Battle Log two

Ship of Hans Veltmann, "Heiligdom"

It was massive. The ship was about 120 meters long, and was without doubt the most unique ship in the fleet in terms of appearances. For one thing, it lacked the pointed bow all the others had. Instead, it had a massive, flat bow, which slanted down to join the bow stem at the bottom.

Seven gargantuan masts loomed above the top deck, rippling in the powerful wind accompanying the fleet. And on top of the central mast was the flag of the Veltmann Pirates, a black flag with a white opened hand in the middle, surrounded by red hibiscuses.

The top deck was the widest out of all the ships in the fleet, surrounded by steel railings that ran the length of the ship. It was here that the fighters of the Veltmann crew were gathered, preparing the large cannons that interrupted the formation of the railings at the edge. There were at least seventy of them, scattered around the wide space.

"Oi! What do you think you're doing?" The thin, high voice belonged to the sixteen-year old vice-captain, Catherine Bell. She was barely five feet tall, with long brown hair held back in pigtails and a short, golden dress with black laces along the sleeves and the end of the skirt, which were just long enough to cover her knees.

She raised her hand and pointed at a group of men struggling with one of the cannons. "That one is jammed, so I don't see why the hell you're all wasting your time on it right now. Go replace it!" She ordered, and they scattered with dark glances in her direction.

She savoured those vengeful looks. In fact, she liked to be the subject of angry men in general...except one man, that is.

"Catherine." Speak of the devil, and the devil shows himself.

She spun around and glared at the tall man standing before her. He was wearing a white coat hidden underneath a far longer cloak of the same colour that concealed everything underneath. A long, long hood covered his head and stood well above him, like a ridiculous tent. The cloak did well to cover his arms, of which the right one did not quite have a hand at the end.

His face was hidden in shadow thanks to the absurd hood, but Bell had a good idea of what face he was making. "Did I not tell you to stay downstairs for now? You're the cornerstone of this operation." The man's voice was strong and calm, but lacked the roughness most men would have while instructing fools like her.

And indeed, instead of replying, Catherine pointed out her tongue at him and made that buzzing sound which he so hated with her lips and tongue.

Hans Veltmann did not have the time, nor the interest, to mess around with this child, though there was never a day where he truly regretted making this brat his second in command. She was a loudmouth and a scummy kid, but a kid was all she really was.

He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. "Very well then. Command this ship if you want to do so that badly. But if you get injured or die, that is your responsibility. Got it?" She immediately retracted the tongue and grinned. "I knew I'd convince you eventually, Conehead."

He ignored that last part and watched her jog towards the bow, where a couple dozen men were stationed. They mostly carried guns and pistols, but there were a few with swords and one with a crossbow of all things.

Good grief. Bell is the only saving grace on this ship of idiots.

Then again, why wouldn't she be? She was talented, gifted with Ley. She was one of those children they called "Gifted", and that was just what they were. Special children who awakened their attributes without any need for physical training.

Which is all good, but she's still useless in actual combat without Advanced Ley.

He was thinking too much again. Right now, there was one thing that mattered far more to him than this petty operation anyway.

Under the hood, he felt the ageing muscles in his jaw laboriously pull back to form a smile.

How I've yearned for this moment.

"Captain Veltmann."

"Germaine."

The Captain of the eleventh ship. Veltmann didn't think much of him, but he was a Steam Ley user, and having a Ley user among the useless crew members was still far better than nothing.

Germaine was far shorter than him, with thinning ginger hair and a peculiar interest in the colour orange. His shirt was a bright orange, his pants were dyed a dark orange, so dark they could be considered a brighter shade of brown. He wore long, steel arm guards with a pair of gauntlets (all orange, of course).

The colour made him nauseous. Bell liked colourful things too, but Germaine was on another level.

Germaine was clearly wound up about something. "If I may confide in you, Hans-" He started.

Veltmann raised his left hand. "I did not ask."

But the orange twerp had balls, and kept talking. "What do you think are the chances of me surviving this attempt?" He asked, and frankly, he may as well have spoken this to a brick wall.

The silence he was met with seemed to give him his answer, and he walked off with a determined look in his eyes.

Now slightly curious, Veltmann followed him towards the bow. "Hans...do you follow Captain Blackbeard because of loyalty?" He asked, tempting Veltmann to respond with another "I did not ask."

However, he found the question to be amusing.

"Loyalty? Hmm. Loyalty." He muttered, as if it was a word he was not used to saying. "I've never followed anybody unless it had some sort of personal gain, Germaine."

They stopped behind Bell, who was busy lecturing one of the men who had accidentally dropped a cannonball onto the floor and cracked the floorboard.

She turned around with a puzzled expression.

The two men ignored her and continued their confrontation. Germaine now looked at Veltmann almost sternly, like a father staring at a son who had just done something wrong.

"I don't follow people for myself, Veltmann. Not since I lost everything for doing so." He said.

Now, Veltmann bent down a bit to meet Germaine on the same level. "Listen to me, Germaine. If you think you're putting your life at risk to serve that man, then shut the hell up." He raised his left arm, and touched Germaine's chin with his index finger.

"Let me make this clear. You aren't on a pedestal because you lack self respect. Or because you don't value your own life. It only means you can't speak for any of us. Pirates live their lives selfishly. Try to act like a saint, and you die." He growled, and drew back.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Whitebeard standing on a large plank, right in front of the Lonely Angel. He could sense his Ley, of course, but the seals he had placed on the eleven ships disrupted Basic Ley for him, too.

That could be trouble.

Germaine tapped Catherine's shoulder. "Little miss, I need your help to get to Whitebeard. An attack while he's off-guard should give some sort of an advantage for us." Uncaring, she simply shrugged and raised her hands.

"Alright, but don't regret your decision." She said, and placed her fingertips against his chest. Almost immediately, the light around him began to bend and fracture, causing his body to shimmer and fade into nothingness.

She lowered her hands and kicked her right leg forward, hitting his kneecap and making him yowl, mostly out of surprise.

"There we go!" She grinned, somewhat glad that the ever composed Germaine might be pissed at her. "You don't need to worry about him spotting you, as long as you can move faster than he can react."

She saw him nod, and gave him a thumbs up. "Good luck, fuzzball." Germaine smiled at the prospect of her giving him one of her rude, yet extremely caring nicknames. He gave her a thumbs up as well, and realized she could see him despite the invisibility.

No, that's not quite right. Its because of her Ley that she can. She can control what she can and can't see, after all.

With a sigh, he drew his arm back and took the spear he carried with him.

He knew if he stood around for too long, he'd lose his guts. So without further delay, he leapt off the bow and began to convert the surrounding Ley into steam.

With perfect control over the temperature and density of the steam, he glided effortlessly through the air, spear in hand and ready to strike right behind Whitebeard.

"You aren't on a pedestal because you lack self respect."

Why was he hearing this? He wondered, as the figure of Whitebeard standing on that plank, struggling to float atop the churning sea grew ever closer, ever clearer.

He balanced himself on the steam clouds beneath him one last time, before leaping behind Whitebeard.

"Pirates live their lives selfishly."

For a moment, he thought he had Whitebeard in the palm of his hand. But just has he raised his spear, something made him realize it was already too late.

"Try to act like a saint, and you die."

Even before Whitebeard spun around with frightening speed, even before he could react in time to coat his spear with boiling steam, he knew he was about to die.

I've acted like a saint for too long, huh?

With a wet SCHLOP, the blade pierced through the top of his head, and everything went black.

Catherine Bell watched all of this unfold, a stunned expression plastered on her face. Yet, despite her widened eyes and tightened lips, she thought she knew he'd die anyway.

She spun around, her twintails now practically flying in the strengthening wind, and saw Veltmann walking back towards the elevated quarter deck, in the direction of the door leading to the staircase that led to the lower decks.

"Hey, Hans! Germaine is-" She stopped, because she understood. Hans was no fool, he already knew what had happened.

There was a massive bang, almost like a thunderclap, as Whitebeard let loose a massive wall of flame at the Lonely Angel, forcing Blackbeard to swing down his sword and use his Air Ley to divert the worst of the flames from his ship.

Veltmann lifted his hand up to show her he heard over the noise. "I'm going to prepare to disembark. I have business with a certain someone. Take care of the ship, and run if the it is in danger." He didn't receive a reply, but was almost happy not to. She was far too chatty and loud anyw-

Wait.

Something was wrong.

He stopped and turned to find Whitebeard standing about ten feet behind him, with his left hand tightly gripping Catherine's head. She was facing away from Hans, which meant that she had at least managed to react to some extent before being completely immobilised.

Behind them, the twenty four or twenty five people guarding Bell all laid on the deck with varying levels of wounds, some with their torsos separated from their hips and legs, and others with their skulls sliced into neat, gruesome chunks of bloodstained flesh and bone scattered on the floorboards. The blood hissed and bubbled, as if it had been boiled for hours.

It was beyond cruel. Veltmann himself knew what cruel was, it was a trait he associated with himself, after all. And this was well beyond anything he had ever done. It was pointless murder.

He hasn't changed a bit, that's for certain. Whitebeard stood there with the same black, wavy hair that for some reason he always kept neatly combed to one side of his head, the long scar Blackbeard had given him, and the same black facial hair (although in their last meeting, he had more of a stubble than a chinstrap). Even the smoking cutlass was the very same one he had seen him use three years ago in the battle near the coast of South Africa.

And now he tightened the grip on Bell's face, staring straight ahead. But he wasn't looking at Veltmann, heavens no. His eyes were empty, with absolutely no purpose or interest in him.

Catherine could only look at Whitebeard with her eyes. Trying to turn her head would be an immediate death sentence, given the look in his eyes. His fingers were not simply gripping her face, they were squeezing it so hard she thought her head would explode if he tightened his grip any further.

And then he lowered his eyes to look at her, and for a split second, her eyes directly met his.

"Mama, why can't we look at the sun?"

"Do you want to go blind, Cathy? That man there has half a head to live by, and looked at the sun. Look at the sun if you want to know what blindness feels like!"

Mama, She thought, forcefully battling her instinct to pull her head back as fast as possible, away from the black pair of circles she could not quite describe as eyes. I know what blindness feels like, Mama.

She closed her eyes, and embraced the darkness and the warmth that came with it. It did not, however, prevent a shiver from rattling her small body from shoulder to the very tips of her toes, underneath her beloved boots with bells on them.

Whitebeard still kept his face straight, gazing at her with his eyes.

When he spoke, something in his voice made Catherine's blood freeze. She didn't understand what it was, whether it was anger or disappointment, but all she knew was that she needed to get the hell out of his grip.

"Eleven years as a mercenary...and twenty years as a pirate." He gripped her head even tighter, as if that last word only made him angrier.

The pain was now quite literally head-splitting. She felt dizzy, and could've sworn something cracked from inside her head. His fingers were practically wedging into her skin by now, twisting and digging into the flesh underneath with them, as though they were nails rather than extensions of his own body.

And then she finally opened her eyes, and by accident, looked right into the eyes of the man who had her in the palm of his hand. They were black, soulless circles, and everything inside those circles told her she was going to die.

"I know a bitch when I see one." He said, and began to crush her skull.

"WAIT, WAIT!" She shrieked, and was astounded when he actually stopped at her voice.

Despite the brief pause, she didn't dare move a muscle. Even that one second of life she had been granted gave her an opportunity to live.

I want to live, Mama. I don't want to die. I don't want to join you.

I'm sorry I killed you, Mama. I'm sorry.

Everything was flashing before her eyes. A bloody knife, Veltmann's experiments, the violet boots he had so unexpectedly gifted her...she didn't want to leave all that aside.

"I'll do whatever you want! Anything, anything!" She squealed, completely abandoning any attempt to appear bold.

Why isn't Hans DOING anything?! Despite this frantic thought, a more rational part of her brain wondered just what he could possibly do other than die against this monster. Even Hans Veltmann would be fodder against Whitebeard.

Out of complete and utter desperation, she finally yelled, "I'll...I'll even join your crew! I'll turn over a new leaf, I swea-"

CRACK.

Veltmann was frozen solid. He would be utterly useless, he knew, against Whitebeard. Yet something inside him, a less rational part that he had hidden away in a corner of his mind, screamed in frustration as he saw Whitebeard crush Catherine Bell's head.

The first thing he saw was her skull, of course. Shattered into hundreds of fragments, they fell one by one onto the floor, accompanied by pieces of her bloodstained brain.

The drizzle of blood that followed was brief, but horrifying all the same. Veltmann was not a man unfamiliar to blood, and yet the sight of Catherine's hair fall in disgusting, wet clumps made him sick. It surprised even him when that unfamiliar feeling of nausea rose up in his chest as the face of Catherine Bell flashed across his vision while her headless body collapsed to the deck.

Whitebeard stood there for a moment, with blood spilled over his hand, all the way to the forearm.

His eyes were unblinking and unseeing. They were aimed for Veltmann, yet they didn't actually stop when they saw him. They simply stared right through him instead, like a pair of black marbles.

Veltmann didn't dare move. Nor could he, anyway. His legs were frozen in place. He was still unmoving as Whitebeard lowered his hand, still unmoving as he raised his sword with his right hand and coated the blade with his harsh, bright orange flames.

Ah. I'm dead.