1

It was a peaceful afternoon at the Drunken Tankard, when a rambunctious-looking crew, a group of pirates to be exact, decided to pay the place a visit. They wore swashbuckling outfits so you knew they were seafarers. Crest Evermore knew that there would be trouble, just by the stupid smirks they were carrying on their faces. It was obvious. They would cause a stir. Now true, they probably hadn’t planned on getting into an altercation, or were meaning to do bad just for the sake of, but they would. He’d seen it a million times before. They would walk in, start a commotion, and then there would be a mess to clean up. And in two or three weeks he’d be doing it all over again.

Rocking back and forth on his stool at the front counter, where the bartender and owner Lou Sorrin was, he waited for something to go down. Anything. Something would. Maybe not yet, but would. Somehow, someway. It was like destiny, a very garbage destiny. And Crest was at the center of that destiny. As the lawless enforcer of the tavern, Crest helped the bar with lowlifes and thugs whenever they came around. Not only playing, but looking the part of bouncer he carried with him a hardened appearance. With sharp black hair that draped down to his elbows and a gruff beard, he had the face of a man-beast. Blanketed across his body was a loose linen shirt the color of molasses. Wrapped around his barrel chest and back was a black harness which carried his heavy burden, the sword he called Dog Killer.

There was no blade like it. It was larger than him. Even when situated comfortably behind his back, it seemed to extend to the heavens. It was like a large cross-cut saw made for murder. The pointed edges were like needles. The hilt a crescent moon. It was more than mythical; it was a blade out of legend itself. Despite it being a bit theatrical, it was a weapon with craftsmanship anyone could admire. Today would be a good day if he didn’t have to use it.

Steam poured from the kitchen out into the dining room. Sizzling sounds of something good to eat, enticed drooling mouths all around. Starving customers waited anxiously, hoping that their table would be next. Salivating himself, Crest was wondering when his meal would be headed his way. Seconds later, the double doors of the kitchen slid open. Out came Borka, carrying a large platter. Standing firm, trying not to drop the heavy hot plate she came circling around the stools on the other side of the counter to give Crest his meal.

Crest’s eyes danced deliriously as she approached. Watching the pirates could wait. At this moment he hungered.

“Here’s your meal,” Borka said stepping to him and placing the plate down on the counter. “For my number one guy.” She lifted the top of the platter, placing it to the side. Beneath the top was a giant porker of a pig, slathered in gravy juices and corked with an apple.

A man like Crest needed to eat. But this was just ridiculous. Pigs as big as the one in front of him barely constituted as edible. There had to be such a thing as too big. But apparently not for him.

Crest was never not hungry.

Enticing as the pig was however, Crest couldn’t for one reason or another keep his eyes off Borka either. The pig looked good, but she looked great that day.

Borka was an Orcish girl, with green skin and large sabretooth tusks, red hair and an hourglass body. She was a waitress at the Drunken Tankard, and had been for about two years now. Having left her clan of warriors down South, she had given up that life for one in corporate services. It was all about the hard-earned moolah, and Crest knew a thing or two about that. He admired her work, and because of her approachable and kind-hearted nature they had become good friends.

He smiled looking at his lunch and gave her his gratitude.

“Thanks a lot,” Crest dug through the money pouch that was hugged to his side and pulled out ten moolah. He handed them over to her. “Put half in the coffer. The rest is a tip!”

Borka rolled her eyes, she carried a whistling tune as she poured all of them in her money pouch instead. “The Drunken Tankard is well off enough; wouldn’t you say Crest?”

He belly laughed. “Keep up the hard work.”

Her face lit up with a glowing smile. “I will.” Reaching for a rag tailored to her apron, she began to wipe her forehead clean of sweat. If nothing else, it was hot in the old tavern that day. Looking across the room she noticed new faces, though she didn’t exactly appear happy about it. They were pirates, worse than that, ruffians by the looks of things, and they had taken a seat in the middle of the floor at the biggest table in the room. Worried, she bit her lip. Not more punks. The tavern had just recuperated the damages of the last major fight Crest had got into, and these guys definitely looked like the kind to start a fight.

Noticing her unease, Crest looked in the same direction she was. She had seen what he had seen too. They were both thinking the same thing. Choosing not to deliberate on it any longer until it became an issue, Crest turned back to Borka.

“Just do your job as always,” he patted her on the hand. “Don’t let them frighten you.”

She scoffed, smirking like a devil. “It’s not them I’m worried about.” She placed her rag back into her apron and placed the other hand he wasn’t holding over his. “It’s you hon.”

Lifting his hands from hers, he raised them weakly and with jest. He looked as though someone was holding him at arrow point, though not intimidatingly or convincingly. “Can’t say I’m anything but guilty.”

She laughed a closed-mouth smile. “I’ll let you live. Anyway I’ll be on my way, I need to see what our customers want. We can do some talking when I get back.”

“Yeah,” he meekly agreed, as she walked off towards the table of pirates. Watching as she trailed away, Crest kept an eye on her for a moment before ultimately returning to his meal. Clanging his fork and knife together, he swooped down on the dinner before him. Tearing through the pig like paper, he was like an animal with no restraint, he ate carelessly and without refinement. Typical of him.

Despite his humanness, he had the manners of a beast.

2

As she approached the pirates’ table, Borka felt herself turn green. Greener than normal. Almost sickly. There was a lot of them. Too many of them for her liking. Around the table were eight swashbucklers. All of them were equally intimidating. Ignoring her apprehension, though it was itching at her, she addressed them.

“Hello, what would you boys like?” Borka pulled out a parchment and a thin, black charcoal stick from a compartment in her apron, preparing to take their order. As she leaned over into its corner, she placed her materials down on the wide wooden table. Smiling falsely, she tried to maintain a cheerful face, the best she could. Whatever she was trying to perpetuate, however, wasn’t working on the pirates.

There was an eerie silence, as the crew absorbed her presence. Their eyes blinked with haziness. Some of them looked at one another as though they were wondering who would say something first. But it stayed quiet. It took a moment but out of the bunch, one uttered something that sounded like gibberish at first. He was the shortest one, bald and fat. Looking to the guy next to him he spoke.

“Uh…D–Uh….Captain Izel, are you–are you ready?” he whimpered lowly in a dopy voice.

Borka’s head turned to the man that sat in the middle. She gulped, as her eyes met his one. Brown seaweed-like hair drooped from his head and his face, like long vines. On his head he wore a black tricorne and over his left eye he wore an eyepatch. Among other things he wore were a black button coat and a white ruffle neckerchief that raised as high as his chin. He was a sight to be sure, but more than that, he was menacing.

Tapping his hand against the table, he looked impatient. He sighed so heavy it was nearly possible to smell the stench of his breath. He smelled like Davey Jones’ locker. “Thank you, Toro, I needed a second to think,” he said finally after a moment's hesitation. “Well lass, what do you have for us?”

Borka glared at him for a moment with an empty stare. Consciousness returned to her after a heartbeat and she began to recite from memory the offerings they had available. “Today’s special is steamed pig bathed in a gravy sauce. Other items on the menu include cow’s tongue, boiled fish, scrambled dove eggs, scrambled cuckoo eggs, Geese, Pigeon pie, fattened chicken, pea porridge, vegetable stew, baby lamb, dinosaur meat from dinosaur island, squid, octopus, rice and—”

He interrupted her, holding up his hand. “Just give us mead. Tankards of mead all around. One for each of us will do.”

Pirates were always the hungry type. Genuinely curious if that was all, she questioned him. “Really? You sure?” She asked.

That probably wasn’t the right response.

Leaning forward and crossing his hands Captain Izel gave a darkly look. One that caused Borka to shiver in place. “Did I stutter girl? Shut up and do it. And be quick about it. You wouldn’t want things to get nasty, would you?” He muttered under his breath something ugly and cruel. “Stupid bitch.”

If he didn’t have her attention before, he certainly had it then. Holding her head down, she took the insult and command without a word, but she was definitely bothered. Suddenly in a rush, she picked her parchment and charcoal up off the table placing her materials back in her apron. The absolute last thing she wanted was for things to get ‘nasty’ quote on quote. She knew what that meant.

She walked off without a word.

3

The double doors to kitchen swung open once again. This time it was the blue-haired orc, Dorsea. She was Borka’s older sister. Tall and broad of shoulder with plenty of muscle she was a mammoth in comparison to the petite package that was Borka. In both her hands were food platers steaming succulent smells. More than likely something equally as appetizing was underneath them.

She wasn’t in the doorway three seconds before Crest called out to her. “Better watch out Dorsea, your sister is serving up just as many tables as you. Maybe more.You’re really going to let her do both your jobs?”

Glaring past the platters in her hands, she shot Crest a scathing look. “Unless you’re looking to arm wrestle me, I’m not in the mood for your snark.”

Pressing his palm against his face, Crest gave her a smug look. “You could never beat me, y’know? But that’s beside the point, I don’t bully girls, not even the strong ones like yourself.”

Rolling her eyes, Dorsea gave a perturbed scoff. “Whatever, Crest. I have tables to serve.” Sticking her nose up at him, she turned to walk the other way. Before she could get very far, she noticed her sister was pace walking towards them with incredible speed. Borka stepped up to the bar counter betwixt the two looking incredibly rattled, causing both Crest and Dorsea to look at her with vacant stares.

“You alright sis?” Dorsea questioned looking concerned. “You’re not upset are you?”

“I’m f-fine,” Waving her off rather quickly, Borka returned to what she was doing. She was looking for Lou. She didn’t see him, but by the ghostly racket she heard behind the bar, she could tell he was still there. The sound came from the floor. He was rambling. Practically tumbling over the side to get to him, she begged for his immediate attention. “Lou, can I get eight tankards of mead?”

“Sure,” A voice affirmed a few seconds later. From under the other side of the counter appeared a portly, bald, mustached man in a stained apron. Without a moment’s hesitation he pulled up a flat plate with him. An easy find. Whatever else he was searching for would have to wait. Picking out a tankard from the cubby below the counter, he paced over to one of the kegs on the wall to pour the first drink.

As Lou filled up mug after mug, Borka tapped her fingers across the counter.

Her face was scrunching in a weird fashion. She looked irritable. Maybe she was jumping the gun a little bit, but she just wanted the pirates in and out of there. Pirates had been the cause of the last seven fights Crest had been in. And each one cost the Drunken Tankard hundreds in damage. Another bar fight just couldn’t happen. If it did she’d suffer yet another deduction in her earnings for what Crest and a bunch of hooligans had done. Nothing had happened yet though. But it didn’t matter. All it took was a single spark to start fireworks. Would fireworks fly today?

No.

Not on her watch.

That outcome had to be avoided at all costs. If they got their drinks, left before they got really drunk, and didn’t, under any circumstance interact with Crest, everything would be good. Maybe she was overthinking things, but honestly all she wanted was for once, just one stinking time to be given a break. Soon she became lost in thought and worries.

“Hey!” Dorsea exclaimed interrupting Borka’s thought causing her to turn around. “You absolutely sure you're good?”

“Yeah,” she said looking Dorsea’s way for a second and then down at the floor the next. “Don’t worry about me.”

Dorsea gave her one more passing glance of concern before leaving to serve the tables.

Borka sighed as she waited for the last tankard of mead. It didn’t take too long before Lou brought it over. All of them were sparkling and spilling over like a cauldron’s brew, tantalizing for a thirsty mouth

“Thanks,” she said picking up the heavy plate. She was near off and running but before she could leave again, Crest’s voice called out to her.

“Borka!” he exclaimed loudly causing her to turn her head back for a brief moment. He didn’t look at her, he kept his head in his food, not eating it, but poking at it. “Those men aren’t pissing you off are they, because I can—”

“NO!” She abruptly shouted. “Everything is fine Crest enjoy your meal.”

Crest was stubborn as a mule, and he probably would have said more, but she didn’t stick around to hear it. As she began walking back the other way, she cringed and groaned through her teeth. Shit, she thought nervously, I don’t get paid enough for this.

Could today, just be a normal day?

Though she was hoping against all hope, it was looking like a fat chance.

For her, good days were rare, and great days were like far-off dreams, fading in the waters of hope.

4

“Alright,” She huffed a heavy aggravated breath as she addressed the pirates once again. Carrying the tray in both hands she circled around for them to pick up the drinks. One by one they all grabbed a tankard off the tray. Slowly but surely the weight that was on her hands lessened. “Is that all?” She asked circling to the front of the table, holding the tray to her side.

Hesitating, the table sat quietly. Nothing was said. Each of the other seven pirates looked towards their captain as if still waiting for him to speak. If nothing else they were well trained. They feared him, that much was obvious. Borka looked on. Her lips went slightly ajar with a flabbergasted expression. For pirates they all came across as really weak. Or maybe their leader was just that terrifying, who knows really. But if they were satisfied there was no reason in Borka standing around any longer. Just wanting to get away, collecting their payment for her service didn’t even cross her mind.

She turned around, to go the other way, happy that she no longer had business with them. But unfortunately she wasn’t getting away as easily as she hoped. She was quickly halted by the voice of the captain.

“Wait,” he called in a snide tone. “There is one other thing that I want.” Laughter filled his mouth. Terrible, audacious laughter.

Dreading to ask, she turned around to humor him anyway. Under hot breath, she gritted her teeth. The fake smile had returned. You’re almost out of the woods Borka, she thought to herself, just let it ride. “And that would be?” She asked in a polite tone of voice. One that had no trace, not even an ounce of malice in it. If she were angry with them, it didn’t show. She maintained her composure like a professional, even though after he had called her a bitch, she had been fuming all this time. But she didn’t have time to be angry, time was money and to be frank, she felt as though Captain Izel wasn’t just about to waste more of her time, he was also about to make her angry.

“Well,” he started. “I’ve been looking at you this entire time, and I don’t think the life of a waitress quite suits you. I think you’d look better in a different position.”

Hatred filled her eyes at that moment. The smile that was there disappeared like a fart in the wind. “And that would be?” Looking appalled already, she had an idea of what he was going to say next. But she had to hold it in, she had to calm herself.

Standing idly with a cold disposition, she waited for his response.

His laughter became heavier. A shit-eating grin plastered across his face. One that was so wide you could see his rotting, yellow teeth within his skull. Yet, those teeth were nowhere as disgusting as what he said. “I think you’d look pretty good taking all of us at once.” He leaned back in his chair and kicked his legs up on the table. “Isn’t that right boys?”

The rest of the pirates began to laugh as if on cue. They had no thoughts of their own, they were all mindless and perverted. But Borka could think for herself and what she was thinking was that she wanted to teach Captain Fuckface a thing or two. However all she did was sneer. “I’ll be on my way.” She was going to leave with her head down, but for some reason, she didn’t. She couldn’t. She stood there looking at them. Their laughter was so wretched and evil. It made her sick. They were mocking her and it was getting on her everlasting nerve.

“I’ve never banged an orc before capin’,” said one pirate to the left.

“Might be a good time,” said one to the right.

“I don’t know,” another added. “She might have tusk in her cunt.”

That made them burst into even louder laughter.

But Borka wasn’t laughing. She was just staring, an icy stare.

Taking notice of her irksome, Captain Izel didn’t think to stop. He kept going in fact. Grabbing his crotch he spoke even more nonsense. “What? Want a taste that badly?” He said, guffawing from the belly.

Borka’s eyes became dead.

Don’t do anything, her mind told her. Don’t do a thing.

It wasn’t working though. Her mind was betraying her. What she was telling it to do and what she was actually doing were two totally different things. She approached the table slowly, the empty look in her eyes never fading. “You think you’re funny, huh?” She said in an ominous tone, bopping her head up and down. Aborting the mission was impossible now, she was fully in the zone and ready to say what was on her mind. It didn’t matter what, she just had to say it.

Crossing his arms, the Captain was preparing to make her the butt of another joke. “I think you need to—”

“I think you need to shut up, you limp dick bastard,” Borka said cutting him off.

That didn’t sit too well. Grunts filled the table and the captain sat upright. All of a sudden he was deftly serious. “What was that again?” Begging her pardon, he acted as if he hadn’t heard what she said.

Borka stood silent for a moment. But there was no use in backing down at this point. Her eyes darted quickly around the table looking at all of them and then back to the captain. “You heard me.” she sassed him as if it didn’t bear repeating.

Slowly the captain began to stand with a scowled expression. “Why don’t I shut you up girl?” The other pirates rose with him. Drawing a sword from the scabbard that was tied to his waist, he kicked over their table, their drinks spilling in the process. The rest of the pirates drew their blades as well.

Now she had a problem on her hands

Some customers looked up from their tables. A woman or two hollered, probably because they saw the swords. And just like that people were fleeing. A crowd scattered heading for the door. Today wouldn’t be a normal day. Oh no, that hope had flown out the window. There would be a fight. Realizing what she had done, Borka held her head in hand. “Damn!” She exclaimed.

Most customers had cleared and gotten the hell out of there. Remaining were a few who had seen and done this song and dance before. This wasn’t the end of things. Not by a long shot.

“Any last words girl?” Captain Izel questioned.

Borka blew an exhausted breath. She was more weary than afraid.

“Ha!” A scoff came from across the other side of the room. The pirates looked that way. It was Dorsea serving one of the remaining customers. They looked comfortable and weren’t on edge whatsoever. “We should be asking you that.”

“What are you talking about wench?” One of the pirates said.

“Ha!” She scoffed again. Cackling to herself knowingly.

Messing with Borka, let alone any of the employees or clientele of the Drunken Tankard meant one thing and one thing only. Waking the lion.

5

Distant footsteps approached. Dog killer was being dragged across the floor by its master. Thugs were out on the dining room floor, but they would be hastily taken care of. Rushing to the back of the tavern, before the pirates could lay a hand on her, Borka passed her protector on her way. “Get em, hon.” She said to that man so mysterious and tall. The pirates leered looking on with ugly stares as he approached, the one who was often called the Rogue Shadow, Crest Evermore.

“Who are ye?” Captain Izel questioned with a wickedness in his voice.

“I’m Crest Evermore,” he swung his sword back and forth lackadaisically as if preparing his arm to swing on them. “The Rogue Shadow and the Black Knight, are names I go by, but I prefer the title of ‘just some guy’.”

That humored the captain.

“Well Crest Evermore,” The captain spoke with a derisive tone. “My names Izel. Captain Izel. That’s a fine blade you’re carrying.” He said taking notice of the peculiar sword he had. “Have you named it yet? Mine…” he raised his blade up by the hilt. “Is called reaper. It is a fine blade and I have killed many a man with it.”

Crest looked unimpressed. How many times had he heard a man boast that his blade was the best? Far too many to count. Izel wasn’t the first nor would he be the last. That much was true. What was more important to Crest was whether or not the fiend and his crew would give him a good fight. He had been itching for a challenge lately.

Would they satisfy his needs?

Now within shooting range, Crest could sense everything before the battle even started. The sounds of heartbeats, their still breaths, even the blinking of their eyes. He was like a bloodhound that could smell fear, and though they weren’t pissing themselves, he had surmised by their undisciplined and weak fighting stances that he may not have much trouble. There was softness in their eyes. Clearly not the roughest of pirates. He’d seen worse.

Smirking like a fool Crest gave his response. “The name of my sword is Dog Killer, and it’s hardly something worth using on you lot.”

There was a deep silence. It was so mute, you could hear a wolf howl. Borka was sitting on a stool at the counter with bated breath, and her sister Dorsea had even sat down at the table of the customer to watch the fight. It was going to be a showdown. And though Borka and the gang knew how these fight played out by now, it didn’t make them any less nail-biting.

Eight against one, Crest thought, not fair odds.

They never were.

Bending his knees, Crest got into a fighting position. While he looked tense, he breathed comfortably showing he was somehow relaxed. Standing with elegance, he was like a calm wave in a raging river. No trace of anxiety could be found in him. Like a tiger he was ready to pounce, but like a grasshopper he was patient. Bringing his sword in, he arched it to his side ready to cut them down. Ready to let a rip. Something odd then happened. Beneath his feet, Crest’s shadow began to dance. It was bubbling from the floor where everyone could see it. A swirling vortex of blackness opened up like a ripple, shooting up Crest’s arms and legs.

The pirates were on guard, but didn’t move. Not knowing where this was leading, they didn’t dare approach. Crest’s body was undergoing changes. Modifications. It was some sort of transformation, one hellish in nature. They watched on with shocked glances as Crest’s features changed from that of a man entirely into that which resembled a terror.

Shortly thereafter, he emerged from a wall of shadows. His body was entirely black now, and his eyes were yellow with red pupils. Fingers like bear claws wrapped around his blade. Two sets of horns protruded out of his head like a demon, four in all, with a blazing blue flame betwixt the top two instead of hair. Just as visually distinct were his fangs which extended from his mouth like a shark’s incisors. Even his nose had physically altered from a sniffer that resembled a human’s into the snout of a creature.

He was a monster when he was like this, but he was not without control. He was still the same person, but fiercer, stronger than before. When his shadow guarded him, it was like a shield, a thick layer of skin that was as solid as stone and nearly impenetrable. It was a set of armor, one that was almost never necessary as he hadn’t seen a good fight in ages. Most often he wouldn’t even be scathed by the end of his duels. The skill he possessed made him a prodigy.

He was like a fairytale knight.

The Black Knight, who fought for the peace of those that needed protection.

Crest, or rather the shadow spoke up. “Now listen up, there’s no reason you guys have to die. I’ll give you pathetic losers a break. Surrender now and I’ll let you leave unharmed.”

Captain Izel glowered. “So,” he said in realization. “You’re no ordinary human. You must be a holy stone user. One of those freaks with magic abilities. A sorcerer, ye’ are.”

He was on the money. It was true, Crest was a wizard who had come across a holy stone in his time as a bouncer, and had picked up a spell or two, but he was a man who preferred the sword.

“No matter,” said Izel. “We’ve seen the likes of you before.”

Crest’s mouth twisted in a weird fashion. Looks like they found his kind to be familiar. Talk about seeing eye to eye. Most unfamiliar with him ran scared at his transformation, but not these punks, they stood as stiff as lumps on a log. Though Crest could practically smell the sweat oozing off them now. Despite the captain’s bravado, him and his crew had the scent of scaredy–cats.

"Well now that we’re all acquainted,” Crest sounded jokey. “How’s about we—”

“GET HIM!” A pirate interrupted him mid-speech.

Within seconds, all the pirates came rushing towards Crest. Crest immediately got in gear, focusing his eyes on the movement of his opponents. One of the pirates came swinging with his sword to the left. Another came swinging to the right. Two down the middle. That was four. They all hit on a single concentrated point where Crest had been one second and then gone the next. Crest had backflipped out of the way dodging the blow. But he was only giving himself room. Rushing back the way he had just leaped from, he rammed the pirate on the left in the stomach with his head, his fire grazing the poor bastard. In an instant, he went flying into the wall nearest the door.

Before the others could even think of landing another strike, Crest hunched down on the floor and went for a critical attack, swiping the two pirates that had struck from the middle. With a clean sideways strike, crest landed a blow that ripped through their clothes and made its way through their chest causing them to feel unbridled pain. Striking with only enough force to wound them, he didn’t kill them. Weakened the pirate's bodies wobbled from the pain. It was as though they had been struck with a poison dart. Unable to stand any longer they collapsed on top of one another.

That was three down.

Attempting to catch him by surprise, the one that had been standing by on the right, circled around to Crest’s backside while the remaining four came around from the front. Not to be taken lightly or for a fool, Crest dealt with him in a genius way. Before the pirate could strike with the force of his blade, Crest did a backwards kick. The spot he was aiming for was the groin. He was dead on. Landing the hit successfully he quickly pirouetted and swung his blade across the pirate’s bare stomach. Clutching where Crest struck, he fell over writhing. The thing had only grazed him, but it felt as though his organs had been ripped out by a lion. There was something abnormal, one might even say unearthly about the swordman’s fighting style. At that moment something of a shock overcame the pirate causing him to pass out on the floor. The strike wasn’t fatal, but it was enough to put him out of the fight.

Again, even though Crest's turf had been threatened he never struck to kill.

Now all that remained were three others and the captain. They were screaming as they ran towards him. Screaming himself, Crest rushed towards them with the same energy. One pirate went directly for Crest’s chest. Blocking with his sword as he came in hot, Crest thrust the entire blade out of the man’s hand with the brunt of his steel. But he was caught off guard when one of the pirates ran up and kicked him in the side. Unaffected however, Crest carried on. Taking the one who kicked him by the head, he slammed him into the ground. Looking to his flank he noticed that the pervious pirate was running to pick up his blade.

Crest wouldn’t let him.

Going for a swirling cut from the side, Crest went for a devastating attack against the pirate who had no blade. Cutting through his shirt and back, Crest’s slice did strange, unorthodox damage which caused the pirate’s spine to feel like a crumbling pretzel. He fell flat. There was no way he would get up again during the battle. Despite this it wasn’t a deadly blow. He would walk again, but would have great difficulty. Jerking his blade back, Crest went for the one that was on the floor. Picking him up, he tossed him over his shoulder sending him careening towards the bar counter where Borka and Lou were. Hitting the counter with enough force to knock out an elephant, the pirate left a crater where Crest flung him.

That was six. Two remained.

Finally realizing Crest’s raw power, the captain and the remaining crewmate stopped dead in their tracks, they were no longer rushing headfirst into battle. None of the pirates had done any damage yet and they had lost almost all their men. What the hell was going on? The man they were facing was a monster. Pushing his last crew member to the front, Izel stood in the background cautious. Needless to say the subordinate felt betrayed.

“But captain,” he bellowed. “I can’t…I can’t.”

“Shut up and do it you barnacle!” He commanded with authority.

“But….but….,” the pirate’s heart raced. He was feeling the pressure and it was heavy. He didn’t want to go against this guy. To do so was obviously suicide and the captain knew it. But he was caught between a rock and hard place. The question was whose wrath would he rather avoid, Crest’s or the captain’s? They were both bad options, but he didn’t really have a lot of time to choose.

Pathetically stumbling forward the pirate came with a tear shedding down his cheek as he approached Crest. Closing his eyes, he waited for his demise. Unamused and pitying the pirate Crest swung in a sweeping motion that would get it over quick. His blade went in eight directions, but the attacks were rapid, ghostly strikes that seemingly never hit the man once.

There was a moment’s silence.

After a few agonizing seconds, the pirate opened his eyes again, wary to see the damage that Crest had done. Horrified to find out, he didn't dare look. But as he stood there bellyaching, something wasn’t quite right, even though he was expecting to be in great pain.... he wasn't. “Huh?!” He exclaimed stupefied. He looked. Miraculously he was still alive. Touching himself all over he was overcome with joy. A dumb smile came over his face when he realized. “He ain’t lay a ding.” He seemed genuinely surprised.

He looked Crest dead in the face, who maintained a serious look. “HA! There ain’t a scratch on me.”

He laugh heartily.

Crest’s eyes shifted. “Uh, I wasn’t aiming for you.” He said dryly.

Confused, the pirate scratched his head with his finger. Even more confusing was the sudden sound of tearing that he heard. Looking down his jaw dropped. While he was intact unfortunately upon closer inspection, his clothes were not so lucky. They were shredding. Piece by piece they tore until he was bare. Crest looked upon him with a giggle forming. There was more than one way to embarrass a pirate, and he didn’t have to kill him to do it. The guy was stark naked, his doublet and baggy pants were totally beyond repair.

Running past his captain and for the hills, the naked pirate vamoosed, clearing out of the restaurant as soon as possible. Alone, Captain Izel looked on buggy-eyed shaking at the mere sight of Crest.

Borka, Dorsea, Lou and the other remaining customers started laughing. Laughing at him? Captain Izel? How dare they? How could they? He was supposed to be feared.

He must have been feared somewhere.

But not here.

Sweat poured down his head as Crest came within breathing range. Now he was face to face with the beast that had just taken down his entire crew. But he wouldn’t give up without a fight. Pointing his sword at Crest he attempted to maintain a sense of control.

“You don’t scare me scallywag!” Izel shouted. “I am Captain Izel of the dark waters. I will not be—”

Grabbing Captain Izel’s blade with his free hand, Crest tossed it to the wayside with little effort shutting the old prude up. Gulping, Izel looked stunned.

Crest leaned in, real close, so close he was now in the captain’s ear.

He whispered.

“……..Boo!”

That did it! Screaming to the moon, the captain fell to the floor wailing. Covering his head with his hands as he ducked down on the floor, he attempted to shelter himself from the monster that stood before him. Not like that would help. If Crest wanted, he’d have been dead. Though Crest didn’t want that. What he really wanted was for Captain Izel to hit the road.

“Please, show me mercy,” pale in the face, Captain Izel began to beg. “Please I didn’t…..I didn’t mean to start nothing.”

“Hmm,” Crest muddled over the thought for only a second. “No.” He said calmly.

Bending back his leg and winding up his foot, Crest prepared to add the finishing touches, the piece de resistance. Crest swung his foot high and mighty, right into Captain Izel’s face, causing him to stand upwards. As Izel was standing in an odd, staggered position, Crest aligned his hands with Izel’s face as though he were looking at a canvas trying to get the right angle. Pulling back his arm, he winded up a tight, hardened fist. This was it!

Wind swirled madly as his fist reached mach speeds.

Dead on!

A powerful punch plowed right though Captain Izel’s mouth, and he went flying through the front door, busting it wide open. He flew clear across the other side out onto the road, where no one could see him.

Cheers erupted in the dining room. Nobody was happy about the damages, but they were all glad those guys got theirs.

Crest breathed a heavy breath. Guys like that never learn do they? He thought disappointed. He looked back towards the counter and called out to Borka. “Hey Borka, got a hankering for a beer? Next ones on me. I'll get to contacting Leo. We got to clear these guys out of here.”

Across the room, Borka smiled. It wasn’t a normal day as she had hoped, that much was true, but it was a day with Crest and every day with him was at the very least ‘special’.