Sif walked the shanty streets of Blackwater, his new Arcsphere necklace hanging from his neck. He was still in awe of that, the power he felt radiating from it was exhilarating.
Wonder if this is what Alex feels when he drinks seawater. He still felt the gazes of the people on his back, he almost felt like he could feel their evil thoughts. They seemed to intensify the screams he heard. He tried to push them down, but they had a mind of their own and clouded his thoughts with their incessant wailing. Luckily they didnât fully deter him from his course, they were always more manageable when he had a goal in mind.
He climbed the slopping ramps leading to the entrance heâd seen. A journeyman stood there he caught a look at Sif, and began to reach into his cloak. Sif, however, was faster he quickly disabled the man with the flat of his scimitars and left him in the hands of a nearby tavern keep. Sif pushed the door the man was guarding open, and was met with⌠Well, he wasnât sure what to make of it. It was an office, almost a perfect mirror of the Silverhold reception area. The mimicry continued with a bookish-looking man sitting at a desk. He had his hair pulled back in a tail, a pair of square spectacles adorning his face, and he was quietly reading a book. He closed the book as Sif approached.
âCan I help you?â The man asked in a disinterested voice.
âPossibly? Iâm-â
âSif Pollux, Captain in the Grand Navy killer of Argos, and Calvus. 18 to 19 years old by best estimates, and according to some reports from Wind-Row possibly mentally unstable in some way.â Sif hadnât noticed when the man pulled out the manilla-colored file that he was reading from.
âYes, thatâs⌠me,â Sif was utterly shocked.
âWeâve had a price on your head for quite a while now Mr. Pollux, may I inquire as to why youâve decided to deliver yourself to us? Perhaps that mental instability is leading you to suicidal actions?â
âThatâs no-â
âHmm, maybe you visited the Dark Sea and have gone insane?â
âNo?â
âFascinating, well I see no way to help you. If youâre not insane then youâre an idiot, and thereâs no helping those.â Sif stood gobsmacked, the manâs words came so fast and with so little passion in them, he barely registered them as insults. That ironically did make him feel like an idiot. Composing himself slightly Sif tried speaking again. This time he got some words in.
âIâm huntinâ Merlot,â
âHmm⌠are you sure you arenât suicidal?â
âIâm sure.â
âThen you truly are an idiot, heâs in the room just behind me but be warned you arenât leaving that room alive,â
Iâll be the judge of that! Sif thought to himself as he brushed past the rude receptionist, and through the double doors that led to Merlotâs office. As he passed the door frame, a knife flew at him cutting a single strand of hair from Sifâs hair. Storms! Sif looked at where the knife had come from. On the far side of the room stood an imposing man. He wore a blood-red suit, with a hat of the same color, his pants were black as the Dark Seas so were his boots, but the most striking thing was the mask he wore. A grinning nightmarish thing made of porcelain, with eyes that seemed to be scarred vertically. Sif felt his breath hasten slightly, just his proximity to the man made the screams rage.
âArchitect Merlot, I presume,â
âZif Pollux, a pleazure to meet you un on une.â
âIt wonât be much of a pleasure once I arrest you,â
âHow confident you. Alright, entertain me Captain Pollux Iâve been wanting to kill something since this morning.â Sif had to swallow down the bile that was rising in him just by listening to the man. Sif fell into a fighting stance, but the assassin held up his hand.
âThis room is too⌠stifling, besides I donât want it to be disorganized when I return. You understand no?â
âYou say that like you will return.â
âHa, be assured Monsieur Pollux I will return to my office, and you will return to yours. In pieces,â Sif, followed the architect out of the office. If he was being honest he was glad for the change in scenery, he didnât do well fighting indoors. When they passed the reception Sif had to suppress the urge to stick his tongue out at the rude receptionist. They exited through a door leading to the frigid outside, Merlot telling the guard not to interfere as they passed.
At least âeâs âonorable, or arrogant. They climbed some natural steps up to the frozen pond that rested atop Whitesummit.
âThis iz where we will commence our duel! Iâm looking forward to it, you are as well. No?â
âThe only thing Iâm lookinâ forward to is yer execution.â
âSuch bold confidence, I âope it serves you well,â He removed his hat and bowed Sif did likewise. Afterward, they both fell into battle stances, Sif drawing his scimitars and Merlot drawing a wicked crimson blade. Sif infused his blades, and they began to glow, it looked like Merlot had done the same thing. A dangerous-looking cloud surrounded the blade.
Poison magic, I donât wanna be âit by that thing. They charged each other a whirl of blades ensued. Merlot had an impressive defense managing to block or parry all of Sifâs strikes. Sif didnât use such fancy techniques instead dodging out of the way when the manâs blade got close. Within a few moments, they fell into a rhythm of striking, blocking, and dodging, and while Sif couldnât see behind the unsettling mask he felt that the assassin was getting almost bored.
As Sif made a quick strike, Merlot suddenly dashed backward.
âI told you to entertain me monsieur, but âere you are boring me to tears. âOwâs about we make this truly interesting, no?â
ââOw so?â Sif asked.
âWhy, by not âolding back my little zailor. I can zense your aura, youâre much more powerful than youâre letting yourzelf be. Zo owâs about you show me, your true strength,â Merlot was right Sif was holding back, he hadnât been expecting a duel, so heâd been trying to conserve energy in case a true fight broke out. That it seemed was happening now.
âYa want my true power, do ye?â
âYez monsieur.â Sif leaped into the air, crossing his swords together he felt the air bend around them his light magic mixing with it. He unleashed the strike at Merlot, who blocked it. However, it seemed to do more damage to the assassin than his melee strikes had. The assassin surprisingly gave applause.
âQui, qui monsieur! Zat is good, now let me show you my powerz,â He held his hand out, and in the air, a magic circle had begun being drawn, in its center was the symbol of poison.
âPlague Thorns!â Merlot called out. Instinctively Sif parried the attack but there were so many projectiles he ended up having to block them instead. Dull pain racked his body, heâd always had a higher tolerance for physical injury than most. Yet there was something else beneath the pain a burning sensation as if his body was burning from the inside out, his blood boiling.
Of course poison. Sif thought, the assassin now simply stood as if waiting for a reply.
âThat was a strong attack assassin! Now if we could quite dancinâ around I would like to fight you,â Merlot nodded and lept into the sky. This time instead of a spell he dove towards Sif with sharp claws in each finger. Sif narrowly dodged as Merlot danced in the air a disorientating pattern of death. Luckily Sifâs instincts saw this as an opportunity, he watched the display and aimed for where the assassin had started the attack. Just as he predicted as the attack ended Merlot was at his starting position with two crescents of wind hitting him squarely in the face.
âNot, bad Navy dog!â He called, his mask surprisingly unmarred, but Sif thought he heard a bit of pain in the manâs voice. A small part of Sif took satisfaction in that, but he pushed it back. He charged again firing off more crescents. Merlot retaliated with magic. It went on like this for a while. Sif attacked with infused techniques and Merlot a blend of magic and weapons. Sif had gotten a lucky strike with his magic and closed in, recklessly it seems. Merlot slid his knife from its sheath and drove it into Sifâs side.
âAHH!â Sif cried. The knife dug into him and its cloudy red tendrils seemed to flow through him like a disease. Sif felt his energy drain, not only his life force but his magic too.
Canât treat that roight now. Sif cursed and then twisted, the knife flying free of the assassinâs hand but staying in Sifâs side. Well, at least I deprived him of one weapon. Though Sif wasnât sure how much of a difference it would make. The assassin seemed none too pleased however a low growl emanated from his mask.
âI will zay zat was a clever trick,â Sif blocked the pain from his mind and continued attacking, but something had changed. The assassin no longer stayed stationary, he began to move erratically using his poison magic to mask his movements. Sif breathed ignoring the way the poison burned through his body. He felt something deep within him and pulled at it, suddenly he could see through the smoke. An outline of teal stood out amongst the blood-red mist. Sif leaped through the mist, but he missed the assassin by a wide margin.
When he emerged he realized with horror that he was moving slower than he had been. Oh right poison, He thought. The screams called out to him louder than before the way they always did when he was close to death. He attacked again using an explosion of light to burn away the mist, once done he could see the assassin. Sif charged getting a slash across Merlotâs black, while heâd been blinded by the explosion. However, Merlot parried when Sif went in for another strike. At seeing the blood drip from the back of the enemy, Sif felt that unsettling satisfaction again. Now there was something else accompanying it, heâd felt it before during the fight when heâd been driven by pure instinct.
Heâd pushed down that strange bloodlust and focused on the assassin. Merlot recovered quickly and struck at Sif. Sif tried to dodge, but the poison made him slow, Merlot got an agonizing hit on him. Sifâs body burned, and he fell to the ground.
âWell I must zay monsieur Pollux, you have lasted longer than most. âOwever this was profoundly disappointing, you promised me entertainment, and âere you are lying on ze floor like a puppet with its strings cut,â Sif barely registered him, his body utterly agonized. The cold snow and poisonâs fire mixed together to form truly nightmarish pain. He felt tears roll down his cheeks and when they hit the ground they were crimson on the white snow. Merlot approached his paralyzed body, slowly pulling the knife out introducing a new flavor of torture to Sif.
All the while in Sifâs mind something struggled to break through. Sif could feel it now a strange emptiness at the bottom of his subconscious. Perhaps it was a bit of peace that Sif could latch onto to make the pain of death hurt less. After all, he had broken his promise to Kai, so a bit of peace in death would be nice to counteract the guilt. Sif let the feeling overtake him, and in an instant, something changed. The pain disappeared and he felt his mind open. The swords heâd carried for so long now seemed a part of him. It took a while to realize that Sif was moving furiously striking at the assassin, effortlessly parrying the manâs attacks and getting some major hits in.
The strange power was exhilarating, but at the same time repulsive. He felt that someone else was guiding his motions. A stern almost fatherly voice in the back of his mind telling him when to strike, parry, and dodge praising him when he successfully hit the assassin. The voice made him feel sick as did the way Sif attacked. No longer was his fighting the graceful dance that was mixed with the light of his magic. Now it was an angry hateful brawl not letting up, not giving Merlot time to think. He thought the assassin was saying something -perhaps praise?- but Achilles couldnât care at the moment.
Achilles attacked in a flurry of motion using techniques that he had no idea how he knew. Achilles delighted in the blood that spilled when he hit the man. This was who he was made to be, what heâd been trained for. How could he have forgotten this wonderful feeling? He let it carry him listening to that strange voice, but the rational part of Sif was still repulsed. He kept attacking all the while Sif tried to wrestle back control, but the emptiness was powerful. Finally, Sif managed to reign it in when the assassinâs mask broke.
Awareness came back to Sif, and he stared down at the assassin who now just as Sif had, moments -possibly longer- ago lay on the ground in a pool of his own blood. The assassinâs face wasnât what Sif was expecting. An aged man with wrinkles and smile lines, silvery hair trimmed to the sides, and dangerous red eyes. Sif felt utterly exhausted, he moved to the assassin who seemed to be dying.
Storms! I didnât realize I had that in me, But then he remembered his first few days in these seas. Upon arriving in Redwake heâd learned the town was besieged by pirates he offered to take care of them, which he had. That emptiness heâd felt fighting the assassin Sif had felt that when fighting those pirates with nothing but an old dagger. He remembered the thrill he felt cutting down the pirates and leaving their bodies to the waves. When heâd finished he felt sick and cried himself to sleep that night. That thrill had come back today, and while it helped it made him feel sick. However, there wasnât time to try and understand that.
Sif looked at Merlot and began tending to his wounds.
âWhat are you doing zailor? You won Iâm dying go back to your master, dog,â
âSorry mate but canât let you die, wouldnât be a very good agent of justice if I did.â Sif first restrained the manâs hands before wrapping the wounds with bandages and disinfectant.
âWell if what I saw today was real, then you shouldnât be part of the Navy,â
âWhy do say that?â Sif was slightly worried about the strange gravity that the man spoke with.
âYou are like me, you feel that zame need to kill. The need to zee your enemies crushed to see them -cough- suffer, Iâm correct no?â
âYouâre wrong I only hunt criminals.â
âWe both know thatâs a relative term,â Sif considered this, he tried not but the manâs words struck him like a knife.
âMaybe, but I know one thing,â Sif tightened the bandages a little too tight, trying not to smile as the man winced. âTakinâ you down was the roight thing to do.â
Sif took the man back to the Fortuneâs Favor and locked him in the brig. When Edward asked about the wound in Sifâs side, Sif brushed him off. He was fine, probably. The poison seemed to have to stop and Sifâs blood loss never seemed to grow too extreme.
Should still probably go the infirmary, Sif thought. The crew sailed back to Silverhold and delivered Merlot to Kai. The Commodore clapped him on the back.
âGood job son, now get yourself to the infirmary that wound looks nasty,â The execution would be held tomorrow, and as Sif walked into the infirmary he couldnât help but feel a twinge of excitement at that thought.
Storms, I hope I donât become like him, he thought. That emptiness that rested in him worried him, he would have to talk to Morden about it. For now, though heâd let the surgeons patch him up.