Lancelot sat in the same position as Gareth, perched atop the great beast's back. His body was still weak the wounds from the battle had not fully healed, the transformation that had consumed him still lingered in his flesh. But his eyes were open. He was awake.
He looked at Gareth at the devil who rode beside him, who had carried him through the storm, who had jumped into the sea and commanded a monster with nothing but will and killing intent.
Truly an evil man, Lancelot thought, his inner voice quiet, almost contemplative. He really ripped that navy man apart. No hesitation. No mercy.
He shifted his weight, feeling the beast's muscles move beneath him.
I would have at least listened to him. A pause. Maybe there would have been some emotional moments.
Darlington broke out in a laugh.
The sound echoed through the mental space between them sharp, genuine, amused. He had been watching everything from his invisible perch, observing the chaos of the Infinite Sea, the battle of monsters and men, the devil's latest scheme.
"What could there probably be?" His voice was light, almost dismissive. "After all, it's about survival of the fittest. Using any method necessary to survive."
He watched Gareth command the beast the way his killing intent flowed into the creature, shaping its actions, bending its will.
"But one thing I'm truly curious about..." He leaned forward. "Is killing intent. How far does it really go?"
He studied Gareth's form the way he held his staff, the way his curved sword gleamed in the storm-light, the way his presence seemed to fill the space around him.
"For him to have so many uses for it..." Darlington shook his head. "Honestly, he's not the strongest. But I'll argue he's more versatile at using it."
He paused, a question forming in his mind.
Between General Titus the original one and him... I wonder who uses it better?
He answered himself.
"Gareth isn't just using it normally anymore. He's using it as if it is an extension of himself. Not just as a weapon, but as a multi-purpose tool."
He smiled.
"Now I get his nickname."
He looked at the devil at the man who had turned a sea monster into a mount, who had crushed his enemy without a second thought.
"The devil." Darlington's voice was soft. "Truly evil. Your evil knows no bounds."
He paused.
"And for that, I'm happy. That you're with Lancelot."
He looked at the transformed knight still weak, still recovering, but awake.
"I know someone like me is with him." His voice dropped. "But the problem is that he won't wake up."
He sighed.
"Without him waking up, I'm handicapped. My plans can't move forward."
He leaned back.
"But that's a good thing." His eyes narrowed. "A momentary pause from my chase. This will give me better understanding of the board I'm playing with."
Gareth sat on the great beast, his eyes scanning the horizon.
The sea was chaos. Waves as tall as mountains rose and fell, crashing against each other with thunderous force. Monsters great and small fought and devoured each other in an endless cycle of violence. And ahead, the ships of the navy and the pirates were locked together in combat cannons blazing, men screaming, flames licking at the sky.
He began to notice that other beasts from the sea were rushing toward his own creature. Drawn by the blood, by the carnage, by the hunger that never died.
He shouted at the beast.
"Full speed ahead!" His voice cut through the wind. "Crush into those ships that form the blockage ahead!"
The beast roared a sound that shook the water, that rattled the ships, that silenced the cannons for a single, terrible moment. Its fins propelled it forward, faster and faster, pushing through the waves like a blade through flesh.
Ahead, navy and pirate ships were locked together in combat.
On one of the pirate ships, a man lay among the dead bodies.
He had already lost one arm his left, torn off by a cannonball or a monster's bite, he could not remember. He was laying down, his head raised high above the corpses that surrounded him, using them as cover, as protection, as desperation.
He saw it.
A wave of monsters rushing toward them.
Their bodies were massive, their eyes gleaming, their jaws dripping with acid and blood. At the front of the wave, a beast with the head of a crocodile and the body of a lion its fins cutting through the water like blades.
And on its back, two figures.
The man screamed.
"MONSTERS! THEY'RE COMING!"
His voice was piercing loud enough to cut through the wind, through the waves, through the roar of battle.
It was enough to momentarily pause every action that was going on.
Pirates and navy alike could not make a move. They were paused frozen in a terrifying amount of fear, their bodies locked, their hearts pounding, their minds screaming at them to run.
But there was nowhere to run.
Within a fraction of a second, the monster that Gareth rode was the first to crash into the ships.
CRAAAAAAAAASH!
The beast's body slammed into the first vessel splitting its hull, shattering its mast, crushing its deck. Wood exploded outward. Men flew into the air. The ship folded like paper.
Gareth ordered it.
"Crush every single ship in sight!" His voice was calm, almost bored. "But keep moving."
The beast responded with a great roar.
Its fins turned sweeping across the deck of the ship, reducing navy men and pirates alike to paste. Blood sprayed. Bones crunched. The deck ran red.
It wiped the first vessel clean.
Then a long tongue came out from its mouth thick, muscular, prehensile and wrapped around the broken ship. The beast lifted it, tossed it into the air, and threw it into the second vessel.
CRASH!
The two ships collided. An explosion erupted fire blooming outward, scorching the water, shattering what remained of both vessels.
Gareth turned his head in confusion.
Then he caught himself.
"Explosives?" He frowned. "Or a weapon?"
A shout came from the remnants of the second vessel.
A large man stood among the flames naked except for a pirate flag wrapped around his lower body. His chest was barrel thick with muscle, covered in scars, dripping with sweat and blood. His face was hard, weathered, cruel.
On his shoulder, he held a large weapon.
A cannon.
Not a ship's cannon something smaller, portable, but still massive. The barrel was as long as a man's arm, the mouth wide enough to swallow a head. He aimed it at Gareth.
BOOM!
The cannonball shot forward trailing smoke, spinning through the air, screaming toward its target.
Gareth drew his curved sword.
His arm moved not a block, not a parry, but a cut. The blade met the cannonball in mid-air, splitting it in two. The halves tumbled past him, splashing into the water on either side.
Then he jumped.
His body launched from the monster's back soaring through the air, closing the distance between himself and the pirate. His staff was in one hand, his curved sword in the other. Lancelot's weight was still on his back, but he had grown used to it. Adapted to it.
Well, he thought, his eyes fixed on the pirate below. Let's try something pretty interesting, shall we?
A new experiment.
As he moved forward to his target, something changed.
The air around him shimmered. His form blurred. His features shifted the scars on his face smoothing, the tired lines vanishing, the devil's face replaced by something else.
He turned into a pirate.
Not just any pirate.
He turned into their captain.
Alaric Vane.
The Iron Lantern.
The eight-foot giant with the golden gloves and the rotten teeth and the guns as long as his arms. His robe torn and bloodstained materialized around him. The red ribbon appeared in his hair. The golden gloves gleamed on his hands.
He became the great pirate.
Gareth descended toward the naked gunner.
Wearing the face of his captain.
And the battle continued.