Kyle emerged from the shadowed chamber with precise, clipped steps—his posture upright, his face now a flawless imitation of the chief docking officer. The illusion was immaculate. Even the nervous stiffness in his shoulders read more like tension under duty than a disguise hiding treachery.
He descended the metallic stairs in a sharp, theatrical rush, boots clanging loudly with purpose. Officers nearby turned in alarm.
"Sir?" one of them called out, confused by his sudden appearance. "What's the matter?"
Kyle didn't miss a beat. His voice barked out with authority—rough, commanding, almost panicked, just as the real officer would sound in a crisis.
"The conmen!" he snapped. "They're trying to retake their ship from the western edge of the dock. Move—now!"
Before doubt could form in their eyes, Kyle snapped his fingers—and the ember ring on his hand shimmered faintly. A heartbeat later, the morning erupted in light.
A deafening BOOM! shook the air as one docked platform after another burst into flames. Charred splinters flew, smoke billowed, and the sound of rushing footsteps and shouted orders filled the harbor.
Chaos had begun.
Kyle didn't stop to admire his work. While the officers scrambled toward the western edge—drawn like moths to the blaze—he turned and strode toward his vessel with the commanding stride of a man in charge.
Two guards stood at the foot of the boarding plank, halberds in hand. One of them stiffened. "Sir?"
Kyle nodded sharply. "No one is to board. Seal the path behind me. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" they barked in unison.
He climbed aboard without breaking stride, heart pounding beneath a mask of icy calm.
"I have word," he growled as he stepped onto the main deck, "on what they're after onboard"
Now inside, with the layout committed to memory and knowledge of the exact number of officers still stationed aboard—twelve—he could feel the pieces falling into place.
And he already knew exactly how to handle each one.
*****
No one knew Kyle's ship better than he did. Every plank, every creaking hinge, every hidden compartment—it was as much a part of him as the blood in his veins. And not even those arrogant officers currently stationed aboard had the slightest idea what was coming for them.
The first two stood guard at the entrance to the lower deck, postured upright, eyes sharp but unsuspecting. They gave a curt nod to the approaching "Chief Docking Officer," who, they believed, was there with urgent intel on what the infiltrators were after.
"Sir—"
They didn't finish.
Two faint clicks came from Kyle's hand. From the raven ring, a pair of thin, glinting needles shot out, burying themselves silently into their necks. The effect was instantaneous. Their muscles locked. Eyes widened in confusion. And then they crumpled, hitting the deck like sacks of maize.
Kyle crouched quickly, dragging their bodies to the side and positioning them out of immediate view behind a supply crate. No time to admire his handiwork.
Ten more remained. And the officers chasing his false trail—ignited by chaos and fire—would eventually realize they were running in circles.
He closed his eyes for a breath, then shifted. The illusion ring shimmered softly as his form took on the likeness of one of the fallen officers—down to the posture, gait, and even the slight scar above the left eyebrow. Perfect.
He straightened, adjusted his coat, and stepped through the doorway into the lower deck.
Where the rest of his enemies waited, none the wiser.
Where Kyle's wrath would find them.
*****
The moment Kyle descended the last creaking step of the stairwell, a gruff voice met him like a slap.
"You shouldn't be here!" barked the officer standing watch near the corridor junction.
His tone wasn't curious or confused—it was confrontational, laced with suspicion and authority. This one wasn't just another pawn.
Kyle's mind raced. He didn't have the time—or the patience—to spin a convincing lie, not now. Not when every second brought the others closer to realizing the deception. So instead, he simply raised a finger.
The raven ring gleamed.
A whisper of metal shot through the air.
But this officer wasn't like the others.
He moved.
In a blur of instinct, the man ducked low, and the needle embedded harmlessly into the wall behind him with a dull thunk. His eyes snapped up to Kyle—now shimmering, glowing faintly with crackling blue energy.
Kyle's expression didn't change, but the eye of misfortune beneath his sleeve flickered.
Once. Then again.
Then it began to burn a deep, ominous red.
He narrowed his gaze.
This wasn't just another body to slip past. This was a variable. A real one.
And he would need to adapt fast.