If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Below them, the battle still raged in the lower decks. The deafening roar of shotgun blasts and the screams of dying mobsters and Pinkertons echoed across the Kamassa River. The distraction had held perfectly.
Of course, Caleb will follow according to the master plan he had painstakingly drafted in his study. He dragged Cornwall to the heavy brass railing overlooking the stern of the ship, where the massive wooden blades of the paddlewheel churned the dark water below.
Tied securely to the lower railing, bobbing gently in the water exactly where Caleb had noted it on the ship's schematics, was a small, fast steam launch boat, an emergency escape vessel fueled and ready to go in case of an emergency.
"Look down there, Leviticus," Caleb hissed, grabbing Cornwall by the back of his dressing gown and forcefully shoving the billionaire's upper half over the brass railing.
Cornwall screamed in absolute terror, his hands flailing wildly, staring down into the churning, black vortex of the paddlewheel blades below. The freezing spray coated his face.
"You feel that?" Caleb whispered into the tycoon's ear, his voice slicing through the noise of the battle. "That is the machine you built. And it's going to grind you into meat. Bronte sends his regards."
"No! NO! PLEASE!" Cornwall shrieked, kicking his legs frantically, completely and utterly broken. The psychological trauma was absolute. In this moment, Leviticus Cornwall wasn't a titan of industry, he was just a fragile, terrified animal dangling over the jaws of death, fully believing his life was over.
Caleb held him there for ten agonizing seconds, ensuring the terror was permanently burned into the billionaire's psyche.
Then, Caleb initiated the final stage of the deception.
He gave Silvio a sharp, pre arranged nod.
Silvio suddenly yelled, pointing back toward the shattered double doors of the suite. "Underboss! Reinforcements! Pinkertons and mercenaries on the stairs!"
Caleb acted fast, putting on a flawless display of panicked reaction. He drew his Pump Action Shotgun and fired blindly back toward the empty suite, making as much noise as possible.
In the 'confusion' and the 'recoil' of the staged firefight, Caleb's grip on Cornwall's dressing gown intentionally, perfectly slipped.
The billionaire plummeted over the side of the railing. He didn't fall into the churning paddlewheel. He dropped straight down, crashing heavily through the canvas roof of the small steam launch tied below, landing in a tangled, bruised heap on the wooden deck of the small boat.
Caleb and Silvio leaned over the railing, shouting in feigned anger.
Cornwall, operating purely on traumatized adrenaline and the primal instinct to survive, didn't look back. He scrambled frantically in the darkness of the launch. He found the mooring rope and sawed through it wildly with a pocket knife he pulled from his gown. He slammed his hand against the steam engine's ignition valve.
The small engine sputtered, coughed, and roared to life.
Without a single glance backward at his besieged riverboat, the terrified billionaire threw the throttle wide open. The steam launch shot forward, disappearing into the thick, grey fog of the Kamassa River, fleeing south toward safety as fast as the engine could carry him.
Caleb watched the faint wake of the boat vanish into the mist. He lowered his shotgun, the feigned anger instantly dissolving into a cold, triumphant smirk.
The plan was a flawless, absolute success. Leviticus Cornwall was alive, but he was permanently broken. He would never hunt the Van der Linde gang again, and he would never possess the mental fortitude to challenge Caleb's shadow empire.
He would spend the rest of his days hiding behind locked doors, jumping at shadows, while Caleb possessed the deeds to his most valuable assets.
Caleb turned to Silvio, clapping the giant enforcer on the shoulder.
"He slipped," Caleb said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "A tragic failure. We must return to the Don and report the terrible news of our struggle."
Silvio, completely oblivious to the grand manipulation, simply nodded grimly, gripping his bloody combat knife. "We did our best, Underboss. The Pinkertons and mercenaries overwhelmed us."
"Yes, they did," Caleb agreed softly, looking down at the lower decks where Bronte's army was currently being systematically slaughtered. "Let's go, Silvio. We have to go and help the others."
Caleb turned his back on the dark waters where the disgraced billionaire had just fled. He racked the pump of his shotgun, ejecting a spent shell onto the luxurious carpet of the balcony.
Silvio, his massive chest heaving with adrenaline and misguided loyalty, nodded firmly. The giant enforcer reloaded his heavy revolvers, his face set in a mask of grim determination.
He was completely ready to lay down his life for the Underboss who had just fought beside him in the trenches of Cornwall's suite.
Caleb and Silvio then pushed back through the shattered mahogany doors of the private office, bypassing the bleeding corpses of the elite Pinkertons they had neutralized earlier. They made their way toward the grand internal staircases that connected the three tiers of the floating fortress.
The descent was a plunge into absolute chaos. As they moved from the opulent third deck down to the second deck casino and dining hall, the thick, acrid smoke of burning gunpowder and splintered wood filled the air, stinging their eyes and choking their lungs. The deafening roar of the firefight below vibrated through the steel and wood framework of the Malcom.
Caleb and Silvio then went to help Bronte's army that was currently being systematically slaughtered.
They reached the grand landing overlooking the lower cargo holds and the engine room entrances. The scene below was a vision of absolute hell. Bronte's men were trapped in a brutal, unforgiving chokepoint.
The shifting of the Pinkerton guards had been exactly as Caleb had secretly orchestrated, the mobsters had walked right into a heavily fortified crossfire. The guards had overturned massive craps tables and reinforced steel crates, creating an impenetrable barricade.
Silvio, of course, tried to help for real and to the best of his skills. The giant Italian let out a roaring battle cry that echoed over the gunfire.
He threw himself down the final flight of stairs, diving behind a shattered roulette table to join Vincenzo and the surviving capos.
Silvio fired his twin revolvers with devastating, reckless power, his massive arms absorbing the recoil as he tried desperately to suppress the Pinkerton barricades and buy his brothers some breathing room. He fought with the heart of a lion, utterly devoted to saving his family.
While Caleb, taking cover behind a thick marble pillar on the landing above, looked like he was trying to help to the best of his abilities. He popped out from behind the marble, his face twisted into a mask of furious, desperate effort. He shouted tactical orders, his voice cracking with feigned strain. He fired his Pump Action Shotgun down into the smoke, racking the slide with aggressive, frantic energy.
But he actually wasn't helping at all.
Thanks to his max level Acting Skill, it looked flawlessly like he was fighting for his life alongside them, but the reality was a cold, calculated performance.
Caleb intentionally aimed his shotgun blasts inches wide of the Pinkerton mercenaries. He fired at the reinforced steel crates, showering the enemy with harmless sparks rather than lethal buckshot. He timed his reloads to coincide with the heaviest enemy volleys, making it appear as though he was pinned down by superior firepower.
He was actively ensuring that the meat grinder continued to chew up Bronte's loyalists, whittling down the Don's private army to a fraction of its former strength.
And so this made Silvio, who had become completely loyal to him after witnessing Caleb's 'bravery' on the top deck, not suspect a single thing. When Silvio glanced up through the smoke, he saw his Underboss risking his life, providing covering fire, and screaming in frustration as the enemy held their ground. To Silvio, Caleb was a hero trapped in a failing battle.
The shootout between Bronte's army and the remaining Pinkertons and mercenaries became significantly fiercer. The surviving capos were screaming as the mobsters were cut down one by one, their blood slicking the polished wooden floorboards of the casino deck.
Then, the true nightmare began.
The heavy, metallic clanking of specialized machinery echoed from the engine room corridor. The Pinkertons parted their barricade, and the mercenaries took out a machine gun. It was a heavy, brass jacketed Maxim gun, mounted on a wheeled tripod.
The mercenary gunner slammed a long belt of high caliber ammunition into the receiver and racked the heavy bolt.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
The Maxim gun erupted, spitting a continuous, blinding stream of fire. The heavy rounds tore through the overturned casino tables as if they were made of wet paper.
Four of Bronte's men were instantly ripped apart, their bodies violently thrown backward by the sheer kinetic force of the machine gun fire. The wooden deck splintered into a million deadly projectiles.
Vincenzo screamed, clutching a shattered shoulder, pressing himself flat against the floorboards. "We're pinned! We're dead!"
Caleb watched from the balcony. He had wanted Bronte's army decimated, but if that Maxim gun continued to fire for another thirty seconds, the casualty rate would hit one hundred percent.
If every single man died, Caleb would have no surviving witnesses to carry his fabricated narrative back to Saint Denis. He needed survivors. He needed terrified, broken men who would look to him for salvation.
In the end, Caleb stopped acting and truly helped.
He stepped out from behind the marble pillar, completely exposing himself to the chaotic crossfire. His eyes narrowed, entirely shedding the panicked facade of the desperate commander. The cold, mechanical predator took over.
Caleb activated his MAX level Dead Eye Skill.
The world instantly plunged into a deep, Skill focused sepia wash. The terrifying, rapid fire thudding of the Maxim gun slowed to a sluggish, rhythmic crawl. The muzzle flashes froze in mid air like blooming, deadly flowers. The air was thick with suspended sawdust and falling brass casings.
With his skill at its absolute maximum peak, Caleb didn't just see the enemy, he saw their precise physiological vulnerabilities glowing in a vibrant, bloody red. He raised his Litchfield Repeater, his hands moving with impossible, supernatural speed.
He painted his targets. One red 'X' directly on the temple of the mercenary manning the Maxim gun. Another on the throat of the man feeding the ammunition belt. And then, he rapidly painted the heads and chests of the six Pinkerton riflemen flanking the heavy weapon, mapping out a flawless trajectory of death in a fraction of a millisecond.
He deactivated Dead Eye.
Time violently snapped back into normal motion.
The Litchfield Repeater roared. Caleb took out the one manning the machine gun instantly. The heavy bullet punched through the mercenary's skull, snapping his head back and immediately silencing the devastating weapon.
Without missing a beat, Caleb's subsequent shots took out the ammo feeder and also many others of the Pinkertons and mercenaries forming the barricade.
The elite guards dropped like puppets with their strings cut, their bodies slumping over the silent Maxim gun and the shattered crates. The sudden, shocking display of lethal precision from the balcony completely broke the enemy's defensive line.
Thanks to Caleb stopping his acting and intervening with god like accuracy, the systematic slaughter of Bronte's army finally stopped.
The remaining mercenaries, horrified by the sudden loss of their heavy fire support and nearly a dozen men in the span of two seconds, broke cover and retreated deeper into the engine rooms, seeking cover from the demon on the balcony.
The sudden silence in the casino hall was deafening, broken only by the groans of the wounded and the hissing of ruptured steam pipes.
Caleb seized the momentary lull in the battle. He leaned over the balcony railing, his voice echoing with absolute, terrifying authority.
"Retreat!" Caleb shouted for retreat, his voice booming over the chaos. "Fall back to the skiffs! Grab the wounded and move! We have what we came for! Move!"
The psychological impact of his intervention was absolute. The surviving mobsters didn't hesitate. They didn't look for Vincenzo, and they certainly didn't care about Bronte's original orders to secure the ship.
They looked up at the Underboss who had just saved their lives. And so everyone immediately retreated according to Caleb's order.
They scrambled to their feet, grabbing their bleeding brothers by the collars and dragging them toward the shattered cargo doors where the skiffs were waiting in the fog.
It was exactly at this time, amidst the smoke, blood, and the blind obedience of the surviving men, that a sharp chime echoed in Caleb's mind.
[System Notification: Leadership Skill Levelled Up! Level 2 to Level 3.]
Caleb felt the shift instantly. The subtle aura of influence he projected thickened, becoming a palpable, commanding gravity. At Level 3, his orders weren't just suggestions that men were inclined to follow, they were deeply rooted psychological commands that bypassed panic and fear, compelling absolute loyalty in the heat of battle.
Caleb descended the stairs rapidly, joining Silvio on the main deck. "Come on, Silvio. We're leaving the fat man's ship to burn."
They pushed through the smoke and the wreckage, exiting through the blasted cargo doors and dropping back into the small, two man rowboat they had tied to the stern. The three large skiffs holding the battered remnants of Bronte's army were already pushing off into the thick fog, rowing desperately toward the safety of the dark shoreline.
As Caleb and Silvio got back into their rowboat, Caleb sat at the bow, his eyes fixed on the towering, illuminated structure of the Malcom. The job wasn't entirely finished. He couldn't leave the riverboat intact for Cornwall to eventually reclaim. It needed to be a total, unmitigated financial disaster.
Caleb took out three sticks of dynamite from his system inventory. Because he didn't want to break his cover in front of Silvio, he expertly sleight of handed the explosives, making it look like he took it out from his heavy leather satchel. The thick red cylinders, complete with long, waxed fuses, materialized perfectly in his hands.
"Row," Caleb commanded. "Get us fifty yards clear."
After he had Silvio row a bit farther, putting a safe distance between their small wooden dinghy and the massive steel hull of the paddle steamer, Caleb struck a match against the sole of his boot.
The flame flared brilliantly in the grey fog. Caleb lit up the three dynamites one by one, the fuses sparking and hissing aggressively.
He stood up in the rocking boat, balancing himself with perfect agility. He needed these explosives to hit exact, structural weak points on a ship that was currently fifty yards away, a throw that was physically impossible for a normal man.
But Caleb Thorne was not a normal man.
He locked his eyes on his targets and then he used his 8/10 Strength stats to throw the three dynamites into Cornwall's riverboat.
His arm whipped forward with the terrifying, explosive kinetic power of a heavy artillery cannon. The first stick of dynamite sailed through the foggy air in a massive, perfect arc, targeting the ship's lower port side hull, directly where Caleb knew the main boiler lines intersected.
His arm blurred again. The second stick flew higher, targeting the massive, wooden paddlewheel housing at the stern, aiming to cripple the ship's mobility permanently.
With a final, brutal exertion of his 8/10 strength, he threw the third stick directly through the shattered glass windows of the second deck casino, targeting the exact location where he had seen the mercenaries dragging crates of extra ammunition for the Maxim gun.
He targeted three different locations with absolute, superhuman precision.
And immediately after he throws each dynamite, he doesn't have to wait for long.
BOOM!
The first stick detonated against the lower hull. The explosion was massive, ripping a gaping hole in the steel plating. A secondary hiss of escaping, BOOM pressure steam shrieked into the night as the boiler lines ruptured.
BOOM!
The second stick exploded against the stern, shattering the massive wooden blades of the paddlewheel into a thousand burning splinters, completely destroying the ship's propulsion system.
BOOM!
The third stick, landing perfectly among the mercenary ammunition crates in the casino, triggered the most devastating blast of all.
As one by one it exploded, the chain reaction was catastrophic. The entire second deck seemed to swell outward before violently tearing itself apart in a blinding flash of orange fire and black smoke.
The riverboat then exploded on its own as well due to the massive, pressurized steam engines getting caught in the explosion radius of the dynamites. The structural integrity of the Malcom collapsed entirely.
The hull groaned, a terrifying, metallic screech that echoed across the river, as the center of the ship buckled and began to take on massive amounts of dark, freezing water. Flames licked high into the foggy sky, turning the river into a burning mirror.
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Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 2)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 2)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 4)
- Bow (Lvl 3)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 4)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 3)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl 3)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 50x50x50)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl 2)
- Leadership (Lvl 3)
Money: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 280,992 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 74 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 1 land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Braithwaites Land Deed, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co., 7 Dynamites, 1 LeMat, 1 M1899, 1 Carcano, 1 Ownership deed of Doyle's Tavern, 3 Diamonds, & Important Documents & Deeds Of Cornwall
Bank: -