maintained their distance. They were clad in hues of light brown, their attire simple yet functional - coarse skirts and unbuttoned jackets. Some adorned themselves with colorful shawls draped over their heads and necks.
After securing their boat at the dock, they proceeded towards the city.
Halfway through the pier a group of more than a dozen fighters clad in brown, led by a strikingly handsome man and woman, approached them.
"Left with white skirt, stage 3; right one, stage 2," Syl murmured, her voice a hushed whisper. "You handle the three, Zach the two. I'll take the rest."
Immanuel glanced at Syl, his brow furrowing in confusion, but he quickly composed his expression. 'How does she know and why would we fight?' he wondered silently, instinctively reaching for his sword before realizing he had placed it in storage.
"Slaane das," commanded the stage 3 cultivator authoritatively, halting the group.
The leaders took two steps towards them.
"The squad, possibly all mortals," Syl whispered, her voice barely audible.
The man had black hair tied in a sleek ponytail addressed them.
“Sccat naaas complte.”
"I recognize some words. It's remotely related to a language I know, but I can't decipher it fully," Immanuel said.
“Banat!” Ponytail yelled.
"We don't understand," Immanuel responded louder, bowing slightly after a moment's hesitation.
The stage 2 woman, her black hair in a tail that went up from the crown of her head, like a palm tree repeated the command.
“Banat!”
"We don't understand," Immanuel repeated.
Stage 3 ponytail spoke again, and the squad behind him parted, creating a wide gap. With a brisk gesture, he signaled. Immanuel exchanged a look with Syl, who stepped forward confidently. Zach, feigning timidity, clutched her hand, his eyes wide. 'He's playing his part perfectly,' Immanuel noted internally.
After bypassing the squad, the two leaders took the lead, guiding them through the bustling city streets. The stone buildings, never rising above two stories, were impeccably maintained, their flat roofs serving as terraces where people also stood.
As they ventured deeper into the city, vibrant market stalls dotted the pathways, the locals gave them a wide berth.
Reaching a crossroads, the two leaders paused to deliberate, Immanuel thought he could discern words like 'prison' or 'station', though he couldn't be certain. They then veered left into a broader avenue, where somber-faced men and women pulled carriages with produce or other people, their expressions weary. Side alleys revealed people sprawled in the shadows, seeking respite from the relentless suns.
Their journey led them to a formidable wall, where guards, after a brief exchange, opened the gates. The squad that had followed them halted at the entrance. Syl lifted Zach, supporting him under his bottom as he wrapped his arms around her neck, peeking over her shoulder at their surroundings.
They traversed a meticulously kept garden, ascending a short flight of stairs into a narrow hallway, then turned left into an opulent throne room through open double doors.
The room buzzed with colorfully attired nobles, their attention centered on a grand table laden with food. At the wall opposite the entrance sat a man on an ornate throne, its gaudy design outshining the surrounding splendor, complete with an ostentatious high back in a lush red color.
Guards flanked the doorway and stood vigil beside the throne, where the man – a king, regent, or figure of similar stature – presided. A woman clad in black, her posture rigid and a spear in hand, stood close to the throne, exuding an air of authority.
As they entered, every eye in the room shifted to them, their expressions a mosaic of intrigue, suspicion, and curiosity.
----
Zach, as a small boy, clumsily dismounted from Syl. His feet were awkwardly angled inward, and his eyes, filled with anxiety, darted around the room, only occasionally meeting the others.
“Immanuel-” Syl began, her voice laced with concern.
The man on the throne erupted in their strange languages, his voice booming with authority. “Verrkda Lomnil!”
The guard with the ponytail standing rigid, responded in the same tongue, “Klindra.”
“Immanuel, if they separate us-” Syl tried to continue, but her words were cut short.
Ponytail abruptly raised his hand and delivered a harsh slap across Syl's face. The sound of the impact resonated through the room.
As she recoiled from the blow Syl locked eyes with Immanuel and a sword materialized in his hand. His eyes lid up with a golden fire, reminiscent of a sun bursting back to life after a long eclipse. With a fluid motion, Immanuel unsheathed his sword. The blade, shimmering with a golden aura that mirrored the fire in his eyes, sliced through the air with lethal precision.
The woman with the palm tree on her head, still smirking at Syl's plight, barely registered the danger. Immanuel's sword met the guard's neck. The guard's eyes widened in shock, a split second too late, as her head parted from her body in a grotesque ballet.
Zach sprang into action. The timid looking boy jumped towards two guards and mid air changed into a ferocious beast. His hands morphed into deadly claws, his teeth into menacing fangs, as he pounced on the distracted guards.
Simultaneously, Syl, recovering from the blow, executed a flawless cartwheel, landing on her feet with the poise of a seasoned acrobat. Her hands, now elongated into sharp, knife-like extensions, plunged into ponytail’s eyes.
As Immanuel's sword completed its deadly arc, the head of the guard followed a tragic trajectory, separate from her body, marking a final, gruesome moment in her life.
Chaos erupted throughout the room, a storm of movement and screams.
Syl yelled, “Stage 5 on Immanuel!”
The woman in black, who had stood near the king just moments before, was now lunging at Immanuel with a spear, her movements a blur of deadly intent.
The simple, yet lethal thrust of her spear aimed at his neck was enough for Immanuel to realize he was completely outmatched.
‘The tyranny of rank.’ Flashed through his mind.
He activated focus. The world slowed to a crawl.
He swiftly repositioned himself, opting for the shortest route to evade. He realized the mass of his sword was a disadvantage now. With a swift movement of his free hand, he deflected the spear's wooden shaft, veering it slightly off its deadly trajectory.
His maneuver succeeded, but only just – the spear grazed his neck, drawing blood.
As he stumbled backward, the spearwoman, with astonishing speed even in this slowed-down world, redirected her attack toward his neck again.
Simultaneously, Syl was a whirlwind of action. She leapt towards the banquet table, vaulting over the lavish spread. Nobles around her either cowered in fear or fled towards the doors. In mid-air, Syl transformed into her King Cobra form, her arms extending into lethal blades. She struck two colorful nobles squarely in the eyes.
As the spear came for his neck Immanuel attempted to flash yet failed. He hit the floor hard as the spearwoman's weapon sliced partially through his neck as she already charged towards the nobles and the king.
Syl, meanwhile, was a force of destruction, slashing through anyone in her path as she barreled towards the king. But just as she neared her target the stage 5 spear wielder intercepted her. Zach who was also dashing for the king, lunged at her back as she attacked Syl.
Immanuel sprang up, trying to 'flash' to the fight's epicenter. However, instead of appearing next to the spearwoman, he found himself materializing behind them, and catapulted violently toward the wall above the king. Crashing into it, he spotted a red aura emanating from the spearwoman.
As she glanced up, her eyes widened in surprise. Immanuel, seizing the moment, flashed again, this time landing beside the king. The spearwoman, with astonishing agility, blocked Syl's blades with one flat hand while simultaneously thrusting at Zach, who was in mid-air.
Zach's wings unfurled, lifting him just above her thrust. He seized the spear, using his upward momentum to pull it. In a fluid motion, she flipped Zach over her head, sending him crashing into Syl.
Immanuel positioned his sword at the king's throat as Syl bit down towards the spearwomans’ neck, narrowly avoiding Zach. The woman's red aura flared again.
As Immanuel's vision adjusted to the sudden burst of energy, he realized the spearwoman was now upon him, her spear aimed with deadly precision.
Immanuel quickly adjusted his sword to parry the oncoming attack. Zach and Syl were fast approaching from behind, but the spearwoman's weapon was faster. It darted past Immanuel's sword, piercing his chest. Syl's blades, reminiscent of a praying mantis, lunged towards the spearwoman's back. But in a sudden surge of red energy, the spearwoman vanished, sprinting towards the open doors.
Immanuel collapsed, gasping for air. Pain seared through him, but he knew he would survive; his internal healing powers were already at work.
The room, now eerily quiet except for the shallow, rapid breathing of the king, was a tableau of destruction. Bodies lay scattered or in pieces, the rest had fled in the chaos of battle.
Syl, reverting to her human form, leaned over Immanuel. Between his labored breaths, Immanuel managed to speak. “Give… Me… A … Moment…is …. Healing.”
Syl, her expression a mix of concern and urgency, pressed her face against him for a fleeting moment before she moved to the king, throwing him roughly toward the exit.
“We need to move towards the ship now,” Syl urged. "The wind favors us, blowing inland. Without a core drive, we'll easily outpace them."
Immanuel remained on the ground, gathering strength, feeling his healing mend the grievous wound. His chest was a mess, blood soaking his clothes. Pushing through the pain, he stood and made his way towards the exit.
The king, now stripped of his earlier authoritative demeanor, uttered something unintelligible. His words sounded more like a desperate prayer than a command.
They ignored his pleas, focusing on their escape. Zach and Syl cautiously peered into the hallway, alert for any further dangers or surprises that might await them.