Chapter 3

The screams are of a fat foreigner with Mountai origins. He’s rough looking and dresses just as crudely. He wears an open vest, showing his girth, and tight pants that threaten to spark flames if he were to walk at a brisk speed. He's two lackeys in his tow who cower behind the big man trying to appear menacing. With one loud booming voice, he bellows “WHO THE HELL BEEN IN MY POCKETS”.

Erika’s eyes dart at Myron. He’s struggling with his look of innocence and bursting out in downright laughter. With both hands held up he pleas, “I didn’t expect he’d be finished eating anytime soon. Look at em”

“I’M NOT ASKING AGAIN.” The big man cries. His eyes growing meaner with every passing second. He snaps his fingers ordering his two assailants to cause mayhem in his honor. They pick on the older customers, snatching drinks from their tables and dumping half eaten meals from their tables. It’s enough to encourage Erika’s response so the warrior stretches her neck left and right until she hears the pop she desires. She’s ready to stand but Myron takes hold of her arm. “Don’t. Quick rundown, these pirates have a deal with a nobleman. Stop them and the nobleman loses money and wants to know why. Bad for us, bad for them.” Myron whispers. He can’t keep from smiling as one of the lackeys makes it over to their table and there’s nothing to trash. In frustration, he makes a jest about the large overcoat shielding Myron’s body. “I’m burning fat!” Myron answers coyly. His table is overturned but it does little to impact his outing.

“FINE. YOU WANT TO PLAY GAMES WITH ME! WITH ME!” the fat man screams louder. “THEN I’LL SHOW YOU HOW I PLAY!!”

His lackeys grow rougher dragging women from their seats, tearing their garments in the process. The manager comes out from hiding to plead and beg but all he receives is a backhand for his trouble. Proving how weak he is he stays down allowing two waitresses to tend to his wound. That is until the fat man snatches them up as well.

Erika grows more uneasy with every passing moment, cursing Myron with her eyes. In fear of her spitefull gaze, he tries his best to avoid making eye contact. If they don’t want to go then all they must do is fight back! He thinks to himself. His ideals are shortly appreciated after he spots, from the corner of his eye, a lackey dragging Rosali by her tiny arms.

“Son of a”

“NO!” Erika shouts grabbing his arm as he has done to her seconds ago. She sees a storm in his eyes but she never for a single second looks away. She catches his stare and owns it until she feels he’s ready to listen. “Make your shadowy thingy and follow them. Make me one to track them. I can do this myself. When I return, you will have your niece. If these pirates are what you say, then you better have a ship ready for us.”

“Erika.”

“SAVE IT! I’m expected to trust you. It’s your turn to do the same. You brought me here for a job and I’m doing it. Get that ship!” Erika cries. She’s bold in her exit, with a handful of copper currency she smashes though the exit door in pursuit of the fat man and his miniature gang. She’s of a clear head and her mind set on the task. I know Kano, I know. Myron thinks aloud.

Originally he thought of waiting until the dark of night and slipping a homemade poison inside the pirates booze. With the crew blacked out it’ll be no trouble to slit the throats of sleeping men and woman to claim the ship for his own. That plan is in shambles. Relying on strength and brute force he constructs a dagger from his shadow. He’s already supplying two other creations so he’s careful not to make the blade too big yet sharp enough to get his point across.

From his insects, he knows of the manager's connection to the gang. The backdoor dealings and the eyes turned the other way. Regardless of how weak and fragile he makes himself out to be, Myron knows of his true nature. As the Blue cowers in a corner Myron approaches with his hand drawn. He holds no emotion on his face when helping the beaten man to his feet. As his mouth parts to offer empty apologies, Myron shoves the dagger through his hand. It tears through his flesh with ease, as a knife through butter. Its dark blade is covered in black blood as the Blue stands in shock. 5 seconds.4.3.2.1!

“AWRGHHHHH!” Howls the Blue after a short delay. He jerks his arm free from Myron’s grasp but he’s backed into a corner. Collapsing to the ground once more he cries genuine tears, kicking his feet wildly.

“Okay. Let me ask again!” Myron says calmly. He pulls out his dagger slowly, allowing the Blue to feel every ounce of pain. Free again he jams the shadow blade deep into his thigh. Surrounded by more cries several others begin pleading for the brute to stop. Showing compassion for their request, Myron tightens his grip and drags the blade towards knee. Blood squirts outs the new wound as the muscles in his leg are revealed. The cries of his victim draw gasps and whispers of the many in attendance. Several run out to what Myron can only assume is to alert the Vespers form of law enforcement. Here in Apollo their known as King’s guard and wear armor thick enough to shake the earth. A problem Myron has no time to involve himself in. He increases the torque in his wrist until the Vesper’s black blood squirts into his face. Myron doesn’t bat an eye.

“Your seriously gonna make me ask you a third time!”

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT!!”

“TELL ME WHERE THERE LOCATED!” He roars.

“SEVENTH DOCK! SEVENTH DOCK!” He hollers back. He never stops screaming even as Myron removes his blade. Myron drops it back into his shadow and throws his hood overhead. His spectators dive out of his way as runs through the exit. Dock number7, in mind.

Erika’s brief detour costs her sights on her targets. Thankfully Myron’s proves much more reliable than she originally thought. His shadow lying on her shoulder, in the form of an arrow, points in the direction she needs to go. It takes her down main street and through the back alley of an old candy store. She stops at an old warehouse where she watches from afar as three men drag the women inside. “I got you” She says through heavy panting, struggling to catch her breath. By herself the run would be nothing, but her holstered long blade makes the trip more of a challenge.

In her mind, Erika hopes to open a relationship with Rosali by saving her life. It’s an underhanded trick but much better than Myron’s idea for kidnapping. Part in which she still questions his seriousness on the matter.

In order to create an softer image for herself, she stopped at the nearest armory and spent what little pieces of copper she picked up from Myron. The copper being just enough to trade for a long blade, an over shoulder holster, grey pants and a crop top short enough that her belly is left exposed. It’s a well-received change when compared to the prison jumpsuit she originally sported.

She doesn’t understand the extent of Myron’s power but she has a theory on how he uses it. She takes ahold of the black arrow lying on her shoulder studying its strange texture. It has a wet clammy feel but leaves no moisture on her hand. Mostly its cold, disturbingly cold. It feels is if she’s physically holding on to emptiness, a place where no light or heat has ever traveled. It makes her uneasy. Is this what he feels inside, she questions herself.

With the weird ick in her hands she squeezes firmly, hoping to send a message. “To be able to mold, , and control it as he does, Myron must have some sort of connection between the two.” She wishes amongst herself. The ick slithers in her hand, squirming about as worms would a hole. When she opens her hand, she sees the arrow change into words reading, DOCK 7. They hold the form for a short while before sliding down her hand in the most uncomfortable way. With it is left behind a disturbing chill.

Knowing it’s time to pull her weight she unsheathes her large sword by pulling it overhead and clenching it in both hands. Her boots are far from shiny but durable enough to kick through the warehouse doors with a loud bang. Pirates and hostages a like enter a panic. Searching for the cause of the crash, they find a warrior of caramel skin and light brown hair.

Theirs a brief silence before Erika’s voice clears the air. “I AM ERIKA VERA, ONLY DAUGHTER OF THE VERA FAMILY! LEAVE THIS PLACE IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIVES!” She screams. Her eyes just as threatening as the large sword in her hands. She watches the thugs gather courage to draw swords and short daggers of their own. They cower behind the larger man from the diner trying to hide the shakiness of their hands. Smirking she asks, “ARE YOU CERTAIN YOUR READY FOR THIS!”. Her voice flooding the room powerfully.

She waves her first opponent over tracing his every movement with keen eyes. He makes the first attack swinging overhead but are countless years too slow to be a threat. In a single swipe, Erika crouches low dragging her sword across his gut. He’s absent any armor so what’s meant to wound may now kill. He yelps horrifically before tumbling over and clutching at his sides. He spends his last words begging each god individually to spare his life.

Erika doesn’t stop there. She sprints forward targeting her next prey, his eyes white with fear. He all but drops his dagger in surrender as Erika towers in front of him. She moving too fast to stop herself but doesn’t consider the man to be of any threat. Instead of slicing him in two, she spins on her heels and fires a boot into his chest. The impact is enough to push him several feet backwards and steal his wind. He lays on the ground motionless with no longer any will to fight.

“Fat man. You’re up!” She boasts.

Myron shivers as the last piece of his shadow rejoins the rest. His body temp is still far from average but its a lot more tolerable. He walks briskly down the main roads of Apollo trying desperately to find his way to the docking bays. He tries retracing his steps but swears he’s passed the “Licky Likey” candy shop three times over already.

The buildings in Apollo are a lot taller and much more oddly shaped than Regina’s mainland cities. Every block looks as the last one. Normally there is a scent of salt water he can follow to the sea, a skill learned from his life as a pirate, but here in Apollo, the aromas of garlic and butter mask the city entirely.

All these people know is eat eat eat! He screams inside his mind. Its hard to think straight with the millions of thoughts running rapid in his head. “I know Kano!” Myron continues arguing with himself. His mind unraveling with frustration. He’s pressed for time knowing things will only grow worse the longer he takes. His back against the wall he has no choice but to rely on his blessing, yet again.

Myron bends his knees low, physically touching his shadow with both hands before molding it into a tiny black bird. Standing up with his hands pressed together, he releases it into the air watching the tiny wings flap with purpose as important as his own. Vespers, passing by, stare in awe at the sight unlike any they’ve ever seen. Mouths drop as children clap, begging more from Myron’s strange magic show. If they knew of the possibility of his “magics” origins, they’d be more pressed to alert the guards.

Fifty-two years ago, Vespers outlawed the binding of Majestic Manifest Relics under the Divinitude Law. It is their belief that only gods have the right to wield such power, for only they possess the wisdom. Under human control MMRs have proven to be no more than weapons of warfare used in the extinction of their own people. Many Vespers believe the relics to be cursed.

The children bounce up and down with excitement, cheering loud enough to shake trees. With big bright eyes and oily skin, they stretch their jaws wide showing off a collage of perfect teeth. They tug and pull at Myron’s jacket with high pitch voices reminding him its too hot for the atire. Myron pulls away hard to free himself from the grasps of the unruly crowd. He sighs deeply and closes both eyes, allowing his sight to drift away and enter that of his shadows. When Myron re-opens them, he’s glaring at Apollo from a bird’s eye view. The black bird soars high with wings stretched wide. Myron doesn’t feel much through the shadows but enough that he’s able to steer through the roguish winds of Apollo. It would be relaxing if more pressing matters didn’t rule the day.

From his height, Myron can spot the Northern Mountains that stretch out miles past the city. It’s most likely the settlement of a Mountai tribe. They usually treat outsider with violence and live lives in complete isolation from other groups.

Turning to the right he can see the Royal palace nestled neatly in a garden bathed with succulent fruit. The building is large by noble standards and trimmed in pure gold. Its complete with its own personal riverbed that runs around the backyard in a perfect circle.

Finally, there are the docks! Surrounded by the endless ocean, almost completely empty in occupants. Myron can only conclude this area is somewhat restricted. Its either a positive or a negative for him, but all the same its where he’s heading.

The black bird performs a perfect summersault, free falling to the world below. Myron reopens his eyes to the same screaming brats waiting to see more tricks. He grunts and pushes his way through the crowd as his black bird falls back inside his shadow. It doesn’t make any noise or impact in its fall, though it fell from enormous heights. Similar, to pudding hitting the ground it turns into a blob, slowly merging with the rest of Myron’s shadow. The kids grow energetic with excitement, hollering and jumping up and down. Witnessing adults trade disgusting looks leaving Myron to wander if they’ve alerted the guards.

“It doesn’t matter, I planned on being quick anyway.” He answers to Kano.

“TOO SLOW, FATMAN!” Erika compliments to the best of her abilities. She openly admits she underestimated the fat man’s skill with a sword but it’s nowhere near good enough to ever do her harm.

He feints a back step before lunging forward with a precise thrust meant to pierce Erika’s gut, but he’s too slow. Erika parries his blow with little effort, dragging her long sword from his left shoulder to his right ribcage. She does her best to pull punches but the fat man still ends up with a deep cut. A gash, spewing blood at an abnormal rate.

“That’s the best I could do in terms of an warning. Don’t think I fancy you, I just much rather avoid killing anyone else in front of these beautiful ladies. Young and old. Drop your arms and surrender yourself to the town’s royal guard.”

“Go piss urself. Dreadful b***h!” He answers through winces and heavy pants. He tries saying more but blood spills from his lips. His eyes are barely open and he’s trouble finding his footing.

“At this point, your just throwing your life away.” Erika gives her final warning.

“I know you are!” He answers charging forward. It’s more of a staggering walk than an actual charge. His sword is barely in hand before he makes another thrusting motion to no avail. Erika’s blade burrows through his chest, piercing the heart, and exits out the back. Fat man’s last words are of a gurgled mess as he kills over on the floor, cursing with his eyes alone. Erika watches blood spill from the wound sharing no symphony for the criminal. She’s several ideas of what he had in mind for the women, so she takes comfort in knowing their lives are spared. She shakes her sword clean of the fat man’s blood, reuniting it with her shouldered holster. Searching for the appropriate words to address the crowd Erika chews on her lips, nervously drawing blanks.

“MAY THE SIX BLESS YOU! THANK YOU, ERIKA! MOST GRACIOUS THANKS TO YOU! Cheers the female captives. They leap to their feet thanking and praising Erika from the top of their lungs. An elder lady wraps her in her arms and weeps into her neck. The warm tears flowing against her flesh causes Erika to melt under the embrace. Shehasnt a choice but to hug back. “It’ll be fine now.” Erika whispers. She finds herself blushing. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling if she wanted too. A familiar warmth fills her heart in a way she thought would die on the execution stands in Cherie. It’s the first time since false charges were made against her character that she’s felt this way. It’s a welcoming reminder of why she first picked up the sword from an early childhood. To help.

She gives the Vesper enough time to get it all out of her system before uttering another word. The rest join in on the hug. Before Erika knows it she’s surrounded by sobbing women who touch and hug her for extended periods of time. And then theirs Rosali. Eyes full of tears that refuse to drop. Though still brighter than Hunan’s, her eyes are a lot dimmer than their first meeting at the diner. She stands in place, sniffling with a strong expression stamped to her face. A small bruise stains her cheek buts unable to take away from the cuteness if her round face. She mouths the words thank you but lacks the strength to voice it.

With a smile, Erika gently pushes herself free. Slowly approaching the tiny child, she spreads her arm wide enough to hug a bear. Dropping to a knee she wraps Rosali in her arms, pulling her in deeply inside her embrace. The mixed child turns into jelly in her arms. She never makes a sound but streams of tears pour down Erika’s cheek relentlessly.

“It’s okay now love, I have you.” Erika says sweetly. Rosali’s heart beat says everything Erika needs to know. “You did so good, Rosali.” Erika compliments holding her even tighter. “Your parents must be proud!”

“My parents are gon..”

“No. They’d never leave you, trust me. They feel just the same as I do. Honored to have met you.” Erika whispers. The waterworks grow more fierce but Rosali is still quiet through it all. Her lips curving against Erika’s cheek. A smile, Erika assumes. She backs away to greet it face to face. A soft curve of the lips. Pure enough to chase away rain and bring out the sun. So Beautiful.Erika thinks to herself. She can’t help but wonder if dragging such an innocent girl across the world with a man she barely knows is truly the best course of action. At best, she’ll be able to depend on her but what kind of dangers will they be getting into.

What’s her alternative? Living in Apollo waiting tables until some other trouble finds her? Letting the city drown her voice? With one look, Erika feels that Rosali is destined for great things. Something about the way she carries herself. What will become of that if she is left unchecked? At least with her near, she will have guidance. Similar, to the way her father taught her. No school or trade institutions just hands on experience on how the world works. That could be better but who’s to know for sure? Erika thinks aloud. She’s all but ready for an inspiring speech when a final thought crosses her mind.

“Rosali, may I ask a question?”

“Yes maam.” She says with a head nod.

“Can you show me to the docks? I need to meet my friend there and I’ve no time to waste.”

“Finally!” Myron grumbles through closed lips. His core, filled with malice and the promise of death. He’s behind on his schedule. Myron had hoped to arrive before noon, however, the chiming of bell towers renders that plan null and void.

Yet strangely, the docks remains mostly empty. For such a large area so close to sea, there isn’t any more than ten people present. Birds screech overhead as there are no ceilings. The docking bay is made up of one concrete path splitting into many, like the branches of a tree. Each pathway is marked with red painting that reads numerical writing. A clear indication of the docking numbers.

Dock number seven lies near the edge of the walkway. Unlike the others there is a warning of private property and the reassurance of harm to all would be trespassers. Words that don’t apply to Myron. Casually he strolls down the walkway letting his boots sound off against the concrete. Above him, the sky is slowing turning dark. Thick grey clouds bunch together as the air begins to cool. Myron anticipates an onslaught of rain to follow, as he ventures the calm before the storm.

From his standing, he can see the ship clearly. H.S. Savagery. A hunter classed ship. Outfitted with large cannons and hooks. Myron estimates its speed to be magnificent, judging by its size, but fears for the lack of armored plating. Today’s ships most commonly utilize cobalt, a solid metal melded with blue and red diamonds, whereas the H.S. Savagery focuses on double-wall steel, a design thought obsolete in the coming years. It's a giving that he’ll need to do an overhaul upgrade before becoming a true threat at sea.

There’s a single woman standing guard. Loose clothing, weird posture. She’s carrying a spear but uses it more as a cane than the dangerous weapon that is. She’s fixated with the ground beneath her feet, swaying back and forth as if it was revolving at an alarming speed. By time she’s spotted Myron, he’s close enough to whisper in her ear. Instead, he slices at her throat before she has the time to react. A small blade built from his shadows but just as sharp as steel. He kicks her body into the sea, watching her flail with muffled cries. It isn’t long before she’s out of breath and completely lifeless.

Myron helps himself onboard. It’s just as empty as the dock below. There are a handful of pirates lying unconscious on the deck, smelling of strong alcohol and urine. They’ve no fight in them at all. Myron mentally marks today as the first time his prayers have ever been answered. Cracking his neck, his shadow stretches thin and wide as it spreads the length of the deck. He feels his breath shorten and fatigue begin to pour on. Flexing with all his might he creates spikes, rising from the shadow. They tear into the deck , creating shish-kabobs of the crew. They pierce each lying male and woman multiple times, leaving cup sized holes that disfigure the body. The lucky ones die instantly, the unlucky watch through teary eyes unable to make the slightest move. The spikes grow taller as Myron digs deeper. His hands aching and throat closing. Myron retracts the spikes before molding it into a much more simple form. It becomes a blackened floor that stretches high enough to tower the ship’s mast. Sloping at one end, ir follows the design of a large hill. Slick from one end to the other the bodies onboard slide downwards into the sea, wounded and dead alike.

Fatigue hits hard. Myron’s left stumbling over his own feet before crashing to the floor. His eyes grow misty, his body twitchee. He heaves in controlled deep breaths to aid in his recovery but it’s a slow process. The ground below spins violently. His head throbbing beyond measure. He fights a personal quest to stand up, but falls flat on his face with a single step. D****t!He curses at feelings of being weak. He knows he’s a lot tougher than what his current state appears. Yet his legs feel as jelly underneath him. Sit still! Patience! Cries the voice in his head. Give yourself time! Kano voice echoes calmly. His words are a soothing breeze that helps in calming the soul. Huffing air through his nose, Myron sits up and folding his leg. Shutting his eyes he concentrates solely on taking deep plentiful breaths. His stomach eases its tension as things are slowly returning to focus. He’s far from perfection but with enough time he shall be again. A door swings open! More pirates, more fit and more alert yet they’ve remained unarmed and confused.

“Who the piss are you!” Calls out he tallest. He moves quickly reaching for Myron’s hood. Before he manages a hold, a black dragon erupts from Myron’s shadow, wrapping its jaws around his neck. Blood mixes with the oozy texture of Myron’s shadow, changing it into a dark blackish mush.

Lifting his prey off the ground the dragon flings its victim into the sea. His companions shriek in fear, rendered completely immobile due to fear. They struggle with the dragon being an illusion or a product of their hangover. Sadly enough, their decided answers hold no value! Before they can mount a counterattack, Myron’s attacking with hooked swords drawn from his shadow. He slashes at the necks of two, nearly severing the head in a single blow, spins and thrusts both blades into the gut of the female pirate. She’s brawny but whimpers all the same once she realizes her life is over. She turns limp before collapsing to the floor. Times up! Myron thinks aloud.

The brute swings up open the main doors leading to the ship’s main deck. Hard purple painted wooden floors and unedged weapons decorate the room. There lies a lavih sofa stained with alcohol and a small table for reclining.

Two more pirates lay on the sides. Drunken, smelly, and disgusting. They snore loudly, making no effort to awaken from their comatose state. Retrieving a small dagger from his shadow once more, Myron kisses the blade on their necks making short work of his new would be enemies. Shadow men, emerge once the dagger’s returned. They carry the bodies out to sea, laying to rest alongside their fallen comrades. Lethargically, they climb back inside Myron’s shadow with the task complete. Their formless feet soaking up blood in their descent. There is little if any proof that a skirmish has even taken place.

A staircase leads below, far deeper than Myron plans to explore. A door lies to Myron’s right, and a second straight ahead. One is label Bridge, the other Captain’s quarters so it’s a no brainer on where to go next. The settling fatigue is the body’s confirmation that Myron needs to wrap things up. Shifting his dreadlocks to the opposite side of his head, Myron places an ear against the wooden door. He wants to know what lies on the other side but all he can hear is faint grunting and obscenities spewed in an unintelligible manner. The curses are spoken so quickly and jumbled it’s impossible to get a grasp of what’s being said. The best Myron can tell is that theirs two people behind this door completely ignorant of what lies on this side of the door.

Attack!

Rest!

No time.

Plenty.

Rest.

Myron argues with himself. Giving in he slowly slumps to the ground, pressing his back against the door. He counts down slowly from one hundred eighty, allowing his body to recover in every way that it can. It’s been a long time since he’s had to rely on his shadows this much and he’d be lying to himself if he ever says he isn’t enjoying it. For him it’s the fight and struggle of survival that reminds him of his own beating heart.

His mind’s taken back to his days of piracy. Kano, Wolfe, Clei, and himself. Fighting and pillaging under Havikk’s black flag, sparring none who dared draw against her. Following her, he’s crossed paths of plenty World Security officers, rival companies, and slavers looking to make gold by any means necessary.

“This isn’t much different is it brother” Myron speaks among himself. He finishes his countdown reciting the final numbers in his head. Four, three, two, one. Thinking back, he swore to himself things would be different after losing Kano. Yet today’s just business as usual.

To Myron theirs a saying that states, “If you cut the head off a snake, the body crumbles”. With that in mind he sees no reason to be sneaky anymore. He kicks in the door catching the savage literally with his pants down. Vesper pirate, surprisingly purple. The Royalts usually live in huge houses ordering the Blues to do their dirty, yet here is one slumming it up with pirates.

He’s muscular, sweaty, drunk, and most disgustingly, naked. He doesn’t notice Myron staring straight at him as he continues pounding flesh inside of a defenseless islander. She’s emotionless, with the deadest eyes Myron has ever seen. Déjà vu overtakes him as memories of his mother an father’s relationship fill him with more hatred than he thought would be included in today’s menu. The islander’s unwanted penetration is accepted, without struggle or care. Just a sad face, waiting desperately for it to end.

The Royalt’s eyes shine a bright blue, his rhythm slowing. He turns his head at an angle confirming what he believes is a man standing in front of him. It isn’t real until Myron thrusts a shadow through his shoulder, deep enough to pin him into the wall. His face twists wickedly from the pain, his hollers disturbing. The Royalt’s feet kick and twitch but no amount of struggling can free him from what’s to come next.

Everything about the man is vile. His black blood smells of poison, his body odor of rotted meat. Myron shields his nose behind a hand but the putrid smell squeezes through the cracks. “I will make it painful, though technically it’s a kill meant for you. There’s just no way I can resist these kind of people.” Myron speaks to the islander. He concentrates his energy on the single shadow lodged in the Vesper’s shoulder. Expanding it slowly, allowing it to slowly tear flesh from the inside. The Royalt’s howl wrecks the eardrums as Myron commands more shadows, exhausting himself further. It oozes from the ground scaling the nude Vesper and leaves a chilling sickness with every part it touches.

It seeps insides the mouth, muffling sound and blocking oxygen. Molding both lips shut, the only way the Royalt can express pain is through hard jerks and the dying light in his eyes. His face riddles with both as Myron stares deep into his eyes for the entirety of three minutes it takes him to die. His eyes turn grey as every spec of light dies out. His body drops through the floor with a loud bang. Myron gives him one last kick for good measure, no response.

“And now my part is done.” Myron speaks to himself. He unzips his overcoat, handing it to the islander sprawled out on the floor. Her eyes just as lifeless as the vesper. She doesn’t budge as it smothers her tiny frame entirely.

“Plan on staying? You’re going to have to get dressed. We have guests.” Myron calls out through dramatic shivers.

“I don’t understand.” Rosali cries out, sprinting feverishly. Her tiny legs work overtime to keep up with Erika, who’s long strides cover long distances in an instance. Following the leader she tramples through the marketplace of produce and fine silk, bumping patrons and entrepreneurs alike. They play a game of keep away with the royal guards who’s mistaken them for the same pirates Erika has slaughtered.

“Yea, thinking we should’ve lost them by now.” Erika answers through deep breaths. She dodges an armor dealer with a face that even his mother couldn’t have loved. “They’re surprisingly agile.” Erika calls out to Rosali.

“Docks to the left.” Rosali she answers with exhaustion gripping her chest.

Together the two have been running since the warehouse. A mixture of bad timing and bad luck saw the royal guard burst into the warehouse and throw accusations around the room. Refusing to disarm made Erika the prime suspect, and became the start of a great chase through Apollo city.

Rosali kicks her legs faster, crouching lower to the ground. It’s all she can do to keep up with the athlete in front. The clatter of the armor worn by the guardsmen reign loudly in her ears as she envisions them breathing down her neck. Today is easily the second scariest day in her life. She turns the corner, riding Erika’s trail. Fear makes her run faster while distracting her just the same. Her sandals snag a rock, throwing away balance and causing her to stumble into a stand. A loud bang sounds as she collides head first into a fish stall, bringing it down in the process. The owner is a flurry of curses and promised threats until he’s faced to face with Erika and her gigantic sword. “Owie. Ow Ow.” Rosali cries in embarrassment. Had she factored this into today’s activities she’d surely have chosen to wear shoes over her straped sandals.

“Rosali! Are you hurt?”

“No ma’am”

“Keep moving! I’ll hold them off. Have my friend prepare the ship, remember Dock Seven!” Erika commands turning back. She stands in between Rosali and the two guardsmen who’ve finally caught up with the duo. Unsheathing her large sword, Erika takes up a defensive stance in an effort to buy time. She allows the guardsmen to draw arms of their own liking before warning them of the danger they now face. “I am Erika Vera, I spare no quarters to those that challenge me.” She announces herself. Her eyes catching a glimpse of a scared Rosali dashing awkwardly down the dock way. She looks back with worry to which Erika answers “Dock seven, Little lady”.

The first of the two guards lunge forward. She’s built like a mountain wearing heavy armor shinier than the moon lighten sky after sunset. She swings her axe at a horizontal arc clashing it against Erika’s blade. The impact causing Erika’s hand to tremble under its vibration. “Powerful!” Erika thinks to herself. The mountain’s partner backs her up with a precise assault, attacking overhead with a wide swing. Unlike the females axe, his sword is curved and wide above the guard. It gets close enough that Erika feels the wind of his strike but sloppy enough for her to slip out of the way.

She answers his attack with one of her own, thrusting low on the outside. Her long blade scratching his armor, but draws no blood. It grazes the steel to off balance and knock him to the ground. His armor steals the wind from his lungs with the fall. The fight shifts from a handicap into a one on one stalemate, the way Erika always intended.

“Surrender Yourself! We won’t warn you again!” Shouts the mountain.

“Shut up. I’ve already spoken my part.” Erika pleads for the last time. “Your just too dense to listen.” She spins around on her heels pushing the attack. Swinging at the mountain's abdomen. She forces her backwards untill she crashes into the closet stall. When there’s enough distance Erika smiles before putting away her sword. Waving goodbye, she starts a dash down the docks with a nice head start over her two determined pursuers.

Dock one. Dock three. Five. Erika’s in a full out sprint as she tries to shake her unwanted followers. She can hear the roar of a loud horn before seeing the hunter vessel docked at bay number seven. It’s engines rev as the boat starts its departure. It’s far from reaching its full speed but a sense of urgency creeps inside Erika nonetheless. From where she stands she’s too far out to jump aboard but close enough to see a slouching Myron slumped over on the main deck. His awkward position, causes her worry though shes hasn’t the time to entertain any new problems. Her chest heaves harder as it inhales and exhales at an increased rate. A Little bit more! A little more! Erika thinks aloud. She calls on every ounce of strength left in her body and sends it to her legs. Her quads bulk up with muscle and her calves bulge through her pants. She’s moving twice as fast, leaving her pursuers lagging behind.

Erika’s running neck and neck with the H.S. Savagery, putting all her energy into this final sprint. The H.S. Savagery’s engines roar as it cycles through its startup. Dark clouds spew from the exhausts warning Erika of a more dire sense of urgency.

Black birds swarm overhead. They land on her shoulders, spreading sickening chills that can only be created by one man. One by one they merge together forming a pair of black leathery wings. Outlined with countless little feathers they flap powerfully, lifting Erika from the ground. Two more flaps and she’s soaring over the ship looking down at Myron’s sad sight. With a wink, he passes out along with his shadowy wings dropping Erika from several feet in the air. Landing with a roll she takes a deep breath, issuing two thumbs up to her new partner in crime.

“Not bad.”

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