Kit woke up with the sun beating down on his drenched face. Cool water lapped around him. Not knowing where he was startled him, and he jolted up quickly, squinting as his vision adjusted to the sunlight. He was on the shore of a red beach, soaking wet, and had a sheet snagged around his ankle, which he yanked free from. A look one way and the other, he found he was the only soul around for as far as the eye could see. There wasn't even a trace of another person or a town. The sky was empty. The sand that began at the shore stretched endlessly in dunes; a desert.
He had no idea where he was or how he got there, and that was frightening. Not to mention, his head was still wrecked over a nightmare he had, a nightmare that now left him with his only pitiful consolation at the moment, that it was, indeed, only a nightmare. Because it sure seemed real.
He staggered away from the water. No point to even try to call out for help, he thought. He was in real trouble here, and on his own. Walking away from the water, he saw, about a hundred yards away, one singular hint of civilization, railroad tracks that stretched parallel to the shore. They had to lead to somewhere, right? Like a mental flip of the coin, he picked the way to his right to follow them.
Where were the captain and the others? He tried and tried to remember how he could have gotten here by himself. The nightmare he escaped from was still fresh in his head, and frankly the desert landscape wasn't helping, because it reminded him so much of it. Just like he was walking over hot sand now in a barren wilderness, so was he lost in a barren darkness in the nightmare. The endless dunes were not sand there ― they were ash. It was a lifeless world, broken, shattered pieces of it floating in what could not be called a sky, but was an endless expanse of darkness, one looming with other broken worlds, some near like moons, others as distant as stars ― all of them celestial corpses. A cosmic presence, one that had met before in a dream, was unseen but somehow everywhere, and it was overwhelming. It saturated existence itself, cruel and cold and endlessly hungry. He had no sense of time. Every moment was eternity. And they talk about your life flashing before your eyes ― he saw his. Random memories accosted him, the voices, the visions materializing around him, some of them haunting, like those from the orphanage or from the time he struggled to survive on his own. These visions just came and went without reason, like something was sucking them out of his very consciousness. And those visions of fonder memories ― like the comforts of home at Higher for Hire… Baloo… so many about Baloo ― they just made him despair. Baloo wasn't there. Nor was the captain. Nor was anyone else, no one could save him. There was no sense of why he was there, how he got there, but he was utterly trapped there, powerless, no hope of ever seeing the world or people he knew again. He had never known such eternal torment. The miserable desert he now walked over was by comparison a sweet relief.
He tried hard to think before the nightmare ― there was a big heist, right? Badda Bing! The colossus, the gryphon, and ― Klang's hold on him. The crushing pain, breaking him, snapping him, worse than anything he had ever known. The memory of it, the sheer fright and horror, made him shudder so hard that he tripped, grasping his chest and gasping for air. He blinked tears.
That really was the last thing before the nightmare began ― but, nothing was broken. How was he okay? He also remembered, just before Klang grabbed him, how the captain looked at him with such incredulous joy and pride. Where was the captain now, was he okay? What happened to Klang?
After a spell of getting nervously lost in the swarm of unknown questions, he realized one thing was for certain: he wasn't going to find out anything in the middle of nowhere. He kept onward, following the railroad tracks.
The sun was merciless and he was still drenched, this time with sweat. It was a good hour on that awful trek before the smokestack of a locomotive became visible in the far distance, where the ground muddled with the sky in a rippling, water-like mirage. It was coming from the direction he was facing as he walked the tracks. It was going to backtrack him to the very place he woke up at an hour ago, but who cares. Was he ever going to hop this train and get off his feet, and go wherever it took him.
He had done this lots in his vagabond days. Just wait for the train to come along (hopefully it wasn't going too fast), duck so the conductor didn't notice you and get suspicious (in this case, he laid low in a depression between two dunes), then when the engine passed, run with it latch on to the first car you could find that didn't look occupied. All this he did, and climbed up a cargo car full of granite blocks, of which he sat on top of. It sure as heck beat walking.
The bluffs that eventually emerged in the scenery along the tracks began to look familiar. At length, he saw and recognized the train's destination: Badda Bing. The cityscape was veiled under a cloud of dust. The Palati ― he remembered how it once was like a marble beacon on a green hill ― was utterly crushed and burned. He saw some jagged outlines of broken buildings, and imagined that there were others that were outright flattened.
On the outskirts of a depot, he scurried away from the slowing train before it came to a complete stop. Great that he was in a town, but now what? He didn't quite know. All persuasion he was ever given by Don Karnage told him to finagle himself a plane, and it would seem the best choice, since he had no clue where the others had gone, was to head to Pirate Island. That was at least something of a plan.
If there were any answers to be found here, though, he was compelled to at least look, and the only thing that came to mind was where the colossus fell, where he last saw the captain. Navigating vacant streets he did not know but constantly heading in the general direction of the Palati, he wound up at an alleyway where on the far corner, uphill, he recognized the crumbled brick roof of the museum. There was police tape and a patrol car blocking access to the alley, but strange, no cops around. He crossed over without trouble, and not a single person in sight, at least at first.
Someone came running down the same alley, running for her life. "Miz Dodd...?"
"Kit!" For an instant, the only thing upon her expression stronger than breathless fear was her surprise. She had an old book and a stack of paper notes in her hands ― and curiously, an old banana peel and other bits of track flecked on her shoulder. "What are you doing here! We've got to run!"
"Wha'? What is it ― is it Klang?"
"No. I don't know who it is ― what it is, b-but…!"
A growling roar filled the air, loud, terrible, and raging. It made Katie instinctively cover her ears, but as for Kit, he was frozen stiff in shock. He had heard that roar before.
"Wh-what did he look like?" he gulped.
"I don't know, a lion. There's no time!"
Another roar, louder than the last, this one quaking. The roof of the museum, what was left of it, blasted apart with a geyser of shadows, and a dark, winged creature sprang high into the air, propelled by otherworldly power. It dropped two spears from its talon-like hands, and flew away in fury.
"Oh, c-crud," Kit breathed. Katie was frantic with panic at the sight of the creature, and he had to tug on her arm to get her attention. "I've seen him before, but what's he doin' here?"
"What do you mean, you've seen him before?"
"I just have. Pirate stuff, okay? Do you know what he wanted?"
"The sword, the one you guys stole. It's the only thing he wanted."
"Oh, no ― does he know we stole it? Is he goin' after the captain?!"
"No, I don't think so. I didn't tell him. I didn't tell him anything!"
Kit cupped his head. "Oh, man. How'd he even know the sword was here?"
"I'd lay a few guesses to that, lad" said a man from above. Captain Flynn, now donning a new, pinstripe dress shirt half buttoned, leapt from the roof of a building and slammed on his feet before them. He had a piece of a now tattered banner in his hand, a portion that read, Grand Opening!
He pointed accusingly at Katie first, throwing the banner on the pavement, "Shall we owe it to your museum? This town blasted a tale to the entire world that Blackmane's effects were to be found here. That gave some of us the conclusion that would include a certain sword, as well." Then the pointing went to Kit, "And you. I arrived as swift as I could when I heard, but you and your bloody Don Karnage somehow got the jump on me. Though by some saving grace, you got the jump on Raj as well, as he's plainly leaving empty-handed."
His eyes were fixed on Kit, scowling. Before the kid could even utter a wonder of who "Raj" was, Flynn grabbed him under the arms and pinned him to the wall. "No more games, lad. Seeing as you're here, the rest can't be far, and don't you deny it. You'll take me to the sword now, wherever you and yours have it. It's for your own good, by the powers! The hunt is on, and I must get it first!"
"Hey! Get away from him!" Katie womped Flynn on the back of the head with the tome. He ignored her entirely, which earned him another womp. Loose notepaper went fluttering in the air. "By thunder, woman, stop that!" he snapped. When he looked at Kit again, his stern expression had softened; there was desperation in it. "Please, lad. We're in trouble."
Kit had to give that a thought, whether he could trust this guy. "You can't be captain, if that's what you want."
"No longer my intention. I swear. I also swear…" Flynn knelt down at Kit's eye-level. "...I'm trying to save us all, including myself. This immorality business… it's all fun 'n' games until someone goes ending the world." His expression changed in an instant, to that of complete shock, entailed by a slight gasp. He then squinted hard into Kit's eyes, too close for comfort as far as Kit was concerned.
"What?" scowled Kit.
"I see… well, sense something different about you." Flynn stood up, took a step backward, and eyed the kid studiously. "You drew your blood upon the sword's blade. Aye?"
Kit, surprised Flynn could guess that, felt that sensation of a taut string over his palm, and rubbed it with his other hand. "I… might've." The way the canine grimaced so deeply gave Kit the impression that Flynn knew things about the sword, and its cut didn't bode well, which is why Kit ventured to ask, "I-is it really poisoned? Am I gonna be okay?"
"Poisoned? No, there's no poison upon it. I take it you felt an illness. And dark visions?"
Kit was baffled beyond words how Flynn could know this, but gave a puzzled nod.
"Where are the rest of you?" asked Flynn. "Did anyone else feed the sword their blood?"
"I don't know. I just woke up…" Exasperated, frustrated, and more than a little frightened, Kit cupped his forehead. "I don't know what's goin' on." He flinched and looked up at Flynn. "Whaddaya mean, feed it?"
Flynn ran his hand down his snout, casting his sight on the ground thoughtfully. While thinking, though, he noticed one of the loose notes at his feet, lines of verse that, in the few seconds it took to read, made him shudder:
I shall raise the dead to devour life,
Turn earth to ash in fire storm;
I shall bring the Dark to end this strife
And rest in Nothing, when Nothing takes form
He bent down and picked the note up, palming it. Then he turned to the incredibly puzzled woman and the tome she was holding.
"Curious bit of poetry. Did it come from that old book?"
Katie glanced at the nearly ancient tome, then clutched it close to her chest protectively. "What's it to you?"
"I don't suppose such reading material covers the subject matter of certain seafaring pirates, aye?"
"No, it doesn't, as a matter of fact," she said huffily.
Flynn bit on his bottom lip; something about the look of the tome had him enthralled with it. He ventured to ask, "Vikings?"
Katie looked at the tome again; the barely visible title engraved in its thick leather cover was written in ancient runes, not something that could be so easily discerned. "How did you ― wait, why would you even guess that?"
Police sirens rang, coming closer, what Katie knew was back-up finally arriving for the police officers and Royal Guard agents who responded outside the museum, and knowing, excruciatingly, that it was all too late. Flynn grabbed both Kit and Katie by the arms, and started drawing them out of the alley, away from the approaching sirens. "Quickly now, we need to find a place to talk," he said.
For now, I won't go into detail about what was discussed among Flynn, Kit, and Katie. I will say that there was a great sense of urgency about it, with Kit desperate to know what was happening with himself, and Katie, still shaking over the gruesome, supernatural things she had witnessed, courageously wanting to dive in and help in what way she could. Flynn admitted that Bloodfang was behind his unworldly gifts, what exactly they were up against if his rival got to it first, and the reason for them to move in all haste. It was agreed that Katie's vocational talents may be of use with the tome in uncovering useful information Flynn might not have already known, and it was further agreed as to what step needed to be taken next: track down the Iron Vulture and the sword Don Karnage stole.
To that end, we cut to after their hurried departure away from Babba Bing, which involved a visit to the airport and relieving it of someone's seaplane (while that someone wasn't looking), a blue colored, light-cargo plane commonly known as a Petral. Katie was not at all good with the criminal aspect of that matter, but for being outvoted and for a lack of a better idea, she uneasily conceded. Kit plotted a course to Pirate Island, figuring even if the Vulture wasn't headed there, it was the one place on earth it would eventually return, they would, however, certainly keep their ears open on the radio for any news of sky pirate sightings.
Of course, with Flynn and Katie not knowing a cockpit from a chicken coop, they needed a pilot ― some glint of a lucky star yet shone upon Kit, and he, without reluctance, volunteered. Katie objected at first to a kid being a pilot ― just that little matter about crashing and burning ― but with a little sweet talk and reminding her of how he handled a gryphon, she caved. Flynn didn't object at all; if they crashed, he was already immortal, so what the hell. Thus Kit got to fly. Katie and Flynn, meanwhile, rode in the back of the plane and dove into the tome and its notes. You might think getting to fly a plane all by himself would be amazingly joyous for him, and he thought so too at first, but it wasn't. He was so rattled that his heart pounded and his hands shook the entire way. Among their previous conversations up to this point, Flynn was keeping something from him, he knew it, something about the nightmares and the illness. Flynn dodged his questions left and right. Kit had an idea creep in his mind about it all, an incredulous, laughable theory about why he was still breathing after what Klang did to him, and aside from the thought of Blackmane going through Karnage and the others for the sword, it was that theory, that what if, that had him so rattled. Too rattled to think any of this through while concentrating on keeping the plane level and on course.
The flight went on for hours, and it was well into nightfall before rocky spires jutting out of the sea, revealed in the moonlight in the black, reflective water, gave hint that they had at last come within several miles of the hideout. Kit lowered altitude to a couple hundred feet above sea level, oftentimes having to stand up in his seat to see where to steer. That's when he saw a peculiar sight ― a rowboat, packed with so many passengers that it was barely keeping above water.
He knew those passengers ― the pirate crew! Many of them, anyway. They were paddling toward Pirate Island. How did they get stranded out there? Kit gasped, fearfully. Did the Iron Vulture crash? He didn't see the captain among their numbers.
He hollered for Flynn and Katie, who had both dozed off in the back, to let them know he was making an unexpected water landing. Going to try, anyway. Fortunately water landings weren't that tough, not compared to a runway where you had to hit a small, specific spot at the end of the strip, and heaven help you if you hit it too hard, too fast, or missed it altogether. Here, with the exception of some protruding spires to watch out for, he had the entire forgiving sea to aim for, and that wasn't so bad. The plane touched down in the water, not very gently and with great splashes, a couple hundred yards from the rowboat. Kit made it taxi the rest of the way. When they were close enough, he joined Flynn and Katie at the plane's side cabin door, opened it, and poked his head out.
"Are you guys okay? What happened? Where's the captain?"
Several pairs of wide, terrified eyes shone upon him. Then lots of screaming. The pirates scrambled and wriggled so much in their terror that the boat capsized, and their screams turned into wet sputtering.
"Look," Kit called out, "you guys wanna swim to Pirate Island, or do ya wanna ride?"
Their answer: more splashing and panicking.
"Oh my gosh," frowned Kit, "they're gonna drown."
"No, they won't," sighed Flynn. "Step aside, lad. Let me take a turn."
Flynn licked his lip, and scowled with intent concentration at the splashing crew. The whites of his eyes pooled black, and he reached out both of his hands, where his golden fur began to shimmer ghostly black, and two cold, tangible shadows extended like tentacles. The shadows slithered forth without limit to their length, and in a moment had wrapped around each of the pirates, who wailed in fear of their lives. Flynn blew air from his nose and flexed his arms as if lifting something heavy ― the pirates, all at once, to even more of their terror, were supernaturally lifted from the water, dripping while they kicked and screamed. "Hang it all, calm down," Flynn roared at them. "You're being saved right now. Now get in here, you bloomin' cuttlefish."
The eight pirates ― Mad Dog, Dumptruck, Gibber, Hal, Ratchet, Will, Hacksaw, and Jock ― were, one after the other, reeled into the plane in an envelope of ghostly darkness, which dissipated from them the instant they were inside. They were fearful and excited, fighting each other to stay at the very end of the plane, as far away from Kit as possible, but even then the lot of them crowded the seaplane's modest cargo hold to capacity, pushing Kit, Flynn and Katie to the threshold of the cockpit.
"Guys, relax a minute," said Kit.
"B-but you're… d-dead," stammered Mad Dog. Quivering murmurs from the rest agreed.
"Well, I… I…" Kit pawed at his chest and his very much intact bones, now struck with the same shocking confusion as the others. He looked up at Flynn, who shrugged and said,
"Looks well enough alive to me, aye? If you'll just belay your questions for now, and perhaps set aside our previous squall when last we met, I daresay we're all on the same side for the nonce."
"He's right," said Kit. The pirates began, in small increments, to calm down, at least from outright panic. The way they looked at Kit turned more curious and confused than frightened, as did their regarding the kid keeping company with their recent nemesis. "Look, where's the ship? And the captain? What happened?"
"Patch happened," spat Will disdainfully. "That butt-sniffin' mutt, if I ever see 'im again…"
"Gonna tear him to pieces," growled Dumptruck.
Kit had a certain, chilling idea what that meant. "Oh no, what did he do?"
"He promoted himself captain an' got the others to draw a line," panted Ratchet. "We wouldn't join 'em. Aw jeez, they were gonna kill us! We barely made it out with our skin."
Kit's face thinned, terror stricken. "Wh-what about Karnage?"
Ratchet answered, "Captain's been layin' 'round the hideout the whole time. He hasn't done nothin' since… since… holy crap, runt. How the hell are you standin' there?"
Hacksaw, grimacing shakily, clasped his hands together like crushing an imaginary can. "Y-yeah! You got… crckck!" Kit winched at that.
"Deader than a doornail," nodded Jock.
"A really bent doornail," added Mad Dog with a screwed-up face, with the others agreeing. Kit winched even harder at that.
"Well?" asked Ratchet, on behalf of the others who were demanding an explanation.
Kit wrung his fingers together, his face flushing warm with them all glaring at him like that. "Um… I got better?"
The eight blinked at him, and turned to each other, huddling for a consensus. Among their private mutterings was heard one of Hacksaw's reasonings, "I knew a guy who once got turned into a newt…" At length, with several nods exchanged, they turned back to Kit: "All right, fair 'nough," said Ratchet. "But what's with him?" He was pointing at Flynn, who was also receiving the brunt of their menacing stares.
"Why, I missed you all dearly," grinned Flynn.
"We don't have time to explain everything," said Kit. "He just saved all your lives, that oughtta be good enough for now. Look, we got some big trouble to deal with, and all that matters now is that we get back to the captain."
Eyes began to peer between Kit and Flynn, into the cockpit. There was a face there that was trying awfully hard not to be noticed. A red-head. Mad Dog, Dumptruck, Gibber and Hacksaw particularly had their interests piqued when they recognized her.
"Eh heh," chuckled Dumptruck, flexing, "I told you she'd come back for more dere, Mad Dog."
"Not for more of your garbage-can cologne," sneered Mad Dog, elbowing himself in front of the mastiff.
"Back off," scowled Kit. "We need her, and we don't need any of you dufuses scarin' her off. So here's how it's gonna be! Stand back, shut up, I'm gonna fly us back to Pirate Island, and I don't wanna hear any lip about it!"
Flynn smirked at the others, jerking his thumb amusedly at Kit, who without ado jumped in the pilot's seat, throttled forward, and made for a bumpy take-off. The pirates wobbled around as the plane accelerated through ocean crests, but they stayed put.
"What a bossy-pants kid," pouted Dumptruck.
Kit had just finished taxiing the plane to the shore of Pirate Island's inner bay. All in all, it wasn't a bad landing, he thought proudly. Everyone else in the plane who got knocked around like bowling pins… well, their opinions might vary.
Even though it was a short ride from the rowboat, the abundance of passengers made the plane feel as packed as a sardine can, and the pirates were ever so glad to finally jump out. Kit was the last one out, but was the first one to leave the cavern, hurrying to find the captain. The others followed, less than spryly, for none of them were looking forward to telling the captain that they'd lost the Iron Vulture. Bringing up the rear, Flynn chivalrously stayed close to Katie, which proved an effective pirate-repellent for her, as the crew was still quite wary of his motives and witchery.
Kit entered the dark, furnished space that was the captain's island bedroom with a wrinkled nose. He didn't like the smell of rum, and it was powerful in the stuffy air. The captain lay motionless on the bed, deeply asleep ― or at least, well passed out. There was a cutlass discarded on a rug, the blade heavily bloodstained. In the plane he had gotten the short version of the story, how the captain reacted against Klang and his minions. The incredible imagery it brought to mind was nothing compared to how gut-wrenching it felt to actually see the blade that did it. All the blood on that sword was for him. Don Karnage killed many to try to save him, and that was heavy.
Also on the floor, partially rolled under the bed, were empty rum bottles. One bottle still stood upright, not quite depleted, but it looked like the captain had been going through them in short order. As for the captain himself, it looked like his slumber was anything but peaceful. His face looked sullen and gruff. He hadn't even bothered to get under the covers, just plopped right on top of everything. A candle on a nearby stand flickered, but it was upon its last moments, melted to a nub.
The sight of it all made Kit feel nothing but dismal, even guilty. Nothing ever got to Don Karnage like this. As long as Kit had ever known him, nothing made Karnage stop looking forward to the next adventure. Nothing could ever make him drink away the days that could be spent unleashing the stuff of pirate extraordinaire upon the world. But at last something did. Kit felt the weight of that, and was already emotional when he approached the bed. He gave Karnage's shoulder a shake. "Captain?"
Of course, you know by now that Karnage had grumbled at him to go away, thinking it was all a dream. It wasn't the reaction Kit was expecting, but this was only the first of unexpected reactions Kit would experience from the captain in the moments to follow. And each upcoming unexpected reaction in the words Karnage groggily rambled would be incrementally more unexpected than the last, starting with,
"No reason for you being here, anyway. I was never good to you."
The others had arrived at the room's entryway at around that time, peering in silently. Kit was caught in an awkward middle between deeply personal words from the captain ― meant for no one's ears ― and the others hearing it all. Kit didn't know what to reply, or if he should even bother, but the grief in the captain's tone dug into him. There was a time, specifically after he found a new life at Higher for Hire, he would have agreed to "never good," if only out of spite. But somewhere in that treacherous no-man's land of animosity that once separated them, there had remained yet a trail across hidden deep in the weeds. That trail only existed because, despite the worst Don Karnage had to offer, the captain had given him enough to cling onto ― and enough to want the best of what Don Karnage had to offer. "That's not true," Kit replied quietly. Half of his quiet tone was to keep the rest from overhearing, but also because of the lump growing in his throat.
"Of course it is! Don't argue with me in there!" As Karnage smacked his own head (there was a rare sight to see), it was then obvious to Kit that the captain didn't believe he was actually in the room. He was talking to a dream. Kit resisted tears as Karnage murmured, "Is true, you deserv-ed... better than me. Oh, my boy. If I could turn back the time, I would take it all back. You would never want to run away. I would give you the world. I would never ―"
In a flash of memory, Kit saw the captain reaching out to him from the rope ladder, as the Iron Vulture was about to leave the Antranador jungle. That moment, Karnage reaching out to him, desperate to be trusted again, desperate for a second chance, it left Kit short of breath when he remembered leaping to take his hand. Talk about a leap of faith. They say you can't know someone until you've seen them at their worst, and he'd lived through Don Karnage as his worst. No one knew the pirate better than the protege. There were things the captain could never undo, and there was cruelty that could not be forgotten. It once seemed impossible that it could even be forgiven. That leap of faith was taken on an excited whim, one that gambled to be fanciful, but he knew Karnage, and the way the captain looked at him as he held out his hand, he saw more than the captain he once had. He saw the captain he always wanted, who now, in this dark room, wrestled with his regrets.
"I'm sorry, boy. For everything."
Kit quickly, discreetly, wiped his nose on his sleeve and sniffled. "I know." In blurred vision, he never saw Karnage's hand coming until it suddenly swiped and hit him on the teeth. "Ooomph!" What the heck was that? Kit blinked, and got hit again. "Ow! Will you quit it?" He took a step back this time for safety.
Karnage finally opened an eye, and peered at him curiously. Kit took a step forward, but the captain rolled over and turned his back to him. Kit nudged his shoulder again. "Captain?"
Karnage suddenly kicked his feet and went to get out of bed quickly, though not as quickly as he'd like thanks to the rum. Kit took him by the arm to help him sit up straight, but the captain put both hands on his shoulders and gave him a heavy push backwards. Kit stumbled, and Karnage screamed, recoiling his hands, as if realizing they actually touched something that wasn't a dream.
Kit took a breath and frowned, hardening his face lest the tears win him over, as he watched Don Karnage, immeasurably shocked, slide from the bed and land on his knees before him.
"Boy…?"
"It's me, Captain. I'm really here."
"B-but ― no. I saw you… you…"
"Yeah. Didn't feel so good, either. Heh."
Karnage made no reaction to the attempted levity, but his face welled up as he took Kit by the shoulders.
"H-how?"
"I don't know," said Kit. He had to look away, because damn if he wasn't going to burst into tears any second if he didn't.
"You mean… you mean... to tell me..." said the captain. Kit looked up at him once more. He wanted to throw his arms around the wolf's neck. Just jump into it. But before he could act Karnage had his hands around his neck, curiously gently, but, as he quickly discovered, apparently the state of being alive and costing Don Karnage such grief took quite a chunk of audacious nervitude. Which brings at last, after many solemn words from the captain that Kit would have never expected, the most unexpected thing of all Kit would experience in this exchange… getting throttled.
"Ack!"
