Bunbun gave her master a pointed look as they dashed through the air at supersonic speeds.

  “So… instead of purging earth of every last orc… we’re bedding them?”

  Eric flushed. “I couldn’t help it. I was overcome by hotness.”

  Surprisingly, his familiar’s nod was sympathetic. “And she’s actually 62.5% Sylvan so… yeah. Who wouldn’t want to bed a super buff green skinned elf?” Her eyes twinkled. “And now that we know that you definitely have a thing for muscle mommies.”

  “And hot Silver-tier succubuses…”

  Bunbun chortled. “I think everyone has a thing for Silver-tier mistresses of seduction, Eric.”

  Eric chuckled self-consciously as he eyed the terrain he was now flying over for fresh targets. “So… yeah. I’m totally terrible, right? I could totally sense Elonia’s mixture of profound gratitude I’m not really that worthy of… and supreme sisterly frustration with my romantic choices, when I put in a good word for both Natasha and Rosy.”

  His familiar sighed. “It’s the fact that it was in the same e-mail, Eric. Practically the same sentences. It was basically. ‘hey, sis! Hope you love being a Bronze-tier badass! And if it’s not too trouble, would you mind throwing some bones to my sweet-ass bitches? But I won’t insist, because I’m classy and totally a Free Agent!”

  Eric winced. “It wasn’t that bad, was it? Shit! Check out those double decker 74 cannon galleons below… Hell, they’re practically ships-of-the-line!”

  Bunbun put a tiny paw to her eyes and frowned down at the triple-masted ships hugging the coastline, their ultimate destination easy enough to guess, as Eric’s DI Map made it clear that the gnolls had already claimed New Haven and Providence among multiple other territories North of New York.

  Eric and Bunbun exchanging a single knowing glance.

  “Shit. Now, for whatever reason, they’re pushing with all their might for Boston. You know that’s their goal, and for some reason they think they can actually manage it, even with a badass like you on the board.”

  Eric scowled, jaw clenched. “Caliban keeps pinging me. FUCK! I asked him to give me till dawn. He said to please hurry, but not that it was so vital that his life or Elonia’s were actually in jeopardy, but still.”

  His familiar scowled. “Why do I get the feeling that the moment we answer his summons, the weave of this tale will forever pull us away from getting a clean fucking sweep of this entire region?”

  Eric flashed a cold smile. “I know. Nothing but a fucking string of white tier gnoll territories through Conneticut’s shoreline up to Providence, and then it’s a straight shot up the I-95 to Quincy. And we take out those fuckers like hammer and anvil.”

  Bunbun nodded. Let’s not forget Taunton, Plymouth and Provincetown! So many juicy White-tier territories to gobble up RIGHT FUCKING NOW before any asshole, edict, or high order bullshit gets in our way!”

  Eric flashed a hungry grin. “Damn right. And who the fuck says we can’t grab some juicy ships of-the-line and their cannons while were on the way to Boston?”

  “Exactly!” Bunbun enthused. “Especially since your Spiritual energy is all the way back to its original value of 1623, and not an absolutely pitiful 137 because of that magic trump card we… hmm… we never did get that magical trump card of awesomeness, did we?”

  Eric snorted at his familiar’s sigh. “No, we didn’t. So yes, I’m really riding on the razor’s edge this time. But FUCK IT Bun! 1137 Physical Resistance?” If 200 Means I’m immune to 12-pounders with the help of low-order battle time, and 400 let’s me laugh at any artillery known to man, and 500 means my own Mithril blade won’t cut my skin and 600 is an Imperial Dreadnought’s thickest armor plates… how fucking ridiculous is it, my being 5 orders beyond even that?”

  His familiar snorted as they swooped down to their first target. “It is pretty absurd. Deliciously so! But Song and Mord both still came damn close to ending yo. And not even all that will keep you from shriveling up like a doomed prune, if your Spiritual Energy goes down to zero, Fearless Leader.”

  Eric winced. “Fuck, do I hate it when you’re right.” He then smiled brightly as he swooped down upon a galleon filled with human mercenaries racing about the top deck along with dozens of snapping gnolls glaring at Eric with a mixture of hate and fear.

  “Who the hell are you?” Snarled the obvious captain, a powerful looking gnoll glaring down at Eric, his lips curling to reveal jagged teeth in his jackal-like maw.

  Eric chuckled. “I’m so glad you asked!”

  He then moved so fast that the shockwave of the captain’s exploding head had the entire crew spinning around or falling onto the deck with looks of terrified dismay upon all their features, those who hadn’t been knocked senseless by the high pressure shockwave causing more than a few ears to bleed as the blood-spurting remains of the captain collapsed in a heap.

  Eric turned back to the crew, flashing his brightest grin. “So! Who’s up for joining the Sylvan Alliance?”

  “He struck the captain! How dare he!”

  “Kill him! Kill that gobsucking landlubber now!”

  Eric blinked in stupefaction when the swarm of relatively low level raiders swarmed him en masse, cutlasses all raised to deliver killing blows.

  “What the fucking fuck?” Eric uttered, shaking his head in disbelief as his familiar snorted.

  “Really? Your Social Perception and Know the Score perks aren’t making it all clear?”

  Eric furrowed his brow. “Yeah. I think they’re System place-holders for races that actually have neural nodes that clueless goofballs like me clearly lack, cause unless it comes to sensing actual threats allowing it to Synergize with my Danger Sense which works damn well…”

  “Ooh. Good point. And nothing here’s really threatening you! Anyway, my beloved social goofball who’s way too skilled at scoring with hot succubuses and muscle mommies for me to believe you’re that clueless, Don Juan…”

  “Ouch.”

  “Your pirate crew are all high as fuck! Just smell the air! That’s some grade a crystal and enough eight balls in their leather pouches that any mortal party animal would have a heart attack in a few days. Well, I guess these boys are in it to the bitter end. Human and gnoll alike.”

  Eric’s sigh turned to a hungry grin.

  His fists clenched.

  “Good.”

  He didn’t say another word, not once offering quarter as he weaved and struck, upper cuts, jabs and crosses all landing with clinical precision, each and every one hitting with sufficient force to obliterate skulls or chests with the power of high velocity artillery, bone shrapnel shredding the top deck even as the entire ship was washed in a crimson patina flecked with bone.

  You have critically struck 57 crew-members for CATASTROPHIC damage!

  No experience earned.

  But DAMN does it feel good!

  Kill on, Contender. Let the world feel your WRATH!

  Eric flashed a bleak smile, refusing to be shamed or thrown off by the System’s snark that could just as easily be it genuinely cheering him on.

  These assholes were heading for Massachusetts, one of the few bastions that had managed to hold out from invaders for so long. And an army of orcs, gnolls, and turncoat humans were making their final push forward, determined to destroy that bastion of independence for all time.

  And that was something that Eric was not going to happen.

  And if that meant he would be putting down countless thousands of drugged up psychopaths for the sake of that bastion of freedom?

  Then sure as hell, he would happily put down every last one of them.

  And enjoy every bloody minute of it, being the most dangerous psychopath of all.

  One who actually felt righteous and justified in his savagery.

  One who could look at the bloodthirsty demon smirking back at him from the silvered mirror before the bulkhead and laugh right along with that cackling image, not giving a flying fuck for anything save savoring the look of fear in his enemies’ eyes… before putting them down for all time.

  “No, please, quarter! I surrender!”

  “Monster! Fucking monster’s in the galley! Someone get the captain!”

  “Mercy!”

  You have critically struck 27 Gunners and 57 Gunner’s Assistants for CATASTROPHIC damage!

  No foe survives your blows!

  25 Gunners and 13 Gunners Assistants flee through the cannon ports!

  You have chosen to ignore all those who flee your wrath!

  “Forzar!” Bunbun happily cried, lightning crackling through the cramped middeck as Eric’s familiar tried to get in the action. “Fuck yeah. Check out—Oh, shit,” Bunbun winced when her enthusiasm lit up multiple barrels of gunpowder in a titanic explosion that rocked the boat and tore through a good portion of the hull.

  “Fuck. That’s what I get for getting cocky!”

  Eric grinned as a terrific spray of shrapnel tore through the air, smashing into him like a ferocious storm of death… and bouncing off his person, even his wide open eyes, like the gentlest shower.

  He gave her ears a sympathetic pat as she pouted.

  “Don’t sweat it. Shit happens. Come on! One more deck to go.”

  “Now I know why you’re using your fists!”

  Eric smirked, casually biting off the head of a howling crewman charging at him cutlass first.

  “Not really,” he said as the blood spurted over his grinning countenance, serrated shark-like teeth flashing brightly once more. “I’m just feeling like a savage motherfucker at the moment. You understand.”

  Bun snorted. “Sure, Fearless Leader. Save a city, seduce multiple women who could so easily have been opponents… and absolutely slaughter the assholes who think we’re going to let them take Massachusetts like they took New York.”

  Eric nodded. “Pretty much, yeah. Exactly that.” His eyes brightened. “Ooh, looky looky here! They actually set up a present for us!”

  Bunbun chortled evilly as Eric smirked at the sight of the 24-pounder cannon maneuvered free of its port by all the desperately scrambling artillerists, now aimed right for the bulkhead and the brightly smiling madman whistling a jaunty tune as he casually strolled right towards them, arms spread wide.

  “One more step and we drop you, motherfucker!” Roared one bristly sailor with bloodshot eyes, rotting teeth, and the panicked look of desperation in his gaze.

  “Just shoot him. Shoot him now!” screamed a panicked youth, staring at Eric as if he were death incarnate.

  Eric’s smile stretched out in a hideous, toothy grin. “Give it your best shot, boys! Let’s see if those Interface messages are actually worth—”

  His words were cut off in a massive cloud of smoke and the echoing boom of a cannon shot in the middle of the bottom deck.

  A supporting ship rib cracked as the ship continued to list.

  The sailors took panicked breaths, exchanging anxious looks between coughing and ringing ears as the ship filled with thick white smoke.

  “Did we get him?”

  “Nope!” Declared Bunbun cheerfully. “But, I mean, just look at him! Holding a partially squashed cannonball like it was nothing. Tell me my boy here doesn’t look absolutely badass?”

  The spokesperson for the group crashed to his knees with a despairing look in eyes red with smoke. “No. Fuck no!” He wheezed with a cough. “We hit you with a goddamned… how? By all that’s holy… how are you even…”

  “We surrender!” One kid desperately cried. “Please! We surrender!”

  Eric’s icy gaze locked on the trembling youth. “I don’t want to know your tragic fucking backstory. Because I don’t really care. But if you shitheads want to jump through the gun port you just cleared… you have ten seconds, and I’m throwing this—”

  “We’re gone! Please don’t kill us, we’re gone!”

  A coolly glaring Eric gave them a full thirty seconds as every last sailor jumped free and began swimming frantically to shore.

  Eric sighed, dropping the now deformed cannonball. “Fuck. Fuck! I was having such a sweet rage-on. Why did that stupid-ass teen have to give me that look?”

  Bunbun snorted. “Because he’s a stupid-ass teen and you’re not actually a raging psychopath. I mean, halfway… sure. But not completely. Now come on, Fearless Leader. I sense no survivors. I think we’re done here.”

  Eric nodded. “I think you’re right.” Then he froze as the ship continued to list, water filling up in the brig and spilling onto the deck he was now on. “Bun.”

  “Eric?”

  “Bun!”

  “Eric!”

  Eric’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I just had the awesomeness thought.”

  “And what thought would that be, Fearless Leader?”

  “We’re in a ship full of the dead.”

  His familiar frowned, before she flashed a wicked smile that was near a match for his own. “You’re not thinking of a certain squid captain and his glorious Queen Mary, are you?”

  Eric’s glittering eyes took in the rather gruesome remains of so many that had fallen to his wrath as he raced back up and through the decks, doing his best to sense them all as a gestalt. A whole.

  One unified entity.

  “Think of it, Bunbun! When we bring back a musketeer, unless we take the Sarissophoroi option which of course we always now do, they retain their gear! So, the way I see it…”

  “The ship is part of their gear! And all those sweet, sweet 24-pounder siege cannons!”

  Eric’s eyes positively twinkled as he crouched before the decapitated and deshouldered captain. “Exactly. So, you think it will work?”

  Bunbun grinned. “Considering your levels and specialization… hell no! You’re a master of raising entire armies of bugs in super dark energy saturated territories deep into the Black. Not animating wood in White-tier maritime regions. Hell, when was the last time you’ve even been on a galleon? But fuck it. What do I know? Give it a shot.”

  Eric smirked. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bunz.”

  “Any time, hero,” she said with a pointed look at the bloody massacre all about her.

  “Yeah, sure as fuck I’m not to these people.”

  “But you are to the eight million people you pulled from oblivion to bring back the New York City we know and love. Not to mention millions of elves. Quite a few millions, actually, in both New Arcadia and what’s now Winterblossom territory.”

  Eric sighed. “I’m actually not sure if it was me or Elonia who gave life to those New Yorkers.”

  His familiar shrugged. “Both of you, then. Wonder-twin powers and all that. Now, your mother’s angelic influence has you feeling kinda guilty you came on so hardcore to these coked-up assholes? Then give them all a second chance with a fuck ton of levels as a welcome home to your former bodies present. Ha ha!”

  Eric chuckled at that. “Yeah, you know what? Why not.” He smirked down at the corpse by his feet, before closing his eyes. “Welcome home, asshole captain. Let’s try this again, shall we?”

  Eric braced himself, eyes closed as he breathed deep before belting out the words that would warp reality itself.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Surge Centuria!”

  He felt it then, an odd creaking in the ribs of the ship, warping in ways alien and strange.

  “Imperator, Imperat, Tibi!”

  Sensing scores of souls fleeing back to their so recently vacated bodies with a desperate eagerness.

  He grinned with a heady sense of excitement. He was actually doing it! Restoring the entire ship, even as he brought the crew back to life once more. Yet he sensed that he was capable of more.

  So much more, as he pricked his finger and caressed the topdeck before him, blessing it with the gift of his blood.

  His familiar’s spike of alarm, the first he had sensed in quite some time, almost pricked his trance. “Eric, what are you doing?”

  Eric smiled, letting his actions speak louder than words ever could as the entire ship took ojn a deep crimson hue as he dared to permanently sacrifice a portion of his soul and a full Underlord slot, sensing that he was on the cusp of expanding what just might be his deadliest class in an entirely new direction.

  But it wasn’t without cost.

  “Eric!”

  Congratulations! You have SUCCESSFULLY Raised Gnoll Triple Masted Galleon as an Underlord!

  Galleon has successfully retrieved all retreating crew members!

  97% of former crew ACCEPTS and embraces their new role! 3% have been OBLIVIATED! Their souls helping to fuel your latest Underlord’s Transformation! (Soul Point cost has been reduced to 3!)

  NOTE! You have achieved the halfway mark to MAXIMUM Dominion rank permitted in this quadrant! Rank 5 Dominion allows you to CONTEST all Soul Point costs!

  You have successfully REDUCED 3 Soul point cost to 3/5ths of one point!

  CONGRATULATIONS! You are the FIRST Necromancer in the Northeast Quandrant to raise a formerly inanimate vessel and its crew into your eternal Service!

  You have earned the Title: Construct Master!

  This Adept White-Tier Perk grants you +10 Soul reserves, +5 Willpower and +5 to all engineering and repair skill checks!

  Your constructs are now 20% Tougher and deadlier than they would otherwise be!

  Eric took a shuddering breath, heart pounding in his chest, for a heartbeat feeling like the ship was just an extension of himself as ropy tendrils of soul magic plucked every last crew member who thought they could flee.

  Crewmen whose screams became howls of ecstasy as their quivering mortal bodies were transformed to gloriously fit and strong revenants 74 levels beyond what they had been before.

  Eric flashed a satisfied smirk as their desires and hunger became but an echo of his ship’s own, their psyche’s desires and wills becoming one with the Underlord that they were all, ultimately, a mere extension of. Vital organs and limbs to carry out the vessels duties. No less, and no more.

  And that’s when Eric sensed it.

  A hidden potential unlocked.

  For as much as a part of him had so patiently held off on a final unspent Perk Point, to invest in ways that would make his army truly potent indeed… the potential of the path now revealing itself before him, the sense that this was a way he could advance and progress without slaughtering absolutely millions… was enough for him to make the investment.

  No matter his familiar’s concerns.

  For a moment he felt a sharp sense of bitter loss, pretty certain that Dreadlords Wrath: Rank 6 wouldn’t be claimed for a long, long time.

  Yet when fresh messages flashed across his mind’s eye, he decided that it was worth it.

  You have unlocked the advanced perk: Maritime Underlord!

  All background requirements SUPERSEDED by Master class and functioning Revenant Battleship!

  You may now raise an additional number of Maritime Underlords equal to your maximum terrestrial equivalents! (Presently 4)

  The ships you raise are sapient and will follow your commands to the best of their ability! All weaponry and ammunition recharges after every battle! Damage restores itself at a rate equal to 1% of structural damage x Necromancer level per hour! This damage includes the revenants eternally assigned to your vessels!

  All in all, he had no complaints. It was basically an extension of Underlord, and considering his 4x multiplier it could be argued that another rank of Underlord at this point would be a better investment.

  Until he saw the final perk boon that blew all other considerations out of the water.

  Each Maritime Underlord may control a number of revenant vessels equal to the number of enhanced class perks you have access to!

  Eric’s eyes bulged. “Wait, wait! So each Underlord ship I raise can have 27 cannon-blasting galleons serving under it? Fuck yes. Let’s do this!”

  Eric eagerly pushed the blinking button in the back of his mind, before screaming as he felt the Systems silvery tendrils quite unexpectedly squiggle through his brain, in that moment feeling more than a bit like a certain Squid brained captain trapped by his own eternal greed.

  Then, just a heartbeat later, it was done.

  “Fuck!” He shuddered, biting his own lip so he wasn’t cursing up a storm at that awful, shuddery feeling of Cthulian tendrils playing his soul like a harp… now fading to a dream.

  Bunbun whistled. “Looks like you got that perk you wanted, Fearless Leader.”

  Eric trembled, eyes filling up with tears. “But that. That! I just… why? I thought Necromancy was so utterly based on Earth’s native arts that… well… I didn’t have to go through that!”

  Bunbun snorted. “You know damn well that Conceptio finds you fascinating as anything, is unstintingly honest as he almost has to be for his beautiful tapestry not to tear itself apart… and he will eagerly take any opportunity he can to ‘improove’ you.”

  A shuddering Eric blinked boyish, frightened eyes. “But why? All those epic battles taking out my father and his fucking mad army, and not once did he—”

  Bunbun gave him a hard look. “Are you sure, Eric? You were pretty focused on just surviving and dealing with you-know-who’s mind games. Who the fuck knows if someone had to tweak your brain just a little bit to handle these fucking high tier perks which I get the feeling most people below Deep Silver never get to play with?”

  Eric blinked. “Fuck, I… I don’t really know?”

  Familiar shrugged. “So, why sweat it?”

  Eric swallowed. “I…” his words died off, not really knowing what to say. Bunbun gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “As awful as those slithering tendrils feel when their twisting and looping through our brains, as much as we hate idea fact of a god-tier System AI remaking us in any image save our own… Conceptio gave me autonomy and gave our daughter life. He’s saved our butts and pulled at least a few cards to help when the entire world, well… you know.” She sighed. “So, he likes to blend people’s brains like spaghetti. We all have our quirks. And regardless of who we were ten minutes ago… we’re who we are right now. And that’s all we are. So let’s just accept ourselves and do whatever it is we got to do.”

  Eric took a shuddering breath, letting the gentle salty spray of the sea wash over him as seagulls cried overhead.

  He took a shuddering breath that became a chuckle. “I have no reason to complain, do I? No fucking reason at all.”

  “Nope! We’re so much stronger than the terrified girl who, despite her ‘leet V-16 builds, hid under her bed when actual orcs smashed into her home. We’re so much tougher than the boy who jumped into a fire pit to save his sister and seared his own lungs while doing so. Now, its the assholes who so casually destroyed our lives that need to flee in terror before us. Best of all, we now have a kickass Underlord ship-of-the-line with its full compliment of 74 cannons and plenty of shells and powder, and I do mean scores of crates worth!”

  Bunbun’s grinned matched Eric’s relieved smile, as she pointed off in the distance with her cute little paw. “And I sense that you’re damned close to leveling up a certain Profession that should be slowing to a crawl until you’re actually Silver, but somehow isn’t! So let’s rank it up again, shall we? Necromancer Level 75, here we come!”

  Eric chuckled, rubbing his familiar’s fuzzy head. “Damn right, Bunbun. We’re now the Privateers of the colonial seas, and we’ll make sure every other player knows it… right before they join our growing fleet.”

  “Right on, fearless leader! Shippy, full speed ahead!” Bunbun’s cheerful expression turned to a frown. “The other ship’s lookout in their crow’s nest is looking right at us through his telescope.”

  “Okay…”

  “They’re now tacking away from us.”

  Eric scowled. “I see that.”

  “And Shippy isn’t going any faster than they are.”

  “How come?”

  Bunbun rolled her eyes. “Because it’s a fucking sailing ship, Eric. It’s as dependent upon the wind as they are! It’s not a rowing galley where our revenants give us an edge. It’s a triple masted ship-of-the-line. And even if Shippy’s more coordinated than the average gaggle of sailors…”

  Eric scowled. “I fucking hate boring chase scenes that just linger.”

  His rabbit nodded. “But it is a beautiful view, isn’t it? Seagulls crying overhead as we slice through the waves, the tangy scent of the sea all around, washing all the blood away.” She sighed. “Too bad we’re slow as fuck.”

  Eric nodded, before slowly turning to his familiar, also slowly turning toward him.

  “We’re being idiots,” they simultaneously said, before breaking out in laughter.

  Eric smirked. “Because Shippy might be a sapient revenant ship-of-the-line…”

  “But she’s still your revenant!”

  Eric traded fist bumps with his familiar. “What do you say we do some ship hunting? I see four galleons headed for Boston that would look so very lovely as part of our crew.”

  ***

  Captain Grimwald put down his brass telescope, glaring at his second, a scrawny gnoll with an excellent head for numbers, an appetite for young virgins, and very little else going for it. But considering their side hustle as smugglers, and that Bitters hadn’t burned him yet, Grimwald was more than happy with his second.

  Until right now, that was.

  “What the fuck happened to Glass-eye’s ship?”

  Bitters cowed most satisfactorily. “No one’s sure, sir. We heard the discharge of cannons… and now it’s headed right toward us.”

  Grimwald glared. “As far as I can see, the boys haven’t even changed shift. But they haven’t responded to any of our flag signs, either.”

  Bitters nodded. “And their eyes are glowing with eldritch flame.”

  “That too.” Grimwald sighed. “Have you signaled the others and sent off the message?”

  “Yes, sir. The other ships see no reason to deviate their course. The communique from Lord Hencely also made it clear that our orders remain unchanged. We just need to get to Boston without sinking and our conquest is in the bag.”

  The human captain scratched his beard, glaring down at his second. “How the fuck does that work, again? All Hencely said was that we’re tactically withdrawing from New York to more opportune waters. We fucking lost the entire state to that former starlet, Elonia Silver! How the fuck did a teen actress end up as the Crown Princess of an entire fucking state?”

  “I understand that she has a Silver in her employee,” Bitters whispered. “But that’s on the hush-hush. Unofficial like.”

  This earned a cold snort. “Of course she does, if Song’s fallen. That was one scary fucker, even if he did pay us well.”

  “True,” the gnoll agreed. “He paid us top rates, and anyone who complained had their heads explode.”

  “Yup.” Grimwald frowned at the ship following them. “Bitters…”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “How will getting to Boston save us from a Silver ringer?”

  “Excellent question, Captain. According to Hencely’s second, the Planetary Counsel has voted to freeze all territorial acquisitions and formally surrender to the Empire. A powerful representative is heading to earth now.”

  Captain Grimwald blinked. “So, we’re surrendering all our territory?”

  “No, sir. It’s a pretext. We’re still in first-tier ascension. They’d never allow it.”

  Grimwald scowled. “Don’t fuck with me, Bitters.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

  “Then why—”

  “Because they will use the opportunity to make a fresh resolution that all Silver-tier ascendants must be exiled at once. Since there’s plenty of intergalactic precedent for high leveled parties being denied access to ascending worlds in favor of natives and similarly powered competitors, the counsel hopes to arrange for the removal of every Silver they haven’t successfully hidden away.”

  Grimwald’s scowl turned to a bright frown. “Oh, that’s beautiful. Under the pretext of fairness, the counsel gets the Imperium to exile the very Silvers it originally opened its door to allowing… including any native freaks who managed to power up way too fucking fast!”

  Bitters flashed an equally bright smile. “Then, a certain crown princess loses her ace and we head north to claim the deliciously fertile territories they worked so hard to secure for us!”

  The captain gave a joyful belly laugh, rubbing his hands together. “Oh that’s rich! I can only imagine how smug all the Counsel Administrators will look, sneering down at her when they order all her most powerful pieces stripped from her, in the name of justice!”

  Bitters nodded. “Especially if our aces remain safely hidden in their mystic realms until the representative leaves with all the unwanted baggage.”

  The captain winked, pulling out a silver hip flask of Maker’s Mark. “I think that calls for a drink.”

  “Gladly, sir!”

  The bourbon was as good as ever, yet Grimwald’s pleased grin turned to a concerned frown even as his favorite drink warmed his belly, rich and smooth as always.

  “Bitters…”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  Grimwald clenched the hilt of his cutlass, glaring into the distance while the salty breeze ruffled his leather coat and beard. “Is it just me, or is that 74 doing the opposite of sinking?”

  Bitters scowled, his muzzle crinkling. “I do believe the ship is… how do I say this… flying.” He gulped. “And it’s coming this way.”

  “Yes, it is.” The bearded man exchanged a long look with his second. “Lifeboat with our special stash? And we don’t say a damned word.”

  “Yes, Captain. Let’s go.”

  Grimwald’s breath hitched as the men’s off-key drinking songs became shouts of alarm.

  “How the fuck’s Glass-eye’s ship flying?”

  “Wizardry!”

  “How? We don’t got any wizard that powerful.”

  “Shit, starboard side’s turning to face us… gun ports are open! Shit, they’re really going to fire on us… captain! We got trouble!” Hollered the sailor from the crow’s nest, a cry soon picked up by half a dozen closer sailors.

  “Don’t I know it,” Grimwald snorted as he swung over the railing and right into the rowboat secured with a clever series of knots and pulleys that Bitters unhooked with a single expert twist as the Captain pushed them a couple inches away from the ship’s sides as they began to slowly descend.

  “Let go of the rope, Bitters!” Grimwald hissed when the air abruptly roared when an entire battery of cannons unleashed their charges in unison and panicked shouts became desperate cries as the side of their vessel exploded, showering Grimwald and Bitters both with wood splinters and thankfully no worse as the now panting gnoll cut them free of the final rope with a quick flick of his serrated knife, perfectly timed for them to drop right into the swell of the wave that then dipped down and the pair were now rowing for shore with every desperate pull of the paddles as the air filled with sulfurous white smoke and the screams of doomed men who had no chance in hell of being able to angle even one of their cannons sufficient degrees to hit the flying vessel, which meant that they were utterly doomed.

  “How are they even able to tilt the Tremeraire at such a sharp angle without the cannons crashing right out of the gun ports?”

  Grimwald huffed as he rowed for all he was worth. “You’re worried about the physical properties of cannons on a flying ship? I think their methods of securing their 24-pounders are among the least of our problems right now, Bitters.”

  “Well, there goes the mid mast,” Bitters said with a sad sigh as the sound of cracking wood and despair filled the air behind them.

  “Less talking, more rowing!”

  “At once, Captain Grimwald.”

  This earned a snort. “It’s Larry from here on out, Bitters. Assuming we survive this bit of madness. Trader Larry. A simple man with an eye for precious gems.”

  “Snibbs,” said Bitters. “Your silent partner in the gem trade, happy to explore the world by your side.”

  Captain Grimwald, or Larry, raised a bemused brow as they made their way towards a snug little cove by the shore. Despite their growing distance from the battle, the boom of cannons, screams of men and the sound of splintering masts and ribs still carried perfectly well by an ocean, even if visibility was limited by an overcast foggy day.

  “Fifty percent stake?”

  The gnoll chuckled quietly. “Why not? We are captain and second no longer, but merchants happy to put the past behind them.”

  Grimwald’s eyes twinkled in bemusement. “Fair enough, Bitters… or should I say Snibbs? So you can put away your cute little pistol. You know damn well we’ll get a far friendlier reception in any human settlement if I’m doing the talking. And we’ll get a shit ton more coin if I’m the one doing the trading. All the more so, if that madness in the sky above is a harbinger of things to come for your… our… very former faction.”

  The gnoll shuddered, his black powder holdout pistol disappearing as if it had never been in his lap at all. “Of course you’re right, Captain. I can’t imagine how such a thing got on my person.”

  “Larry, remember?” The former captain said as he beached their rowboat before covering it with loose brush as they darted under the nearby foliage, eager to make themselves scarce.

  “So, new plan. What’s say we head back to New York, catch the fancy new train heading to New Arcadia, and earn ourselves some powerful friends, warning them of Hencely and the Northeast Counsel’s schemes.”

  Snibbs blinked, eyes twinkling as his maw widened in a jackal-like grin. “Excellent plan, partner. Hopefully, they’ll appreciate our good faith warning sufficient to bid us warm welcome in the heart of Sylvan territory, without anyone asking too many questions about our previous employment or the province of our jewels.”

  The former captain flashed a thousand megawatt smile, wincing only momentarily when the burden of an unwanted obligation slipped free of his person… at the cost of only a single level. And he knew he was lucky he hadn’t been forced to pay a far steeper price. “We’re soldiers-of-fortune looking for fresh opportunities in a newly forged duchy. Nothing more than that.”

  “Of course, Captain. Ah. There she is, in the distance.”

  “Thank god,” Snibbs said softly under his breath as he beheld New York’s grand and fully restored skyscrapers silhouetted against the overcast sky. “I knew we were up shit creak with a lousy hand the minute Song fell to that wildcard. Now let’s split a fresh deck with a winning team.”

  The gnoll nodded in complete agreement. “Gladly, sir. And I do believe our former ship just sunk.”

  “Good!” The former captain and present trader and soldier-of-fortune said with forced good cheer. “Now we can start fresh new lives with our past firmly buried at—”

  “Oh my. I do believe I spoke too soon.”

  Larry scowled at the gnoll beside him, the creature’s fur rustled by the chilly breeze as the pair made their way along the hardpacked dirt road within spitting distance of the shoreline before his disbelieving eyes focused on the oddly shaped blob of darkness rising in the fog as the air rang with words that sent shivers down his spine.

  “Surge Centuria! Imperator, Imperat, Tibi!”

  Larry blanched, features growing sickly pale. “Snibbs…”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  The man swallowed. “Is it just me, or do you see our ship now floating in the air besides Glass-eye’s own?”

  The gnoll blinked, pulled out his brass telescope, and carefully checked. “I fear I shall have to answer in the affirmative, sir.”

  Larry opened his mouth, blinked, closed it again and held out his hand for the telescope, scowling as he carefully took a second look.

  He flinched and jerked away from the sight, handing the gnoll back his telescope with a trembling hand.

  “Do you also happen to see eyes glowing with green eldritch flame that seem to cut right through the mist?”

  “Yes. In both ships, sir.”

  “I see. Snibbs?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Let’s pick up our pace. The sooner we get to New York, the better.”

  “Agreed, sir.”

  Larry winced as fresh booms echoed through the fog.

  “I suspect they are now both hunting the remains of our… former… fleet sir.”

  “I see.” Larry looked at his somewhat shorter companion. “Now would be a great time to move a bit faster. Don’t you agree?”

  “Indubitably sir.”

  “Speaking of which, when’s the last time we went on a nice jog by the sea?”

  “It’s been far too long, sir.”

  “Then let’s do just that, then.”

  The pair quickly picked up their pace as the air rang with the booms of cannons and the desperate screams of men. Their status as classers as well as sailors was revealed when their light jog became a full-on sprint that would have been quite impressive, were it not for the blind terror in both their eyes, neither knowing exactly what was in store for their future, but equally certain they’d never be setting foot in any sort of oceangoing vessel ever again.