Chapter 23

“No! Nooo! Get back! Why won’t you die?! GET BACK!! NOOOO–arghlghlghl.” The pirate’s screams ended in a comical gargle when Samael clawed out his trachea. He crumpled to the ground, twitching and spurting blood from his gaping throat, which bubbled as he tried vainly to draw in breath.

Black wisps of smoke started seeping out of his body, visible only to Samael’s demonic eyes—the soul of the damned. She inhaled these fumes and sucked them out of the dying man until nothing remained. Her victim fell limp in a heartbeat, while her eyes narrowed to slits, and a purr rumbled up her throat. Power prickling through Samael’s veins and all her senses came alert at once, sharpening every aspects of the world around her.

The devil had never felt more alive.

Twangs of crossbows echoed behind her, and the air quivered with projectiles. Lightning fast, Samael leapt onto a house and flipped back. The bolts passed harmlessly under her, and stabbed into the wall. She spun in mid-air, faced a trio of stunned pirate crossbowmen, and with a roar, doused them in an excessive torrent of dark-red flames. The deluge of fire hit the ground, roasted the pirates, and then spewed into the adjacent streets in violent streams, setting more buildings ablaze.

The sun had set, but the inferno spreading through the town painted the night in shades of orange and scarlet. Thick smoke pillars rose to enshroud the moon and stars and bring the sky lower. It reminded Samael of home, which only further enhanced her mood. She had the strange urge to howl.

Of the pirates, three charcoaled corpses remained. She collected their writhing soul, delighting in their torment, and dashed towards the next group of incoming snacks.

The devil ran and rampaged through the narrow streets of the pirate town, untrammelled. The sinful sots that infested this place kept throwing themselves in her path. Reckless. Increasingly reckless. The more she killed, the more frantic they grew, acting like madmen and women possessed. Or maybe their desperation was because of all the souls she snatched.

Samael laughed. She felt like a mischievous kid sweeping in a house and stealing someone else’s treats.

Everything the pirates got, she took in stride, conventional weapons and magic spells alike. Nothing slowed her down. She was invincible, both judge and executioner, an exterminator of pests, and they were repulsive vermin to be crushed under her foot. And she laughed—she laughed as she slaughtered them all and harvested their ripe, blackened, corrupted souls.

Plucking the stunned spirits from the ether was child’s play once their mortal bodies had expired—violently. Each time, Samael contemptuously smacked the outraged force pulling against her, contending for her rightful prize. These angry ticks were beneath her. She felt their hate, their resentment, but welcomed it. She roared her supremacy and dared them to defy her, but they quickly retreated once they realised her power. As should be.

She devoured these evil souls with glee. Their immaterial taste rolled over her tongue, incomparable to any tangible meal. Finally, the unrelenting hunger that had churned her insides since her arrival in the Midworld was being sated. Samael would have cried in relief if her mind was not already drowning in ecstasy.

Her victims screamed and pleaded, but their terror was like spice, only enhancing her pleasure. She threw them into the blazing furnace of her stomach, where they wept and gnashed their teeth. The act made her essence soar as it resounded with a deep instinctual need within herself.

She was making sinners suffer, and it was very good.

A hail of stones wrecked the ground around her. At least, the villains were learning from their mistakes and had stopped using fire against her. Those few idiots had looked remarkably stupid when she threw their fireballs back at them.

Or maybe she had eaten every fire mage they had. Could be. It did not matter, though. It was all pointless—fun, for her, but pointless. No matter what they used, there was no salvation for them.

Like this earth mage here.

Samael slapped any pebble that flew directly at her face, and retaliated with a wave of fire in the direction the attack came from—the entrance of an alleyway on her left. Screams of agony answered her flames. She roared in victory and leapt into the burning alley to snatch the spellcaster’s damned soul before it moved on.

A group of five appeared to intercept her. She fell on all fours and charged into them with the momentum of a cannonball, barely slowing down. Her claws eviscerated the first. She spun on her toes, and her tail whipped around and popped the second’s head like a berry, splattering red on the wall behind them.

A sabre landed ineffectively on her arm. She bit into the wielder’s shoulder. Her fangs tore their flesh, crushed their bones, and deliciously warm blood poured down her throat. With a jerk of her neck, she threw the dying third interloper into the fourth one, bringing them both to the ground. In the same movement, she grabbed the fifth and smashed them into a gory pulp. A quick sidestep, and the surviving fourth’s head was crushed under her foot.

She inhaled their souls with barely a conscious effort. A prickle of pleasure coursed down her spine, from the base of her skull all the way to the tip of her long tail. The dead mage’s spirit was even more potent stuff. His terror and denial and his dashed delusions of grandeur were ingredients of pure gourmet delight, which drew another purring moan from the demon’s throat.

More. Samael needed more—more of this bliss, more of this sense of fulfilment, to crush more evil with her fangs and claws, to drink the blood of many more sinners and to rip their gangrenous souls to shreds while they pleaded for her to stop. More!

And she knew where to find what she sought.

She vaulted onto a roof and glared at the manor overlooking the town, and the white ship hovering above it, like a beacon in the black sky, lit up from underneath by the raging fires. Great Evils dwelled in both places. The demon’s tongue wandered over her bloodied lips. She wondered how delicious they would taste.

Her body swelled with power, tiles shattered under her twitching claws, and fire burst spontaneously from her red mane. Her hunting roar boomed through the town and rattled the houses around her.

She leapt off the roof, and landed into another pack of startled sinners.

And she rained fire upon them.

And her path of slaughter continued through the damned city.

…

At the back of Samael’s mind, a small voice whispered she might be forgetting something, but that mutter of reason was quickly drowned in a high of bloodlust and rightful euphoric fury.

It was probably nothing too important anyway.

* * *

Sophia held back a sneeze.

On top of everything else, this pirate ship was a hell of dust.

She crept carefully onto the gun deck after Petra. The main deck was now only one level above them, and the footsteps of the excited pirates echoed louder than ever. It was as if a giant centipede was having a fit right over their heads. However, the racket was not enough that every rattle of Sophia’s chains did not sound to her like it might alert the whole ship. She was also dressed all in white, and she briefly wondered how she came to look like a ghost in a children’s story.

Her fearful eyes scanned her surroundings. Maybe due to stress, but she thought this floor looked even creepier than her brief memory of it.

Night had fallen outside, and only lantern light poured through the trapdoor to the upper deck, flickering and broken often by deformed silhouettes, like a play in a demented shadow theatre. Luckily, no one seemed to be coming down—too preoccupied were they, she presumed, with the events happening outside.

The lack of sunlight only seemed to accentuate the shine of the white wood, also less obstructed by crates, shelves and other cargo than in the cluttered hold. The crisp glow came from everywhere at once, casting too many shadows that ended abruptly or overlapped in strange and unnatural ways. It messed with Sophia’s depth perception as if she had climbed into a surreal world where distances were in constant flux.

The strange, scattered pillars covered in swirling symbols made things worse. As did the odd cannons. Built with abstruse geometrical forms, they cast the weirdest shadows of them all. These shapes almost seemed to move and twist at the edge of Sophia’s vision, but when she turned to look, everything was still.

The plain hammocks strung to the beams around appeared like the upside-down waves of a frozen sea. Sophia suddenly had the absurd, gut-spinning sensation of sinking upwards. She gasped, but could not draw air. Her breathing was blocked as if she were drowning. Her feet turned to jelly beneath her, and she started to collapse.

A hand wrapped over her eyes from behind. Another grabbed her shoulder, steadying her. “Careful.” Petra’s whisper sounded right next to Sophia’s ear. “Don’t stare into the patterns, love. There’s old magic at work in this ship. Even half-asleep, the Dove knows we are enemies of its current master. And it doesn’t want us here.”

She turned Sophia around before peeling her fingers off her face. The priestess found herself looking into the blonde’s eyes—which were a light shade of teal, she noticed only now. “The ship doesn’t want us here?” She whispered back, incredulous and still vertiginous.

Petra glanced behind her, her expression both warry and transfixed. “Wondrous and terrible were the Ancient Wars,” she murmured cryptically, with almost religious reverence. The phrase had a peculiar cadence, like a poem. “We are awed by their buried bones. How great must they be when they still walked?”

“…I’m sorry?”

“It’s a translation from Old Loew. The adage sounds better in the original language… Can you imagine it, a time when ships like this one were common? Now, picture one when they are not only common, but the weakest assets in massive sky fleets cruising the world.”

“That’s…” Sophia was about to say ‘crazy’, but Petra continued.

“Incredible, I know…” The blonde blinked and seemed to shake off a trance. “Come on, let’s get you into something more discreet.” Still holding Sophia’s shoulder, she dragged the bewildered priestess to a tight cluster of hammocks underneath the upwards stairs.

Sophia suddenly recalled the unsettling whispers she had heard on her way down. “Wait.” She put a hand on Petra’s upper arm. “I think there’s someone here.”

“I don’t see anyone,” Petra whispered, looking into the hanging beds. Sophia also scanned the dim spaces between the cloth sheets but saw nobody either.

Then she lowered her gaze, and had to clasp her hands over her mouth to muffle a scream.

From the shadows underneath the bunks, besides low shelves holding what looked like the pirates’ personal belongings, two bloodshot eyes stared at her unblinkingly.

The man sat curled in a foetal position, sweaty, dishevelled, and leaning on the shelves, slightly swaying back and forth. His blood-speckled, dried lips moved ceaselessly, but without sound. His hands and feet were shackled tightly together.

His fingers were freshly mangled and bloodied. To Sophia’s trained eyes, the wounds looked self-inflicted. She noticed obvious bite marks: he seemed to have gnawed himself to the bone. The shackles—as crude a solution as they were—might have been for his own safety.

On second glance, he was not even looking at them. His eyes stared right past, lost in an infinite distance.

Petra pulled out her wand-gun and aimed at him.

“Stop!” Sophia hissed and hurriedly pushed the blonde’s hand down. “He’s injured!”

“He’s a pirate,” Petra countered. “He’ll raise the alarm.”

Sophia kept glaring at her, unflinching. After a last look at the disturbed but silent man, Petra shrugged and lowered her weapon. “Your funeral, Squirrel.” Then she nodded towards the shelves. “Hey, look.”

Following her gaze, the priestess spotted Squee’s keyring, lying right next to the man’s head. “Oh. Thank Goddess.” The pig-man must have been binding the other pirate when he heard their movement on the deck below and came down to investigate.

“Right… The question is, can we get it without making your new best friend freak out? –Hey! What are you doing?!” But Sophia had already gotten on her hands and knees and was crawling under the hammock beside the man. She reached out for the keys.

Suddenly, her neighbour took a sharp intake of breath and his eyes focused on her—really seeing her this time. “It’s you… You’re the girl!” Sophia froze with her hand extended. Behind her, Petra raised her gun right back up, but Sophia quickly gestured for her to wait.

She plastered an appeasing smile on her face, facing the pirate, and spoke in the same soft tone she would use on a sick child. “You’re… Buck, is that it?” She recalled the name Scalper had used. ‘…not with Buck down there…’ he had said when the captain suggested he go down to rest.

Up close, she recognised the second man who had been present at the healing house—the second man who actively kidnapped her. That realisation significantly cooled her sympathy for his injuries, but still not enough that she would allow Petra to just shoot him.

Buck nodded feverishly. “That’s me… ma’am… Ma’am, you’ve got to tell her…”

“Tell whom, Buck?”

“Mother!” he gasped. “Tell her I’m sorry… I didn’t know… I didn’t want you harm… ma’am… mother…” His eyes started drifting off again. “I’m sorry, mother. I didn’t know, mother. Buck’s been a bad boy.” He swung back and forth more and more, his chin tucked between his knees. “Bad. Sorry. I’m sorry, mother. Very bad. Very sorry. Shouldn’t hurt pretty girls… bad Buck… sorry… very sorry… sorry… sorry… sorry…” He curled up tighter and tighter, as tight as his restraints allowed. He shook his head wildly. His eyes were wide and terrified.

Whatever he was seeing, it was horrifying and gnawing at his sanity.

Sophia was petrified. But she forced herself to grab the keys. She also snatched a bundle of cloth and quickly backtracked from the space beneath the bunks.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Petra whistled between her teeth.

“I don’t know. But I don’t have the time to find out.” Sophia was loath to abandon another human being in such extreme distress. But if she did not hurry, many more would die to Samael.

Sophia felt responsible for those lives. The demon was coming to her rescue. She knew it was irrational, and those were terrible people—criminals who, by law, would undoubtedly be sentenced to hang. But she could not help this guilt. Leaving people to die went against everything she believed in, everything she had studied, everything that she was.

She backed away from the stairs while fumbling with the keys, trying to find the right one for her shackles. But her hands shook too much. She struggled to even fit anything in the keyholes.

Petra sighed. “Come on, let me help. You’re a nut, Squirrel. I hope you realise–”

“Yoooooooooouuu…”

The sound froze both women. It seemed like a man gargling and wheezing at the same time. And it had not come from the crawlspace where Buck hid.

It echoed from the other end of the deck.

Footsteps approached, slow and stumbling. Petra immediately spun and raised her wandgun. This time, the priestess did not stop her.

A figure appeared from between the pillars.

Sophia took a sharp intake of breath. Once more, she recognised an unfortunately familiar face. But Scalper looked way worse than when she last saw him—way worse. Beside her, Petra gagged.

In places, the pirate’s pasty white skin hung from his face as if it were half-melting. In others, it swelled in giant pustules about to burst. His hair was falling off. Black veins crept up his neck. His eyes were wide and wild, and only one seemed able to focus—the other rolling independently. Black tar drooled from his limp mouth and trickled from his nose. His left leg—the one Sophia had fixed—dragged woodenly behind him. He barely seemed able to move it.

Scalper stumbled in their direction and raised a hand towards Sophia. The hand itself looked half-rotten, with darkened skin peeling off his fingers. “Yooooouuu… did…. thisss…” he wheezed. “Whaaat… did… youuu… dooo… to meee…” He suddenly stopped and grabbed his leg. “Aaaah! It hhhurts… ssso… much…”

Petra leaned back. “The fuck did you do to this guy?” she whispered, sounding equally disturbed and impressed.

“Nothing! I healed his leg! He should be perfectly fine!”

“Well, tell that to his face.”

Scalper’s mad eye stopped rolling and fixed Sophia without blinking. His pupil shrunk. “Hhhelp… meee… It hhhurtsss…”

“I can’t… I don’t know… I can’t…” The priestess took a step back, shaking her head.

Scalper resumed his unsteady walk towards them. “Heal… meee…” He lifted his rotting hand. “Heal­–”

There was a low *whoosh* noise, and a hole appeared in the middle of Scalper’s chest. Sophia’s head snapped to Petra. The gem of her wand faintly glowed. Petra looked at the shocked priestess. “What? I’m not letting that any closer to me.”

Before Sophia could answer, a deep, tortured howl boomed through the deck.

“NO!! NOOO!! WHYYY?! YOOOOOUUUUUUU!!”

Scalper had not fallen, despite the gap in his chest. But the melting of his face had picked up speed. His skin dripped off his skull in large viscous flaps, revealing yellowed bone underneath. He screamed and begged in gargled, unintelligible words. A large boil on his forehead burst, showering him in black pus. His mad eye shrivelled and left a gaping socket where a small yellow flame seemed to grow.

His whole body twisted and bulged painfully—as if his skeleton was trying to break out. He howled in agony. Misshapen gold horns, tortuous and split like gnarled branches, ripped through what remained of his scalp. Oversized golden bone claws pierced through the decayed flesh of his hand. His ribs erupted from the sides of his chest, golden too. Then a forest of mismatched golden fangs burst out of his gums.

The skeletal monster dribbling man-flesh shrieked like a banshee and leapt at the women, its inhuman scream echoed by Sophia’s terrified one.

* * *

The manor’s outer gates liquefied in a red hot pool, allowing entrance in the courtyard to Samael, who crept through the molten metal without care. The flames of the burning city behind her lit up the night and cast a hulking horned shadow on the façade of the building. The flying ship glowed like a fragment of moon in the sky beyond the mansion.

But the demon’s glowering ruby eyes were not on the ship, but down below. She glared at the ground, her gut bubbling with wrath, her nose creased in disgust. Underneath the delicious smell that had brought her here, she now caught a detestable, foul, rotten stench—like the corpse of a diseased beast. And it was seeping from below.

A large blast of golden light hit Samael in the chest. She hissed and rolled away. The light singed—lightly, but just enough to be insulting. Her head snapped up, to a group of cowled figures peeking through the manor doors. They yelped in retreat at the sound of her angry growl and sight of her bared fangs. The door banged shut and locked loudly.

Samael lept to her feet and stepped towards the manor—then she froze, her pointed ears twitching, and her gaze jerked up to the floating ship.

“Sophia…”

Finally!! the little voice in her mind seemed to shout. The pact anchored in her soul pulsed in grumbling agreement. And Samael’s howling instincts, at last, quietened sheepishly.

A mask of urgent worry replaced the demon’s rightfully furious expression. Roaring, she jumped on top of the manor, then towards the ship.

* * * * *