James spat blood.

It stuck to the inside of his helm, the smell of iron overpowering his nostrils. He resisted the urge to rip it off and throw it, even as it seared against his skin.

James coughed again and groaned. He rolled on the ground, his shaking hands propping himself up. He looked around the cabin, which was lit in brilliant flames. The orange tongues of fire licked at the wooden remnants of the walls and roof, which were dilapidated enough to show the cloudy sky. The captain's quarters were no more.

'If I was only a second too late…'

James had been fast enough to avoid the hurling ball of flame that emitted from the assassin's rune. He narrowly avoided getting blown to bits, but that didn't mean he wasn't affected by its shockwave and heat. His Carapace had taken the brunt of the damage, shattering in the process. His poncho was also smoldering, its edges singed and still smoking. Thankfully, his armor's runes and enchantments had done their job well and still radiated with magic.

"Farin and Oscor…" James mumbled as he forced himself to stand. He turned to where he had last seen the two men before the Fireball. He froze when he saw their crumpled forms at the impact point. He wouldn't have recognized their charred corpses had it not been for the remnants of their blue sashes that still smoldered from the flames. Among them were the rest of the soldiers they had been fighting.

'He fired off the spell without caring if Ivan's men were in the way.'

The realization stunned him for a moment. Did he truly not care at all for the side he was fighting? Hell, was he even sided with Ivan?

"Lucky," a voice called out from behind.

James quickly turned, sword in hand, as he swiped at the speaker. His blade sliced the throat of the assassin, who had been standing right behind him. The wound bled heavily but did nothing to invoke any sign of pain. The masked man simply stared at James, his goggles cold and lifeless.

James raised his sword and struck at the assassin, his movements instinctual. His blade only made it halfway before it was caught by a three-pointed weapon. He blinked at the sight of a dagger holding his sword's length, three sharp points fanning out in different directions. James barely had time to react before the man twisted and broke his sword. Fractured steel flew as a result, and runes burned on the strange dagger as it pulled back.

James was stunned for a moment, body freezing as he watched the broken remains of his weapon fall. He failed to react to the assassin's rush.

In a move that was too fast for him to see, the masked man decked James with a left hook. It sent the young Jarl sprawling onto the ground, his helmet flying off as a result. It bounced on the deck uselessly, far from his reach. James couldn't help but groan in pain, his body struggling as he tried to pick himself up.

"Lucky," the assassin spoke again. His footsteps sounded out as he walked over to James. "That's what makes you special, doesn't it?"

"What are you—" James felt his boot stomp down on his back, forcing him onto the ground. His head struck the floor, which had become wet with crimson and hot from the heat.

"No skills. No prowess. Just luck," the man continued. "Dumb luck. That is how you managed to make it this far. How you avoided death for so long. Funny, I had hoped for something a little more interesting."

"Who the fuck are you?!" James shouted in anger, his eyes moving up to his attacker. The assassin simply stared down at him, no response coming from the emotionless mask he wore. James struggled even more to get out, his body straining as he kicked and yelled. The attempt was cut short when the sounds of screaming filled his ears. He stopped and looked at the source.

His heart dropped when he saw men fighting and dying on the deck of Frostbite. His men. James watched in horror as one of the crewmates had his head taken off, the attack coming from thin air. As if some invisible force had done it. More fell to the same thing. Orcs, soldiers, and innocent crew. All dying in front of him.

"No!" James bellowed, his rage fueling his adrenaline as he fought to get up. It didn't do a damn thing. "Get the FUCK off of me!"

"Quit your crying," the assassin sighed as he forced James to the ground once more. "Honestly, some men these days don't have the same humility as back then. I've killed youngins that showed less emotion."

"If you don't get off, I swear I'll—"

"Rip my spine out?" the assassin questioned. "Tear me limb from limb? Eat my heart? I've heard it all, and honestly, most men don't even make good on those promises. Then again, you do hold Faust Desimir's spirit. I wonder…"

Before he could finish his sentence, the masked man disappeared in a blur, thrown back by a force that struck him like a truck. James blinked. Horuk stood there in his place, panting as he held a piece of wood that substituted for his club.

The orc was heavily injured, as evidenced by the deep wounds that ran across his torso. Regardless, he had the strength to completely obliterate the assassin with a strike. James could see how the masked man's body was crumpled and twisted, his limbs bent in all the wrong ways.

"Are you alright?" Horuk asked with a grunt.

"I'm fine," James muttered as he slowly picked himself up. He held back a cough as he looked toward the orc. "We need to get back to Frostbite and sail out of here."

"What of the necromancer?" Horuk asked.

"Dead," James muttered regrettably. He didn't dare look at Malik's body. "Get a move on, now! We have to hurry before—"

"Eilif?"

Both man and orc froze at the sound of a woman's voice. Both of them turned to the speaker, who stood before them by the remnants of the Fireball's path of destruction. She wore a black cloak that was wrapped around her dark shirt and trousers. Her black hair was swept back to reveal her gaze. Which consisted of eyes that glowed a bright purple, their pupils burning a white glow.

Beholder eyes. This woman had Beholder Eyes.

James reached for his side knife, which hung at his belt. He barely grabbed it before he was hit by an invisible force. It struck his chest, the runes on his armor flaring in response. He flew back, skidding on the floor.

James cursed as he grabbed at his chest, feeling a long gash that ran across his steel cuirass. Thankfully, his armor held. He forced himself to get up, side knife raised as he turned to Horuk. The orc stood in front of him, arm raised as he prepared a strike. James prepared for another spell, the last one in his reserves.

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"Cara—"

Pain. James staggered as something slashed his face. He blinked. His dagger was now reduced in half, a diagonal cut along its length. He stared at it, feeling blood run down his nose and cheeks. Horuk did not move or shout, the orc's lumbering form unnaturally still.

"Horuk?" James asked. There was an eerie silence, the sounds of battle now dead. "Horu–"

The orc's upper half slid off, the rest of his corpse following suit. It all landed on the floor with a sickening thud, gore and oily blood adding to the mess that surrounded James. Standing in Horuk's place was the young woman, her eyes flaring purple. James could see runes burnt into the pupils, the sigils fading slowly.

"Durable, that orc," she muttered a complaint. "Had to use Cleave that time. Effective spell, but it's too draining!"

"Who… Who are you?" James asked, his voice coming out monotone. He felt numb despite the cut that ran diagonally across his face. It was still bleeding.

"Hm?" the woman raised an eyebrow at his question. "Oh, you're Holter. I had thought that maybe Seamus was here, maybe disguised as one of the guards. Gods know he's not on the other ship. Already killed everyone there, both above and below the decks."

James continued to stare, his heart sinking.

Dimitri. Greene. The crew. Were they all dead, too?

'James! React! Do something!' Faust was screaming now.

"Well, time to die," the woman said. Before James could do or say anything, he was thrown back again. He landed on the ground in pain again. This time, it was more than what he could handle. He clutched at the right side of his face, letting out a scream of agony. His eye was bleeding heavily, his sight gone from it. The woman had cut it.

James writhed on the ground as it grew unbearable. His adrenaline had faded a while ago, and his previous wounds were beginning to rear their ugly heads. He was immobilized, his body reaching the limits of what they could take.

"You missed," another voice called out.

"It's not easy aiming, you know," the woman said indignantly. "Aiming for the throat is quite difficult, really."

James struggled to look for the source of the other voice. Despair filled him when he saw the assassin approaching, half his body still malformed. Yet he walked just fine. In fact, James could see how the assassin forced his twisted arm into place, his hand clenching and unclenching.

'What is happening?'

'Forget that! Get up!' Faust shouted. 'You can't go down like this!'

James stopped his writhing, his teeth gritting. He forced himself to bear the agony once more, his hands shaking as he pushed himself off the ground. Blood dripped from his right eye, his vision blurred and halved. Regardless, he stood up straight, his remaining eye staring at the two strangers.

"He's still alive," the assassin pointed out. The woman groaned, her gaze meeting with James as he attempted to stand. Her pupils flared, and James stumbled back, more slashes hitting his chest and arms. He fell onto his knees, his lungs begging for breath as he wheezed.

'You must get home!' Faust's words echoed within him. 'You can't die like this! You can get out of this! I will lend you my power! As much as I can! You just need to GET UP!!'

James attempted to stand once again. It already felt like he had done this a hundred times. Each time more futile than the last. Yet he managed to force his legs to work right, his knees wobbling as he took a step toward the Beholder user.

"Oh?" she said with amusement. "You still have some strength left? How much would you bear, I wonder?"

James huffed, his body straightening. He was scared; that much was still clear. Yet, he only had to think about his dead friends for that fear to subside. Anger now controlled him, accompanied by Faust's flowing spirit. The Centurion bolstered his body, his muscles tensing and his bleeding stopping.

For a moment, James had forgotten about the pain. If anything, he could feel his body grow cooler. His wounds hurt less, and his adrenaline rushed back into his body. A rage bubbled deep within, stoked by Faust's spirit.

"Hit me… with all you got," he called out in a growl.

James took a step, and a slash hit his chest. The poncho he wore tore but held. Another slash, this one striking his shin. He kept walking. More slashes, all of them hitting his body. Some were deep, cutting deep into his flesh and armor. Others were light, cutting his face and hands like daggers.

James continued to walk, his body going through what seemed like a storm of knives and swords. He stared at the woman and her partner, his teeth gritting as he tanked through slash after slash. Cut after cut. Each one threatened to bring him down. Each one added to the countless angry wounds that covered him head to toe.

James did not stop. He could feel how Faust's spirit protected him, the wounds on his body doing little to him, no matter how deep they ran. No matter how much blood was spilled.

'I'll kill you. I'll kill you. I'LL KILL YOU.'

James screamed as he reached striking distance, his fist raising as he prepared to fight. The woman stepped back in surprise, the slashes stopping. James stared at her with his only remaining eye, his rage present in the way his skull glowed.

"POWER STRIKE!"

He threw the punch, his fist aiming straight for her head. However, his strike did not land. Instead, his fist only struck air, sending a vortex of wind out into the sea. James blinked. He felt the pain right after, blood filling his mouth. The woman had dodged the attack, and her partner had stabbed him with a dagger and sword. The sword ran deep into a space between his plate armor, blood faceting from the wound. The dagger was lodged deep into the side of his neck, the cold steel stained with scarlet red.

James did not say anything else as the assassin pulled the weapons out with a sickening rip. He fell forward right after, his wounds finally overwhelming him. Once he hit the ground, his gaze moved to the assassin who had stabbed him, the man's goggles reflecting the flames that were spreading across Talon.

He could see how a few more men hurried to accompany him, one of them being that of Jarl Ivan. James had forgotten about the Bastard Jarl. The gnarled man seemed to look displeased as he stared at James with a look of hatred.

"You said that it would be quick, Eilif!" Ivan called, his voice almost distant.

"Things got out of hand," Eilif, the assassin apparently, said with a huff. "Honestly, I didn't think he would be so adamant. Kira's slashes should've brought him down much earlier."

James could only listen in on the conversation as his vision waned and his body grew colder. His natural instincts forced him to take a breath, which in turn forced more blood into his lungs and resulted in a horrible gurgling noise that haunted him.

He was dying.

'Faust?' he called out. There was no response from the spirit.

James' vision soon faded to near-nothingness, and numbness began to spread throughout his body, dampening the pain from his wounds. Before his consciousness slipped away, he heard them speak once more. Their words were muffled and half drowned out by the sound of blood bubbling and coalescing, but James could barely make out what they said.

"Watch your tone with me, Jarl. Be lucky that I'm not killing you for not bringing Seamus here."

Ivan's voice came a second later, his tone turning apologetic. "Of course. I apologize."

"At least Holter's down," Kira, the Beholder woman, said. "All that's left is Halvorson himself."

James felt a sense of guilt accompanying his fear of dying. Right before he lost all consciousness of the moment, however, something called to him. In the silence between his last heartbeats, James heard a vaguely familiar regal voice deep in the recesses of his mind. One that he never got to recognize before he died.

"Pathetic."

END OF PART ONE

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