Thorkel Greene rested against the mast of the ship, his gaze on Talon. The longship was bigger than most, sure, but it seemed like more of a boat compared to the brig Frostbite. The men on board didn't seem much either, their gear shoddy and unkempt. While they were technically equal in strength compared to Jarl Holter's entourage, Greene had no doubts that they would be nothing but fodder if a fight truly broke out.

"They're going to be in there for some time," Dimitri, the shipmaster, commented nearby. He was busy struggling to get a bottle of mead open, his expression of effort signifying that he was losing the fight. Greene shrugged.

"If Ivan's wise, then he'd agree to any term James gives him," Greene said in a low mutter so as to not allow the other soldiers to hear. Ivan had nothing to offer outside of land and loyalty. Greene knew this well. He had served the Bastard Jarl before his current job title. In fact, Greene had been one of the men who had surrendered during the Battle for Yorktown. He had earned his place in the Raven clan not long after when he told all he knew of Ivan.

'Been some time. I wonder if the men here even know me,' Greene thought. He knew better, however. These men were fresh recruits. He could see it in the way they loosely held together, their formation lacking any order. They were very new to the life of a soldier and certainly wouldn't have been around the year prior. Greene was just another face to them.

"Horuk," Greene muttered, his gaze turning to the massive orc that sat down by the bow. He looked terribly bored. "Do you want to run another game of cards? Kill some time before—"

"SUMMON ICE!"

An ethereal voice boomed from the inside of the longship, the vessel rocking as sharp tips of ice suddenly pierced the roof and hull of where the meeting was taking place. Greene stumbled back out of surprise, watching as the men on Talon exchanged glances.

'Shit.'

"Code Red!" Green shouted at his men, reciting the warning signal Holter had taught him. He watched as everyone on Frostbite scrambled to get their weapons, their movements done so more out of panic rather than practiced resolve. He even saw the orcs struggle to react in time, their large hands fumbling axes and clubs. Regardless, the men around him rallied up quickly, much faster than the men on Talon.

"Horuk!" Greene called out to the orc, who was already rushing to starboard. "Get your orcs and extract Holter! We have to get him out now!"

Before any of them could even act on the plan, a maniacal laugh cut through the air like a wraith's chill. Everyone froze. The laughter was coming from above, and Greene had to force himself to look up.

A woman covered in a flowing black cloak stood upon Talon's crow's nest, her hair whipping against the wind. She looked down at them, her expression unreadable from a distance. Yet Greene knew that she was grinning. He could even see how her gaze burned with a fierce purple, almost as if her sockets were smoldering with a cursed flame.

"It seems like the time has come!" the woman called down in a giggle. "I hope you're all ready!"

With the last word, the stranger pushed herself off the nest. Greene moved to shout an order but stopped when something slashed at the side of his neck. He stumbled, his hand moving to cover it. At first, he thought one of the enemy soldiers had crossed the deck bridge, but he disregarded that. The men were still on their ship, dumbfounded at the appearance of the woman.

Green looked at his men, half of whom were sent back with long slashes across their faces and torsos. All from what seemed like invisible blades.

'What the fuck is happening?'

He never got to find the answer to that question, as the woman reached him first. The last thing Greene saw was her crazed smile and star-shaped pupils.

There was then a line of red-hot pain across his chest, and he was thrown back.

James panted heavily as he straightened himself, the left side of his face covered in a light frost. The entire half of the room in front of him was covered by a wall of ice spikes, blocking off the rest of Ivan's men and hopefully buying them more time.

'Are you insane?' Faust asked. 'That was nearly HALF of your reserves! You're now down to three castings, for Caelus' sake!'

'Shut the fuck up, Faust! Now's not the time!'

His Alert skill blared with magical warning, signifying to the Jarl that the danger had not passed. James turned around to meet with Finn, who had his dagger raised for a strike. The Jarl felt cold anger surge through him as he raised his short sword, quickly blocking the attack from the traitor. Sparks flew from the contact of blades, the speed surprising Finn. With a smooth motion, James raised his boot and kicked the man back against the wall of the cabin. Before Finn could even react, the Jarl swung down.

His blade found purchase within the man's left wrist, whose gripped dagger dropped to the ground. Finn screamed in pain as James ripped the sword out, more blood speckling his cloak. A cold, almost sinister part of him wanted to keep going, to cleave this traitor's head in half out of revenge for Brant. Yet he refrained himself, barely.

'Need to get out. Get to Frostbite.'

James kicked the dagger away and left Finn to writhe in pain. He turned to face Malik and the rest of his guard, all of whom watched the entire encounter with bewilderment. James opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. His Alert skill was still tugging at him, its magical alarm screaming within his own head despite the fact James had dispatched Finn.

'Unless there's someone else here.'

A figure emerged from the shadows. He came from the rear of the cabin, right hand equipped with a spear. He rushed toward the necromancer too fast for James and or any of the men to even react. Malik didn't even have time to form a rune with his hands before the spear made contact with his chest. It ran through him despite the gambeson he wore underneath.

"No!"

One of the men, Trelade, finally reacted, his sword unsheathing as he rushed the assassin. The stranger jumped back from Malik with surprising speed, his hands equipping two daggers. James moved in to help, his sword pointed forth. He went for a thrust at the same time Trelade had swung his weapon down. Both attacks landed.

The assassin grunted as swords impaled his body, one piercing his left shoulder as another hacked into his neck. Yet, despite the wounds, he moved. James quickly pulled his sword back, avoiding a slash from the other dagger in time. Trelade was not so lucky, as his blade was stuck inside the stranger's flesh.

James watched in horror as the assassin's rightmost dagger rammed into the underside of Trerlade's chin, jolting him violently. The guard let out a terrible gurgle of pain, his eyes widening with shock. He fell back in a stumble, leaving his sword in the other man's neck.

"NO!" Farin shouted as he stepped forward, sword at the ready. Oscor joined with him and both men were prepared to rush the assassin. Yet the man in black did not seem to care about them. He instead backed off, his right hand reaching into his clothes. With a quick motion, the assassin took out a smooth gray stone, its face glowing with a purple glyph. Rune.

"Arcane Bolt."

The spell launched forward before anyone could react. However, it missed both Farin and Oscor. Instead, the projectile struck the ice barrier James had formed earlier. It struck the summoned wall with a sizzling crack. Ice shattered and the barrier fell. Ivan's men rushed through the opening not even a second later to attack Farin and Oscor.

"Shit!" James cursed.

Time seemed to slow down then. James quickly took in the situation, doing his best to weigh options. Malik was already on his knees, blood pooling underneath him. Oscor and Farin were currently outnumbered five to two. The assassin also seemed to be someone who couldn't be killed easily, judging from the sword jutting from his neck.

One second passed.

Farin and Oscor clashed with the soldiers, their swords fighting against spears. They were at a disadvantage, regardless of gear quality and training. They were not likely to win. Yet James knew that Malik was their only way out of this. He also knew that the man who had stabbed him was a far greater threat. So he made a choice.

Two seconds.

He equipped his helmet and turned to the assassin, who stood eerily still in the middle of the room. He stared at James quizzically, his head tilting. Underneath the hood he wore, James could see a strange mask. It was made with brass goggles that reflected with black glass, the mask's faceplate bearing a carved grin of Myr.

The assassin did not show any signs of pain as he reached up to wrench Trelade's sword from his neck. He acted as if was nothing more than a splinter, the wound a mere inconvenience. James felt paralyzed with a fear he didn't think he'd ever feel again. That fear only increased when he looked into the assassin's goggles once more.

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'I know him.'

James felt his blood run cold as he recognized this stranger. This man had been there during the Battle for Vindis. He had accompanied the Lumen soldiers during his raid on their base of operations.

'Bounty Hunter? Hired assassin? What is he?'

James quickly disregarded those questions. He instead focused on the situation at hand.

He needed to get out of here, preferably with Malik. If the necromancer was still alive.

"Best you die with dignity," the assassin called out, catching James' attention. His voice was rough, as if he had been washing the back of his throat with tequila for the past twenty years. "We both know that you're not getting out of this alive."

"I don't know," James forced himself to speak. "I've been through worse."

The assassin prepped the sword he had taken out of his neck, its tip aimed at James. James narrowed his gaze, ignoring the fighting around him. Focus was key here. It was what decided between life and death here.

James was the first to attack. He swung his blade toward the assassin, who directly caught the strike with a parry. A slash later and James' cloak was sliced open, revealing his steel armor underneath. The assassin continued his assault, his dagger and sword swinging. James only managed to block the sword, the dagger leaving another slash on his arm. This one only damaged gambeson and failed to leave a wound, however.

Using this chance, James pushed. He shoved the other man back, sword held tightly in his hand as he swung again and again. The assassin did little to block, his body taking slash after slash. Tar-like blood speckled all over, staining James' blade and his clothes. Despite the wounds, however, they did little to affect his opponent.

James saw how blood leaked and soaked clothes, the dark crimson pooling at the man's feet. Yet there was no reaction. He only stared at James with a look that showed more emotion than it had any right to.

"Shadow Bind!"

James recoiled in surprise when a dark mist wrapped around the assassin's torso and limbs, holding him in place. Right behind him was Malik. The necromancer had ripped the spear out of his chest, the weapon lying broken on the floor. He was on his knees, blood staining the wooden deck as he formed runes with shaking hands.

"I got you now asshole!" Malik shouted with manic amusement in his tone. He was grinning despite the blood coagulating around his nose and lips. "I am not so easy to kill!"

"Neither am I," the assassin said. He didn't even struggle against his binds.

James took another look at Malik, his eyes focusing on the man's wound. It no longer bled. In fact, it actually emitted smoke.

'Did he fucking cauterize the wound? How?'

'No time for that!' Faust warned. 'Malik's buying time! Finish him off and get to Farin and Oscor!'

James gritted his teeth and stepped forward, sword raised as he stared the assassin down. He needed to put this man down for good. He had an instinctual hunch that a simple stab to the heart wasn't going to do anything.

"Power Strike!"

James felt his body tense as he swung at the bound man's head. His sword sliced through with ease, cutting through neck flesh and decapitating the assassin. His head fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the body instantly going limp. James had to hold back the urge to gag as dark blood spattered over him.

'So dark… is he even human?'

Malik's Shadow Bind instantly dispelled right after, and James was treated to the sight of the assassin's corpse crumpling into a heap. The sight would've haunted him a year ago, yet now it only gave James a passing feeling of nausea.

'Get to the men, now!' Faust ordered, his Centurion side coming out in full force.

With a nod to Malik, James turned to the skirmish that was happening to his right. The men were still going strong, thankfully, but it was clear that the battle was slowly turning ugly. James quickly rushed to the fray, nerves steeled as he raised his weapon.

"This isn't good," Horuk grunted as he stood up straight, his focus going to chaos that was happening in front of him. Crew members and soldiers fought against Ivan's men, the deck becoming slick with blood. Yet most of the deaths weren't from the fight. No, it was the result of the mad woman killing all she saw.

Horuk shifted his focus to the red, angry wounds that bled from his chest. That woman had some sort of spell or magical ability to summon invisible swords, their edges cutting down anyone she could see. Thankfully for the orc, his hide was more than thick enough to take anything she threw at him. He couldn't say the same for the crew, however.

Men died brutally, and their attempts at fighting did nothing to stop the bloodthirsty creature rampaging around Frostbite's deck. As the orc finally got his bearings, another man died near him. His head whipped back with a nasty cut that hacked through his face. His body fell to the deck in an unceremonious thud.

"No!" Horuk shouted. The man was no warrior. He had been a simple crewmate whose job was to navigate. He wasn't even attempting to fight, just survive. The orc stepped forth in anger, his club raising as he rushed the woman who was busy sending her invisible slashes to another.

He swung his crude weapon, its blunt end whistling as it flew toward her head. The woman saw it coming in time, however, and the weapon was reduced to splinters. Horuk recoiled back in shock, his eyes widening at the sudden attack. The woman stared at the orc with a disinterested look, her hand raising to him. Three deep cuts were made on Horuk's flesh, sending him falling back.

With that, the woman turned away and continued to cut men into pieces. She was even targeting Ivan's men, her cuts and slashes knowing no ally. As such, none were safe.

Horuk panted as he arose, his torso becoming marred in blood. This was an opponent he hated. She couldn't be caught, as her speed was too much for the orc. She had ranged attacks that were invisible, making it impossible to counter them. And most annoyingly, Horuk could do nothing to save those she was targeting.

Another man fell, a soldier from Greene's squad. Right after him, one of Horuk's own followed.

The orc slammed a frustrated fist onto the deck, his anger boiling. He was useless and couldn't do anything meaningful enough to fight this woman.

"Friend orc!" a voice called out behind him. Horuk turned and saw a wounded man stumble from behind the mast. He had taken one of the slashes, but the wound itself was shallow. He was lucky.

'What was his name? Ah yes, Dimitri.'

"Run to the lower decks," Horuk breathed out. "You're only going to get yourself killed up here."

"Nonsense," Dimitri said with grim resolution. He no longer wore the jovial grin he had once before. "I'm not going to cower."

"Then you are a fool," Horuk snarled as he stood. He felt dizzy. Had he really lost that much blood?

"Maybe, but so are you for trying to fight her with the same tactics," Dimitri pointed out.

"You have a better idea?"

"Yes!" Dimitri said with a cough. Blood stained his lips.

'Maybe the wound isn't as shallow as I assumed.'

"Get to James, now! If anyone knows what to do, it is him!"

"How do you know he's not dead already?" Horuk asked. This ambush stank of Ivan's interference. If that bastard of a Jarl was smart, he would have had James killed first.

"Because he's not!" Dimitri exclaimed. "You have to get him. You have to save him! Please!" the shipmaster stumbled to the ground, his breathing growing heavy. "My men are dying! James is the only one who can save them!"

Horuk furrowed his gaze but did not argue. Instead, he turned to Talon, where more soldiers rushed around. Some went to Frostbite, whilst others rushed to the cabin where the meeting was to take place. If he was alive, then Horuk had no other choice.

"I'll try and retrieve him. If anything, we might be able to get that necromancer back," the orc said. Dimitri nodded at that.

"Good! Do that! Hurry!"

Horuk didn't have to be told that. He was already mid-sprint when the shipmaster had called for him to hurry.

James fought off another of Ivan's men with a grunt of effort, his short sword cutting the wooden shaft of the spear. His opponent stared at the sudden change of events, his eyes widening as he attempted to draw his backup sword. James didn't let him. With a shout, the young Jarl lunged and swung at the man's hand. Flesh was torn, and a scream of pain accompanied the sound of bones breaking. James' sword had promptly torn through the soldier's right hand, disabling him and giving the clan leader a chance to finish the fight quickly.

James stepped forward and ripped his weapon free, his arms burning with exertion as he shoved the blade through the cheap padded tunic the man wore. It pierced like butter, the recently imprinted runes on his sword flaring as it bypassed cloth and flesh. With a burst of strength from Faust, James twisted his sword's pommel, his steel blade audibly breaking ribs and spurting more dark blood from the wound. His opponent's screams were silenced soon after, his body going limp. Regardless, James knew he would never be rid of the sounds ever again.

'Two down! Three more to go!' Faust said.

James huffed as he wrenched his sword out and stepped away from the crumpling dead man, his gaze moving to the rest of the group. Farin and Oscor were at their limits, their weapons bloodied as they fought. Their neat stances and tactics had gone out the window some time ago, and now they fought like savages. They kicked and slashed, their clothes and armor stained and ripped. James had a hard time picking them out in the fray of only five men.

'We can get out of this… Everything will be fine,' he thought as he took a few tentative steps.

"Carapace," James casted with a huff. The familiar blanket of magical energy enveloped him a second later, the scent and taste of fruit accompanying him like an old friend. He raised his weapon, its edge dripping with blood, as he prepared for another fight.

He stopped when he heard footsteps coming from behind. James turned around and expected to see the necromancer joining in. Instead, he was met with a sight that sapped the hope from him.

Malik lay on the slick floor, sword in his back and his eyes blank. Above his body was the man he had thought dead. The assassin was no longer headless. He, in fact, rotated his neck, his goggles reflecting the sparse light as he did so. The mask he wore covered all of his head. It wrapped around his skull like a balaclava, the black cloth expensive-looking. Like it was made from silk. James wasn't sure why he focused on that part. He just knew that there was no way in hell that this man should be walking.

"What… What the…." James trailed off. He didn't even pay attention to the fight his men were engaged in. He only stared at the man in front of him. The man who had walked off a beheading.

"What are you?"

"Immortal," the assassin said simply. With that, he raised a rune with his free hand. James' eyes widened when he recognized the red glowing glyph.

"Fireball."

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