“I don’t like crowds,” Rhyne complained, donning the eyepatch Riley had brought. “You know, I kinda feel sick. Maybe I shouldn’t do this.”

“Chickening out now?” Riley laughed. “Come on, you like getting attention.”

“Not like this! Your power is hacks. And then there’s Demund.”

Demund looked up. “Huh?”

“I guess you’re used to being in front of people,” Rhyne sighed, twiddling his thumbs. “Why am I even here? Just to suffer?”

“You’re overreacting,” Demund grinned, patting his friend on the shoulder. “Come on, it won’t be much. Go up there and pose with me, roleplay, and win some games.”

“Yeah, roleplay. We did not practice a single second for that. What am I going to be? The eyepatch man?”

“And I will be the intelligent officer who left his country due to corruption to join the captain in a journey of freedom and adventure,” Riley said, adjusting his mustache. “Is this okay?”

“It looks good.”

“Guys, what do I do?” Rhyne pleaded. “Should I roll up my sleeves? Pirates do that, right?”

“Honestly, you can do whatever,” Demund said. “I don’t think we’re going to win anyway. From what I’ve heard, some groups have been preparing for weeks.”

“Then what are we doing here?”

“For fun, of course!”

They all turned to look at the president who’d entered the costume room. “Looking good! I knew this was a great idea. Wait, Sergeant Peppermint—you traitor!”

Demund caught the president’s parrot after it flew to him without hesitation. “Sorry about that,” he grinned, placing the bird on his shoulder. “Do you want him back?”

“It’s okay. I came here to drop him off anyway,” the president replied. “Hmm, I should apologize beforehand. Some of the games might be better with more people on your team, and you have…two crewmates?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fine. Actually, that might be perfect. So, do you like the costume?”

Demund had been given a tattered yet ornate coat with a hat plumed with dark feathers. The wooden peg leg was uncomfortable since it was originally meant for the knee, but he could manage. His inner shirt was stained as if he’d been in a battle recently with bullet holes here and there. The pants were similar, though darker.

“It’s great,” Demund thanked. “It’s like I came out of a ghost ship.”

“Indeed! You are the dark horse of this competition,” the president told him. “Well, no pressure. Just enjoy it.”

“Yeah, Rhyne. Just enjoy it,” Riley nudged. “Wipe that awkward smile off your face.”

“Easy for you to say. I look like a monkey trainer.”

“You picked the clothes.”

“I regret it.”

“I think you’ll look better if you put on a bandana,” the president suggested. “Try a red one. Relax, you guys look great. Well, let’s go now. It’s in twenty minutes.”

They followed the president out of the room towards the back of the stage that had been set up in the gym. Many groups were there, and Demund recognized some instantly the moment he entered.

“The guys in black will direct you guys, so stay here for now,” the president told them. “I’ll see you on stage. Take care of Peppermint for me, will ya?”

The president left, and Demund turned to his friends.

“Edan is here,” he said in a low voice.

“What!” Rhyne exclaimed, almost too loudly.

“I saw him too,” Riley said. “He’s in the corner with his group.”

“Time to wreck him,” Rhyne stated, cracking his knuckles.

“Davis is there too.”

“Oh.”

Of course he was. And dressed like a slave too, with shackles on his wrists and ankles, hunched over in the dark. Demund’s mind raced through the possible encounters that would result from the situation.

“You alright with this?”

“It’s them who should fear us,” Demund declared, straightening his back. “Today, we sail with death and destruction.”

“Yoooo!” said his friends at the same time. “You can change your voice?”

“A little,” Demund grinned. “Does it sound weird?”

“Dude, you gotta teach me,” Rhyne insisted. “Is it magic again?”

“A little.”

“And here I remember you saying that your power was useless a year ago.”

“It kind of was. I didn’t know how to move my mana back then,” Demund admitted. He’d have to teach his friends how to circulate someday.

Rhyne sighed. “So many things to learn.”

“Same, dude. Same,” Demund agreed.

They were soon led by the staff towards the back as the other groups lined up in front of them. Demund thought that he made eye contact with Edan, but the upperclassman didn’t particularly react, though he saw Davis get pushed along a little forcefully. As much as he wanted to stay away from that group, it wasn’t a huge school. He just hoped that nothing too horrible would happen.

“Everyone is so energetic,” Riley whispered, hearing the other groups from beyond the curtains. “What are we going to do for our introduction?”

“Er, cross your arms and look cool?” Demund said.

“I’m going to do a backflip,” Rhyne stated. “I’m the monkey man now.”

“Ha, you’re fitting right in.”

“Please stand close by! It’s almost your turn,” the staff member told them as a familiar voice began to talk about an unexpected guest who had appeared like a ghost ship from the misty seas.

“And laaaaast but not least, the individual who is always full of surprises! The man! The myth! The LEGEND! The true pirate of the turbulent waves with the best parrot in existence! CAPTAIN BLAAAANNNER!!”

“Wow,” Rhyne muttered.

“Excessive,” Riley agreed.

“I feel sick,” Demund coughed. “Alright, here we go!”

They stormed out onto the bright stage as the crowd cheered and hollered, though, a little quieter than the other groups. But the whole place was in a festive mood; Demund could feel himself become filled with thrill. Hundreds of eyes were staring at him as he marched to the mike while Sergeant Peppermint squawked in alarm.

Easy, easy, he soothed the parrot. What had the president been thinking, bringing such a frightened bird to this place? But it was too late to turn back.

“Greetings!” he said deeply into the microphone, glancing at his friends. Riley looked fine. Rhyne was grinning chaotically.

“I come from the deepest depths of the ocean to claim my prize. With the sorcery of the deadly waters, I shall dominate! Behold!”

Those acting lessons with Shpiel were coming in handy. Spreading out his hands, he made his palms glow with blue light. It wasn’t anything special but the crowd still cheered for them.

Demund looked at Rhyne who mouthed, ‘Now?’ Demund nodded.

So Rhyne did a backflip, and the crowd roared once again. Demund placed his mouth before the mike and spoke again.

“Hello, I’m Demund from the Magic Club. This is Riley and Rhyne. Let’s have a great time!”

“Wow, Demund!” the president said, walking up to him. “How did you change your voice?”

Demund smiled. “It’s a little trick.”

“And who’s that on your shoulder?”

“Sergeant Peppermint?”

“Yes, the best parrot in the world!” the president declared. “Everyone! The Magic Club!”

The crowd cheered once again. By now, after hearing everyone else’s introductions, Demund knew that most of the groups were representing their clubs. He’d followed their example and thrown his club name out there, but now he wondered if it had been a good idea. He didn’t particularly want more members.

“All of the captains have gathered!” the president declared. “It’s time for the grand costume contest!”

Demund stepped forward along with all the other captains, including Edan. This time, their eyes met for sure. Edan scowled ever so slightly, looking back into the crowd.

Demund wished that everything would end quickly. Why had he agreed to this in the first place?

“Remember, appearance only! Cast your votes, everyone!”

“Um, are animals allowed?” one of the contestants asked.

“But of course!” the president nodded.

Apparently, no one had been aware of that. So there Demund stood, the only person with a parrot on his shoulder and a genuine wooden peg for a leg. His makeup was thick as well, making him and his friends look like sea-hardened veterans. The vice-president was great with her hands.

The votes were cast electronically, so the results were out in an instant.

“And we have a winner!” the president said. “Tell us what you feel.”

“I’m glad everyone likes the costume,” Edan smiled.

The guy’s costume was beautiful, coated in gold and embroidered with silver. He had ornate pistols on his side with boots of shiny leather. Intricate designs were everywhere, though not excessively as to make his attire look foolish. And perhaps most of all, he was tall and handsome. And to those who liked partying, he was their benefactor.

If it hadn’t been for that incident with Davis, what would their relationship have looked like?

Now, all Demund could think of was Edan’s cold glare.

“A pirate must have class and cunning,” Edan smiled, bowing slightly. “Gone are the days of savages leeching off other people’s wealth. With true power, my crew will claim victory!”

“Wow, very nice. Thank you, Captain Krilger,” the president congratulated bluntly. “And second place—Captain Blanner!”

Demund’s leg was loud against the hard floor. He took the mike and did a royal bow—something he’d learned from Prince Boren. One hand in front, one at the back, curling into a fist. Looking at Edan’s proud face, there were many things he wanted to say.

“Perhaps I am a savage,” he said, bringing the parrot to his hand. “I am a foreigner in these parts. But we are free in spirit. We sail for adventure! The seas are not ruled by anyone. We are like the sea. Unshackled and unquelled, we, the true residents of the ocean will claim our prize!”

“Yes! The seas signify freedom!” the president agreed. “By the way, your costume looks amazing. A wooden peg leg with a parrot? You look like a real pirate!”

“Who is to say that I am not?” Demund said. “What do you say?”

“Pir-ut! Pir-ut!” the parrot squawked.

“He can talk?”

Demund grinned. The parrot had been smart enough to follow his request, though it had confused ‘parrot’ with ‘pirate.’ But it was close enough. “I guess he can,” he replied, much to the president’s surprise.

“Well, well, I never knew. Anyways, please give a round of applause for Demund!”

The rest of the winners were announced, though Demund didn’t pay much attention to them. He was keeping his circulation to a minimum. Because now he knew he’d done something very bad.

He’d screwed up. The connection with the parrot was eating far more mana than he’d expected. The Jakhar Kishaks had always emphasized the importance of learning what the animals liked. Their gift should be used to initiate and learn, and afterwards, a bond could be maintained without using magic at all.

He had none of that with Sergeant Peppermint. The moment he let his magic go, the bird would fly away.

The president was already announcing the next event. There was no room to butt in. Still, he wasn’t exhausted yet. He could probably maintain it for an hour or so.

“Rhyne, if the parrot runs away, could you catch it?” he asked his friend.

“I could. Why?”

“I might run out of juice.”

“Now?”

“Not yet. I’ll let you know.”

“Hmm. Okay.”

“And what better way to test one’s competency than through pistol shooting!” the president declared. “Bring out the melons!”

The melons, in reality, were made out of paper. The pistols were none other than plastic ones that shot plastic balls, though they had been modified to look like a pirate’s weapon. Each of the teams was handed one, and the captains were brought out to determine the order.

“Now then, choose a representative from your crew!” the president instructed. “Who will be hailed as the sharpest eye of the sea?”

“You should go,” Riley told Rhyne. “You’re good at shooting.”

“In games! Not in real life.”

“I’ll go,” Demund volunteered. “I have a feeling that this will be the least physical. Is that alright?”

“You good at shooting?”

Demund took his parrot and passed it to Rhyne, who held it tightly in his hands.

“You’ll see,” Demund grinned. “I’ll be back before he goes berserk. Oh, and first time shooting!”

“What?!” his friends shouted as he held the pistol and headed towards the front.

Focus. Focus, Demund.

With the parrot gone, he could afford to use his mana elsewhere. He inspected the gun, feeling it within his fingers.

“Group one, line up!”

Demund was in the final group, so he stayed behind with the other captains, waiting his turn. While the cheers erupted in the room, he heard someone walk move beside him.

“Hey, Demund.”

“Juvel.”

He was one of Edan’s closest friends. While Demund didn’t particularly have ill feelings towards the dark-skinned athlete, him being Edan’s friend was enough to make him cautious.

“Sorry, but you’ll have to give us this one,” Juvel smiled, twirling his pistol. “No hard feelings, yeah? Let’s put the past behind us.”

“I’m quite the shot myself,” Demund disagreed. “So yes, no hard feelings.”

“You are? We should go shooting sometime then! I know some good ranges.”

“Aren’t they expensive?”

“Ah, no.”

They were, to Demund’s knowledge. But Juvel was similar to Edan. “Edan wouldn’t like it if you hung out with me,” he said.

“Edan? He wouldn’t care. Though you gotta clear up the misunderstanding with him. It was pretty rude, what you did.”

“Was it my fault?”

“I think you overthought things. We’re not like that.”

Demund recalled the scene in the bathroom. The talk about money, payment, and the violence.

“Are you sure Edan isn’t like that?”

Juvel’s smile faded. “I don’t like talking behind people’s backs. Let’s have a fun competition, yeah?”

“...yeah.”

The sickly feeling had formed in his stomach again. In these moments, the best solution was simply not to care. But he’d told himself that he wouldn’t be numb. That he would have fun. Did it apply to this world as well?

Maybe the trick was to focus on the good things.

Demund took in a deep breath and watched Juvel’s performance against two other guys. The distance was quite long, and only one arm was allowed for shooting. But Juvel’s arm was steady and elegant. With each crack, all but two out of ten bullets found their mark. So far, the others had averaged four or five.

“Let’s see how well you do,” Juvel winked, patting Demund on the shoulder as he returned amidst thunderous applause. “These plastic bullets aren’t very reliable.”

“That was amazing.”

“I’m confident in my aim.”

It was now Demund’s turn. The lights were bright in his eyes, but his mind was calm now. He stood with three others and faced the paper melons, pistol in hand. His arm felt surprisingly heavy with the coat.

“And now, we have our last group! Aim—and fire!”

All of the bullets missed, leaving the four melons unscathed. The crowd booed. Demund glanced over at his friends. They were booing and laughing as well.

Demund reloaded his pistol. He’d missed—but now he knew the gun.

They aimed again and fired. This time, Demund’s melon crumpled, along with one other.

“Yes! Go Demund!” he heard his friends shout. He reloaded his next bullet.

And fired.

A hit.

And fired.

A hit again.

Another shot.

The melons stood no chance.

Juvel was right—the bullets were unreliable. But with the smallest amount of magic, he could adjust those inconsistencies. He created a thin pathway in which the bullet would travel. As long as his aim was good, the bullet would follow that path, reaching its mark.

“Unbelievable! Seven shots in a row!” the president cried. “Will he beat the record?”

The crowd roared in excitement when he hit his eighth melon. There was only one left to set a new record. He was using a lot of mana, but he wasn’t dizzy yet. And the thrill he felt beckoned him to go further.

On that last melon—just to be safe—he used twice as much mana and thickened the path. At the sound of the president’s voice, he pulled the trigger.

Demund blinked. The crowd shouted—but not out of praise. It was disappointment that echoed across the walls.

“A tie between Captain Blanner and Captain Krilger’s crew!” the president announced into the microphone. “The first match is over! Those who scored higher than five will continue to the next event, ‘Survive the Icy Waters!”

“Yo, what the heck?” Rhyne grinned, patting Demund on the back when he returned. “Did you practice?”

“That was close. You could have gotten first place,” Riley nodded. “But good job.”

“I—thanks. I shouldn’t have missed. Rhyne, did you see anything weird with your slo-mo?”

“Here,” Rhyne said, passing the parrot back to him. “This bird kept trying to eat my fingers. Sorry, I couldn’t tell. Was there wind?”

“No fans,” Riley corrected. “The air conditioners are far away.”

“Oh well. We’re still tied for first! I can’t believe it.”

Demund scratched his cheek. They were right. But still, it was strange. Just when the bullet left his gun, he thought he’d felt the slightest breeze flutter across his cheek. And his bullet had moved as if it had been pushed aside. Perhaps if he’d used more mana, he would have been able to resist the foreign force.

His bullet had moved to the left. Which meant the force came from the right—where the other teams were. Maybe it was an accident. The noise and chaos had made it difficult to tell.

“Well, now I’m out of energy,” Demund coughed. “I need some time to recover. Who’s doing the next game?”

“I hate cold stuff,” Rhyne shivered.

“Fine,” Riley sighed. “This will be simple.”

Like the game’s name suggested, the contest was going into a barrel filled with icy water and seeing how long one could last. Now that some teams had been eliminated, there was enough room onstage for the crewmates, resulting in furious cries of “You can do it!” and “Don’t give up!” and some “You call yourself a pirate?!” that deafened Demund’s ears. The people were loud.

“You good?” Rhyne asked.

“Feels great,” Riley half-shouted over the noise. “Am I blue?”

“Not yet.”

Riley’s ability, simply put, was tolerance and resistance, especially against pain and stress. Icy water, to him, was but a walk in the park.

“Don’t force it though,” Demund said. “Even if you can’t feel it, it could be dangerous.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Riley shrugged. “It’s crazy what the mind can do sometimes. My skin is warm right now.”

Demund reached in and felt Riley’s arm.

“The back is warmer.”

It was. Despite the cold environment, Riley’s skin felt normal.

“You know how some people train their minds in the mountains and become immune to hunger and cold?” Riley said. “I think I’ve achieved something similar.”

“How unfair is that?” Rhyne snorted.

“I would trade with you if I could.”

“Same here.”

While they were chatting, the president announced the end of the match, leaving only six teams who had endured until the others had given up. Riley got out, dried himself off with the provided towels, and donned his mustache again, putting on his attire.

“Now it’s Rhyne’s turn,” he yawned while stretching. “What’s the next game?”

“Cannonball dodge!” the president announced. “The top three tea—I mean, crews to survive the longest will move on to the FINAL COMPETITION!! The rules are simple! Don’t get hit by the balls that the marine officers throw at you! To make things fair, the officers will be the student council members—and the vice-president of the MMA Club, Markus!”

Markus. Without Enariss present, he would be the leader of the MMA Club now. Demund had seen him a few times though they’d never talked much. Now that he thought of it, Enariss was good at keeping her groups separate from one another.

“Shoot, we’re second,” Rhyne sighed. “And guess what? I guess we’re all participating.”

He was right. Everyone in the first group went to the designated area and stood before the student council members and Markus, who was spinning his wrists menacingly.

“What’s his power again?” Demund asked.

“Not sure. Muscle burst? Muscle power?”

“I heard that it’s condensing muscle,” Riley corrected. “That’s why he’s ranked second. Don’t be deceived by his leanness.”

“Gotcha.”

“We’ll go easier on the first group since they’re first!” the president said, holding up a ball. “Now, brace yourselves—fire the cannonballs!”

The president and the girls threw their balls. It didn’t do much. One girl from the team was hit and sent out, but the others were quick on their feet. They were from one of the sports clubs, so it was the expected result.

“Now—release the Kraken!” the president yelled.

Markus picked up a ball and aimed it, pointing at one of the students. A split second later, a whizzing sound shrieked across the room, ending in a loud thud on the body of a student.

“That’s fast,” Rhyne whistled. Demund couldn’t help but agree.

One by one, the students exited the field, each ball taking one victim.

“One minute and three seconds!” the president said. “Next group, come to meet your end!”

It was just the three of them. The president ‘kidnapped’ the parrot in a cage, saying that it was his now and they would be executed. But while he was passing it, he whispered to Demund,

“We’ll go easy on you, but I can’t say the same about Markus.”

Demund nodded. It was funny because the student council members were not good at throwing at all.

“Because the Kraken pays little attention to less meat, he will emerge later!” the president declared, readying his ball. “Now—fire!”

Even with the wooden leg, it was too simple to dodge the student council’s attacks. The girls were even doing underhand tosses that landed aimlessly on the ground. A minute passed quickly enough, and the crowd began to chant—

“Release the kraken! Release the kraken!”

The students wanted fun and action. The president waved his arms, glanced at Demund, and shouted,

“RELEASE THE KRAKEN!”

Markus cracked his neck. His eyes met Demund’s, and he grinned.

Oh shoot, Demund thought.

He raised his hands just as the ball almost struck his face. The ball was long gone now, and he walked out of the field, unsure of what had happened.

Perhaps he should have circulated more. But there was still the final contest. Demund laughed at himself. Since when had he wanted to win so badly?

Right after him, Riley emerged while rubbing his shoulder.

“So fast,” Demund said.

“So fast,” Riley agreed.

“At least we lasted longer than the first team.”

“Yeah. We did pretty well.”

“Rhyne is—whaaaaat?!”

Demund—and the rest of the audience—yelled out in surprise when Rhyne dodged a ball by falling on his back, springing back up effortlessly as he jumped over another one. He clapped his hands, motioning to the attackers.

“Can’t touch this!” he yelled.

“Maybe we have a chance?”

“Maybe.”

The crowd went nuts when Rhyne dodged 4 more shots, and it seemed like things would continue this way when the president blew his whistle.

“Shorten the field!”

After the distance between Rhyne and Markus was cut in half, it didn’t take a minute before a ball hit Rhyne on the arm—but it wasn’t Markus’s. Surprisingly, it was the secretary’s randomly-thrown ball that had made a giant arc through the air, falling on Rhyne when he least expected it.

“I could have lasted forever,” Rhyne muttered with disappointment. “That was such a random ball.”

“We might get first place at this rate though?”

It was quickly revealed that team size didn’t necessarily correlate with time survived. In the end, Demund’s team came out first by a large margin, though Demund couldn’t shake off the feeling that the president had altered the results somewhat. But Rhyne had won fair and square, and the videos proved it.

Come to think of it, someone had accused him of ruining Rhyne’s potential way back when he’d first come to the MMA Club. But before he could think much about it, the final three teams were announced.

Edan had made it to the top three. Maybe it was part of his act, but he looked frustrated, arms crossed and face scrunched up. The other team was from the Track and Field Club, and as expected, looked incredibly fit.

If it was a head-to-head battle, there was no doubt that they would lose miserably. But to his relief, it was, in fact, a rowing battle.

Wait, so it’s not better, he thought.

“You may have up to four people on your boat!” the president announced from inside his with his council members. “The goal of the final game is to capsize my ship and claim the loot on the other side. You may not touch other people or their boats directly but may use the buckets to pour water into other people’s ships! And now, best of luck! Let the game begin!”

Everyone had relocated to the pool next to the gym which was as big as the gym. Even with just rowing, it would be a tiring ordeal to get across.

“I’ve never done this before,” Riley commented. “Let’s row until our arms drop.”

“I guess the captain has to scoop the water out,” Rhyne grinned. “Let’s win this. We’ll be so fast.”

“Yeah.”

Demund adjusted his hat and looked at the other two teams. It was a good thing that they were at the side. Edan’s team was in the middle for being last in the previous game, something Edan still looked irritated about. Still, Demund hadn’t expected Davis to be on Edan’s ship. He was holding a bucket, looking excited. Was he having fun?

With the blowing of the whistle, the three teams began to paddle furiously.

“Go, go, go!”

“Faster! Faster!”

Everyone yelled as the first big wave struck the ships, threatening to topple them. Demund blinked, regaining his balance on his peg leg.

Waves?

Sure enough, waves were coming from the other side. But there were no machines that were creating them. All he saw was the president who had his arms raised, his hair floating up like he was in space.

“I didn’t know the president could use telekinesis!” Demund yelled.

“What!” Rhyne yelled, looking behind him. “Oh, shoot!”

The second wave hit, and this time, Demund was ready. He steered his ship towards the front—though they were still last out of the three groups. The first group—the track and field team—was being bombarded with large balls of water that fell on them from the sky. Three of their members were now desperately scooping out water from their ship while one helplessly continued to row.

“Keep rowing!” Demund urged, standing straight. “The violent sea will never consume us!”

Demund shivered. Though character was included in the points, it made him want to cringe when he acted. It didn’t feel as natural as it did in the other world.

The next moment, he was busy scooping out water from the boat after a wave crashed into them. It wasn’t much, but he couldn’t let it pile up.

“I did not expect this,” he laughed, glancing at the finish line. “This is crazy!”

“I know, right!” Rhyne said, his arms continuing to row. “How much longer? Are we halfway yet?”

“No!”

“Arrgggh!”

“I should have stayed home,” Riley muttered. “Is that—water above us?”

The three friends cried out as a ball of water fell on their heads.

“Dude! Isn’t this what you’ve been teaching us! But on the bigger scale!” Rhyne shouted, spitting water.

“Yeah!” Demund agreed, scooping out water. “The president must be an A-class!”

“No kidding!”

The balls seemed to come every twenty seconds for each team, though the waves were bigger as they neared the president’s ship. The track and field team, attempting to be fast, had messed up by tilting over, causing them to sink. They were attempting to recover the boat on the side of the pool but were expending a lot of time.

Edan’s group was now in the first place. But they, too, were on the brink of sinking. The water outside of the boat was dangerously close to the boat’s gunwale, spiling in with each large wave.

“We can win!” Demund shouted. “Having fewer people might be better! Onwards, my friends!”

“Onwards!” they both shouted.

Before him, he saw Edan furiously talking with Davis, who looked worried, even afraid. With a nod, Davis jumped off of the ship, stabilizing it as Edan continued to scoop water out. So, having fewer people was the answer.

It was funny because the president was not letting Edan’s team come closer. That applied to Demund’s boat as well, but the gap between them was closing. The president had stated that he would let Demund win, and perhaps this was how. The water balls on Demund’s ship were slightly smaller, and the waves didn’t flow into the boat as much.

Demund smiled. Just a little and they would pass—

He looked into the water. Davis was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, where’s—” he began, realizing that his friends had their faces towards the back. He squinted into the water. Surely he must have swam out. Demund glanced around the edges of the swimming pool, but all he saw was the audience who were clapping and cheering.

“Davis!” he shouted. “Where’s Davis?”

But there was too much noise.

“Who?!” Rhyne asked.

“Row, keep rowing!” Riley said. “Move those arms!”

“Right, forward!” Demund yelled.

Ten more seconds. They had almost caught up. Still, no sign of Davis.

“Edan!” Demund roared. “Where’s Davis?!”

“What?!” Edan yelled back.

“Davis!”

“Out!” Edan yelled.

Demund glanced around again. No sign of Davis.

He dove into the water.

There he was, struggling as bubbles emerged from his mouth. The moron had left the chains on his wrists and ankles. He was clawing at the sky with little help, eyes closed.

The pool was deep.

It was easy enough to get to him. Demund shook off his clothes and peg leg, reaching Davis in three seconds. He grabbed Davis’s hand and tried to pull him up.

Davis then used his other hand to latch onto him, pulling him deeper into the water. The sudden action made Demund panic. He attempted to pull free, but the grip on his got stronger. Then Davis began to claw his way up his body in desperation.

Davis was heavy. The pool was too deep.

Demund opened his mouth—and a torrent of water came rushing in.

He was drowning.

With a yell, he mustered every ounce of power in his body—

And the waters began to part.