Gill’s body slammed his foot in front of him, shuddering the whole docks, shaking the balance of everyone present. He turned the slam into a brace, launching himself toward the group. Four of the guards rushed forward to meet him, muskets in hand, bayonets spiking forward like an oversized pincushion. He brought the anchor out and threw the chain around the shocked mens’ guns pulling them from their grip.

‘In my way.’

‘Move.’

‘Kill them.’

‘Please don’t.’

He snatched a musket out the air and buried it in the closest guard’s chest, pulling the trigger immediately after, spraying red clouds all around. The anchor vanished into the ether, the other suspended muskets tumbling slowly in the air as Aola, Athra and the rest of the guards sluggishly drew their weapons.

Gill was screaming at himself to let them all go, to never take another life again, but his body wasn’t listening. It continued to move aggressively and with nothing but murder in mind. If Gill could shed tears at what was happening, he would, but even that had been taken out of his power.

He could do nothing but watch as he killed again.

His body grabbed two of the suspended guns, and speared the nearest guards in their necks, following up by slamming the fourth into the floor with his fist. He reached out his free hand and deftly caught the fourth musket from the air, pointing it at the now panicked regiment. He squeezed the trigger, just as he had learnt from his father all those years ago.

The musket ball rocketed forward, before meeting Aola’s sabre and falling to the deck in 2 perfect halves. His body grunted in irritation, swinging the musket down and piercing the groaning guard’s heart. Aola stared in a mixture of horror and awe of the massacre, his sabre and dagger pointed forward in a defensive stance, as he stood in front of his terrified protectors.

Athra looked as if he was about to be sick, but stood as defiantly as he could with shimmers of magic pulsing from his hands. With a small glance back, Aola confirmed that his son was ready as he began stalking forward cautiously, keeping his eyes fixed on Gill’s body, who was tired of waiting at this point.

He walked slowly and aggressively over to the two guards which he had speared through the chest, and tugged the muskets free from their lifeless corpses. He dropped one to the ground and took aim at Aola with the other. Aola did not stop his cautious stalking, seeing the musket as no threat whatsoever, which enraged Gill’s body further, who pulled the trigger, aiming for his head. Aola moved like the seasoned warrior he was, and deflected the shot into the reddening ocean.

‘Not him.’

‘Too fast.’

‘Too strong.’

‘His son.’

‘Kill him.’

‘Stop it.’

He launched the musket like a spear at Aola, who deflected it with the same ease. This gave Gill’s body time to duck down and grab the final loaded musket and aim it squarely at Athra’s chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Aola’s face, a mask of sheer terror for losing his son.

‘Don’t do it, please.’

He squeezed the trigger and sent the round shot sailing through the air, just out of Aola’s reach, as he was about to scream for his son. The shot moved further and further…then stopped. Fury bubbled inside the screaming mass of voices.

‘Why?! Why didn’t he die?!’

‘A trick?’

‘A miss?’

‘Magic?’

‘Just let them go.’

The shot fell to the scarlet deck, inches shy of Athra’s outstretched hand as the coils of magic drew back to his palm. For the first time, his expression was focussed and hard.

“Don't underestimate me, Father. I can take it.” Athra’s eyes narrowed as he thrust his hand forward, causing the world to ripple before him in a line. Gill’s body ducked to the side, as it streaked past him and hit Aola’s sabre, lighting it ablaze with red fire that seeped into the steel.

Only then did Gill realise that this was their plan, and he did everything he could to stop his body from moving and make it a fatal blow. He grabbed his anchor out of the ether and caught the flaming sabre in a parry. Gill’s body was about to strike back and end this monster of a man, but as he began to move, he noticed a sharp pain in his neck.

Confused, He glanced down and noticed the dagger in his throat, securely gripped in Aola’s left hand.

At that second, Gill thanked the old man for putting a stop to the murderous rampage that was happening. If his body dying was the only way to save people, then he accepted that.

His body stumbled back, his anchor vanishing and his chest becoming warm with the spreading blood. He grabbed at his throat, trying to stop the bleeding, and failing painfully. Aola swished his sabre from side to side, putting the flames out as he walked back to his son, giving pointers to the future conflicts. The fury that amassed in the ever growing wail of voices flared further, he felt his hands and chest go cold once more, and the stabbing pain in his throat subsided. He felt his throat, there was nothing.

‘Oh no.’

He caught Athra’s eye as he began to storm forward, his fury stronger than ever. A panicked look overcame Athra as he frantically called to his father, who tilted his head and turned around, confused. That confusion was met with an anchor to the chest, flinging him into the ocean. He stared Athra down, who’s hands shook with fear. With a scream of terror, he turned and ran to his guards, with what little speed he could muster.

Gill’s body broke into a sprint behind him, swinging his anchor in an arc aiming for the coward’s head. It would’ve connected if his body wasn’t peppered with thunderous musket balls from the line of horrified guards. His body stumbled back, holding back his grunts of agony as he tensed his whole body as the shots slowly tore their way out of him. He saw a soaked and bloody Aola crawling back onto the deck, his dagger gone and his sabre clattering at his hip.

Gill’s vision refocused as whips of fire coiled up from Athra’s shaking hands and thrashed for his chest.

‘Easy.’

‘Take him.’

‘Make his father see it.’

‘What they deserve.’

‘I'm begging you.’

Gill’s hands flared with green light, wrapping the chain around his fists with a solid line between them. He caught the whips and grabbed them to his chest, ignoring the torturous pain. A crazed, evil smile spread over what was once Gill’s face as he yanked the whips back, sending Athra sailing through the sky, screaming all the while and into his body’s grasp. The whips disappeared, as did the anchor, and Gill clamped one arm around the boy’s pudgy neck, and the other snatching his wrist and slamming it in between his shoulder-blades.

Athra squealed like a stuck pig, squirming to be free from this pain. The guards frantically ran forward, but stopped when they realised that they could do nothing. Aola raised his head, gasping and pained. His eyes widened in horror as he realised what was happening. His body squeezed the boy’s wrist, feeling the bones crunch. Athra howled in high pitched agony, as Aola yelled his son’s name and began limping forward as fast as he could manage.

Gill was forced to watch as his gaze pierced the old man and was filled with the rage and vengeance of the voices.

“Eye for an eye, old man.” Gill felt the words leave his mouth and cried when he realised what that meant. The world went silent behind Athra’s screams, as the faint sounds of shouts and cries from all around him as he moved his hand from Athra’s wrist to the back of his head, and setting his right hand clamped over Athra’s mouth.

Gill’s arms moved like bullets, nearly pulling the boy’s head clean off. The sound of breaking bone and ending life shot across the landscape to the guards, the gathering spectators and finally to the father of the child that was murdered an instant before.

Athra’s corpse crumpled to the floor, dropping with a dead thud.

‘What have you done?’

Gill couldn’t even break his gaze with Aola, not even as he stepped over the newly-made cadaver and began stalking towards the silent, heartbroken man. At that moment, Gill confirmed a horrifying truth.

He was a monster.

Aola let out a silent cry, tears falling from his eyes. He drew his sword from his sodden belt, his face a mask of grief and cold rage. He charged forward, impulsive and reckless, looking for nothing but blood.

‘He’s sloppy.’

‘Weak.’

‘Simple.’

‘You murdered someone’s son.’

His body grabbed his anchor out of the ether, deflected the flailing sabre, and sent his free hand out, grabbing the old man’s face, and squeezing. The blade fell to the floor with a hollow clatter as Aola’s hands flew to his head, scratching and clawing at the vice grip that was pressing him harder and harder. He pulled the man closer, crushing harder. The man frantically screamed as his skull began buckling.

“I told you to stop.” Those words stabbed Gill’s heart as he was forced to stare at this nightmare.

Aola’s head collapsed in on itself, spraying sanguine gore in all directions, landing and tangling in Gill’s hair, staining his face. He tugged his hand free from what was once the man’s head, shaking the excess off.

His body turned to the guards and spectators, who had run with all they could.

‘Of course they’d want to be as far away as possible. You're evil.’

His body bent down, unclasping the golden Swallow bracelet from the old man’s wrist and snapped it shut around his own.

At that moment, he felt himself sinks back into his body. He felt heavy, cold, wrong. He stared at the shimmering hallmark of skill, lost in its glimmer as tears began to strike it with tiny metallic taps.

He sobbed into his hands as he aimlessly walked.

“I told you to stop.” The discordant choir of voices within Gill began to soar in their elation over the new mass murder. He could no longer hear what they were trying to say, their voices a mass of wails and shouts, as if celebrating the slaughter. Gill clutched his head and tore at it, longing for the voices to stop and for some peace and quiet after all that terrible vengeance. The crow that was silently watching the whole time silently flew away towards the forest.

Gill remembered the neighbourhood, it was maybe a 2 hour walk home. He decided that he had nothing better to do than find somewhere comfortable to fall asleep in and never wake up. Gill raised his head, tears staining his face as he began the long trek home.

“What the hell am I?”