Chapter 18: Promise

When Jarvan closed the latch above them, the sounds of fighting were ceased instantly. Deep beneath the ship, only darkness and silence reigned. Most of the crew were either on deck fighting for their ship, or in the gunship deck arming cannons and machines to ward off assaults.

"Safe, for now," Jarvan sighed. "Hadn't been easy, truly," He ripped away what was left of his tattered cloak, revealing his suit of armour he wore underneath. From his sack, he took out his helmet, with the Demacian jewel missing, and finally donned it. Earlier who was a rough traveller with a hard face was now replaced by a prince of high birth and heir to centuries-long legacy, albeit his shaggy beard and long, wild hair.

A ragged cough caught his attention, and he turned to see Shyvana sitting on the wooden floorboards, her back against barrels. Her head lolled to one side, though she lifted her head slightly to watch him, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Looking like a real prince for once," she chuckled. Her left arm was unmoving, and her right hand clutched her shoulder slightly. She did her best to hide it, but Jarvan noticed it nonetheless. "I almost didn't recognize you, prince,"

His brows knitted in a frown. Leaning his lance against the wall, he approached the half-dragon with his skin of wine in hand. "Are you fine?" he uncorked the waterskin and handed it over to her. She accepted it with her good hand, and chugged greedily.

She gave him back the skin. "Never better," she lied. As her hand moved away from her shoulder, he noticed the dark red spot spreading along her cloak upon her shoulder area. When he looked at her, her lips were pale, and her hands were shivering.

"You're bleeding, and how long has it been?"

"It was nothing," she gasped, and waved away his concern. "I only need a moment. It has been a long night,"

Jarvan cursed. "Every time I try to help, you would push me away. It's not nothing, you might bleed out and die. Why can't you let others help you?"

The half-dragon stared at him intently, her golden eyes shimmering with sadness and curiosity. "And why do you care so much?" he remembered how she had often said that with a voice full of spite and ire. Instead, she sounded exhausted, albeit a little wary. And Jarvan found that very, very odd.

The prince gazed into her eyes, taking a moment to consider his answer. He could not find an appropriate response, though, which he randomly cleared his throat, and quickly answered, "Because you're a companion. You've saved my life once. I can't let my companions die under my watch,"

"Even if I bring ill-luck to those around me?"

Jarvan scoffed. "You can't be taking Markus' words seriously,"

The half-dragon only sighed. "Not him," she simply said. "Earlier on, you were asking about what I was waking from,"

The prince remained silent, watching her carefully. The dark red spot upon her shoulder spread further, and the prince wasted no time upending the contents of his sack, searching for his medical supplies. He gestured to the wound, thinking it would be polite to ask for her permission first. Shyvana only nodded lightly, sweat beading her forehead.

"Something came suddenly. Something from the mist," she said. Jarvan listened while he pulled down one side of her cloak, and gingerly tore a bit of her tunic away. The ragged tunic was drenched with dark blood. "It was… indescribable. He was both godly and devilish, evil yet divine. Just one look at him was enough to make you cower in fear. He put me into a trance-like state without me knowing,"

Jarvan nodded. He winced at the sight of her wound – a horrendous tear caused by a sword, obviously, and the skin around it was purposely scorched to staunch the bleeding. He studied the wound. "Did you seal this yourself?"

"Yes," she said, her voice full of fatigue. "It must have opened when that horseman threw me like a ragdoll,"

He nodded, taking the skin of wine which she drank from earlier. "This will hurt," he said apologetically, and without hesitation he poured a little wine onto her wound. He heard her sharp intake of breath and sensed how her shoulders tensed, but other than that she did not scream or protest. Jarvan nodded. "I don't mean to interrupt, do continue,"

"He was obviously Death himself," she said fearfully. "At first glance, I knew, with one swipe of his hand, he could end all lives on this ship. But he did not. He preferred to see how we die. And then he told me,"

Jarvan rolled a bandage over her shoulder, wounding it tightly to temporarily slow the bleeding. He grimaced, suddenly remembering what she had told him earlier. "That one of us will die, if this journey goes on?" he smiled sadly at her, which she did not return.

"Everywhere I go, death follows," she said what Zahrul had told her, and what the river demon and the wraith had told her.

After tying the knot, he helped her pull up her cloak again, concealing her bare skin. Then, he studied her face – blue-grey skin with fiery golden eyes, so feisty yet beneath the surface was a woman hurt too many times. Their noses almost touched, their eyes locked on each other with an intense stare, and being so close to her gave him a giddy feeling.

He wanted to kiss her again.

Instead, he shook his head. "It might not even be true, Shyvana. Our fate is in our hands. We can shape it, together,"

"No, we can't. We are just the playthings of the gods. We don't get to choose our fates," she shook her head, refusing to believe him. "I loved my mother very much, and yet she betrayed my love for her and chased me out of her house. I trusted a human once, yet he lied to me, betrayed my trust, and wanted to have my head. My fate is simply laughable, Jarvan. I have faith in you, but who knows when you or your men will betray me, like the others did?"

He shook his head vehemently. "I'm not like the others. I won't lie to you,"

"Let's say you won't," her words were scornful. "What if you die?"

He had no answer for that.

"You have a home, Jarvan. I don't. You have people who love you, I don't. You have an identity, yet I'm nothing. That's the difference between us. If you die, you lose them all. I have nothing left to lose,"

Jarvan looked down. "I'm no longer a prince, it has been years since I was home. My mother probably thought me dead, and moved on,"

"That's what you think," she rummaged her sack, and when she took something out, his eyes widened with disbelief. "But your men still think of you as their prince,"

In her hand, was the Demacian jewel that was once encrusted in his helmet, his only proof that he was a prince by birth, and not a lowly wanderer. He looked at her incredulously, wondering how the jewel that was in Markus' possession could end up in the half-dragon's hand.

"Looted from his corpse," she answered him. She pressed the jewel into his hand. Her eyes glowed with a kind warmth, and Jarvan was surprised when her lips curled slightly into a brief smile. "I have light fingers. You learn to steal when you're really desperate,"

He returned her smile, both of them saying nothing. She sighed, pressing the jewel in his palm and curled his fingers around it.

"You're a kind man, Jarvan. A lot more people could do with a little act of kindness. Would be a shame if you perished helping a vengeful half-beast,"

"You don't trust me," he said, his tone suggesting he was clearly disappointed.

"I do," she said, and somehow he could tell that she was telling him the truth. Still, he stared at her with a serious gaze, imploring her to convince him that she truly trusted him.

She continued. "I just don't want you to help the wrong person. All I would ever bring is death. As much as I appreciated your kind acts for me, I just don't deserve it. Your men have made that very clear,"

The prince growled in frustration.

"I don't care what they think of you. My opinions of you will never change," his hand reached out and held the nape of her neck, and he quickly leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. He expected resistance from the half-dragon, that she would push him away or even slap him in the face.

But she did neither. Instead, she kissed back. Her lips were so warm and full, and they tasted like smoke and burning wood. It made the kiss feel dangerous but passionate, so he just kept their lips locked, the half-dragon just as needy as him with her hand reaching for his neck and pressing hard against him. Jarvan thought his body was on fire.

She returned his feelings. That was all he could ask for.

When he finally released her, Shyvana gasped for air. Her face was flushed, whether from the heat or the kiss, Jarvan would never know. His hand lingered upon her skin, gently brushing his fingers against the tiny scales on her neck. Her chest heaved as she panted, her swollen lips slightly apart, and those eyes that stared into his very soul were so full of passionate intensity, that Jarvan just wanted to kiss her again.

A low rumble that reverberated through the ship reminded them that they hadn't escaped their ordeal. The prince only smiled, and instead reached out to peck her on her forehead.

"For how long has it been?" she asked. Her eyes were no longer angry or full of vengeance. And her stare was so hot.

"I don't know," the prince shook his head. "Maybe when you fought Pantheon. Or maybe when we fought together in the desert. I just never admitted that feeling. Feels foreign to me,"

She said nothing. Jarvan looked at the gleaming Demacian sapphire in his hand, and without a second thought he pressed it into her palm, curling her fingers around its smooth, well-polished edges. Shyvana looked up at him questioningly.

"As a token of my trust," he explained. "You know how important this is to me. So help me keep it. I want you to know that I will never betray you, that I will always watch your back, that I trust you with my life, just as you trust me,"

She remained silent. Her lips were a thin line, and her face conveyed no emotions.

"So stay alive, Shyvana. And guard it well. I'll want it back after all this mess. No one can keep it better than you do. It's a promise," he smiled. For a second, he thought she was going to refuse. His heart leapt a little when she looked down and chuckled lightly, her armoured hand gripping the jewel tightly.

"I can't guarantee it," she answered him with a lopsided grin, her golden eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "But I promise you, I'll keep it safe, for your sake,"

As they weaved through the narrow corridor piled with crates and barrels, Shyvana couldn't help but think of the kiss earlier, and what the prince had said to her. Inside her, her feelings were all jumbled. But strangely, she felt no anger, hatred or despair. Only hope.

A dragon does not need to love, in her mind, she wondered. Or have I, after all, grown weak in the presence of human company? Perhaps I truly feel something for him, or perhaps long years of solitude had made me yearn for companionship even more.

She scoffed silently. Even father had fallen for a human girl, not to mention I am only half a dragon. Is this what having someone to trust feel like? How could I ever understand something so fickle, which humans call 'love'? Father, if only you were still around, perhaps you could make me understand.

And again, she thought of how if her father had not perished, the prince and his company would have never stumbled upon her. Such a cruel twist of fate, and she could not tell if it was a boon or a bane. Her hand tightened around the smooth, polished jewel which Jarvan entrusted her with, and somehow she knew she could not break her promise to him.

"There's a door here, should lead to Gangplank's cabin," Jarvan spoke, his voice bringing her out of her thoughts. Ahead of them, was a narrow door that only one person could pass, provided that he was going through sideways. Jarvan snuck through the pile of crates and barrels, struggling as his hand tried to reach the door knob. At first the door refused to budge, until a few twists finally opened the door.

Jarvan entered, with Shyvana following behind. Inside, all was dark, and they could see nothing.

"Shyvana? If you may?" within the darkness she could not see the prince. And so she only nodded, and lifted her palm. A small mote of flame came to life in her hand, illuminating a small radius around them both. With a clearer vision, they took in the surroundings of the captain's cabin.

Not only was it huge, the chamber was loaded with trove and trinkets from all parts of Valoran. Shyvana could not help but marvel at the sight. At the corner she spotted an enormous bronze drinking horn decorated with coloured jewels, and at first she thought it was a mammoth's tusk. The floor was carpeted with a sea serpent's hide, with its gnarled jaw sneering sinisterly at them both. Here and there they would spot wooden chests or metal chests, or some odd-looking box which only Gangplank knew its contents. And to the far left, at the edge of the chamber, was a desk with several candles already burnt to the bottom. When they approached the desk, they spotted a few maps, all weighted down with paper weights. And beside the desk, was a featherbed with a worn wooden bedframe.

"This man is a beast," Jarvan admired the walls adorned with different sea creatures' heads, and some torn or ragged flags of several rival ships made into tapestries. "Look at all this treasure. No wonder he was called the pirate king,"

"Perhaps we should look for the exit, Jarvan," Shyvana chided impatiently, waiting for him with her mote of flame every time he lagged behind to look at the different objects in the chamber. Jarvan turned to her abruptly, nodded apologetically and hurried up.

"All this wealth, and he still raids and plunders," Shyvana muttered under her breath, her voice full of venom and disgust.

Jarvan seemed unfazed by her anger, and continued touching robbed artworks and severed heads of sea creatures that hung as trophies from the walls, admiring them. "I'm pretty sure at this point he's raiding for sport now. When you're king, you would do everything you can to influence your people, so that you remain at the peak of the social classes,"

Shyvana stopped and turned to the prince abruptly, arching an eyebrow at him. "And that's how your dynasty prevailed?"

Jarvan could sense the contempt in her voice, as he immediately stopped what he was doing and stared at her. "Demacia's throne was passed from generations to generations of Lightshields, and her people are ever loyal," he cleared his throat awkwardly. "There is no need for pillage or plunder to prove our claim to the crown,"

"Why the war with Noxus then?"

And again, he was caught off guard by the half-dragon, unable to answer her question. Refusing to lose, he came up with the best answer he could think of. "There has been centuries of bad blood between the monarchy of Demacia and the High Command of Noxus. My country values loyalty, while Noxus regards strength as the utmost importance in all aspects. We don't… see eye to eye,"

"So that's it? You wage war on each other just because you don't agree with the other nation's differences?" her tone was mocking, but Jarvan could not help but find truth in her remark.

"Well," Jarvan stuttered. "There's more, of course. What would you understand of politics anyway? You've never ruled a country before,"

Shyvana shrugged. The small ball of fire danced around in her palm, casting shadows across her face, and Jarvan could barely study her reaction. "Perhaps you're right. I'm no politician. But I do know that both sides of war will always think they are fighting for good intentions," With that, she turned her back to the prince, and continued waving her flame around the room, searching for the exit.

Jarvan just stared at her dumbly. The half-dragon had bested him, once again.

He was about to follow her, before the corner of his vision caught on something glimmering, like light being reflected by a mirror.

"Shyvana," he called out softly, which the half-dragon heard and quickly turned around. He gestured to her to follow him, and so she did, her palm out to light his way around the chamber.

Again, a ray of reflected light glimmered as Shyvana randomly waved her mote of flame about. Jarvan carefully strode towards the source, whereas the half-dragon followed him blindly.

"Jarvan, what is it?"

"Something gleaming every time your fire shines at it. Perhaps a mirror of some sort, or a large glass,"

Shyvana's eyes narrowed. "What's your point?"

"Just curious. Never know what you may find. Maybe a magic mirror,"

She could almost hear the mirth in his voice, and she scoffed. "Jarvan, don't be ridiculous,"

He turned back to her, with an impish grin. "What? We're in the belly of a pirate's boat, filled with treasures and oddities from all of Valoran that most may have never heard before. Who knows what artefact you may find here? Being curious isn't a crime,"

Shyvana's eyebrows knitted. Maybe, but it might get you killed, she thought, but she said nothing.

Jarvan's hands reached out and bumped against something hard, probably glass. He knocked lightly, and then the sound of water sloshing. Shyvana's flame was only bright enough to show that it was a large glass tank of some sort, sealed and filled with water.

"Aquarium?" Shyvana asked.

"Glass is tinted. It's dark. Could you brighten up a bit?"

Shyvana obliged, and conjured up an even brighter flame. This time they could see clearly, and indeed it was a large tank sloshing with water.

But what was inside shocked them.

"What in the name of…" Jarvan's voice trailed away as he leaned closer and peered through the top of the glass tank. Their mouths were opened in pure astonishment, both marvelled and horrified by the sight before them.

Inside the tank was a creature, lying unmoving and submerged at the bottom of the tank. The creature had the head and torso of a human girl, but waist down was the body of a fish, gleaming with beautiful scales that shifted from green to azure to turquoise every time Shyvana's flame flickered. The skin above waist was light green, with fins that swirled about the water around her elbows. A green and cyan coat of hide and scales was wrapped over her chest and stomach, concealing her breasts, but the creature's eyes were closed and her lips were pale, as though in a deep, serene sleep. The creature had a pretty face – innocent, sweet and alluring, like that of a young maiden that could steal all hearts of men.

"This…" Jarvan was at a loss of words.

Shyvana's eyes were wide as saucers. "Father once told me there was a kind who lived deep beneath the ocean, with faces and bodies of a woman but had fish tails instead of legs. Their songs could make sailors weep, and their magic gives the sea healing properties,"

"Marai," Jarvan said in wonder. "I thought they were only a legend,"

"So do I, yet one appears before us," Shyvana said. "And Gangplank possesses one of their kind. Pirate king indeed,"

"Why is she not moving?" Jarvan muttered, his voice still full of wonder and awe. Shyvana understood and brought her flame closer, both of them peering into the tank. The fire brightened the glass tank, and they could see the Marai much clearer now. But what they saw made them rear back in horror and disgust.

The sloshing water which the creature was submerged in was tainted with traces of red. Now they could see the whole tail, a coat with lovely gleaming scales that shifted into a hundred metallic hues under the light of Shyvana's fire, and ended with a pale, translucent tail. But if they looked closer, they could see one patch of skin near the tail which was dark red in colour, and the arrow tip of a metal harpoon that pierced right through her flesh completely.

"Is she dead?" the half-dragon inquired, which Jarvan had no answer for.

As though hearing her, the creature opened her eyes and stared at them both. She remained still, her black and amber eyes that were full of despair, pain and hopelessness staring back at them. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but no words came out.

"She's dying," Jarvan realized, and his voice was full of pity. He went closer to the Marai, looking her in the eyes, and he tapped the glass tank lightly.

"Yes," Shyvana agreed dully, her tone was flat and devoid of any emotions. She crossed her arms across her chest, her eyes fixed on the Marai with an impaled tail.

Above them, the screams of the slaughtered amplified and the ship swayed more violently. The books lined on a shelf behind them began to topple with a loud thud, startling them both. They remained silent for a moment, listening as the distant thunderclap of horse hooves upon the deck echoed through the captain's cabin. The moans and cries of the ghosts continued.

"We have to go, quickly," Jarvan implored, his voice a little anxious and afraid. "August and the others are waiting for us. It's only a matter of time before Gangplank notices us missing,"

Shyvana turned towards him, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What about her? She needs our help,"

"There's nothing we can do, Shyvana. Look at the blood, she's dying," Jarvan shook his head incredulously. "You and I know nothing about the Marai, and how are we supposed to help her? Lift the tank and throw her out into the sea? Have you seen how heavy this glass tank is?"

The half-dragon's face contorted with fury. She held her chin high and her arms crossed at her chest, glaring at the prince. "You're telling me, a noble, kind prince like you do not wish to help a wounded creature because a fucking heavy glass tank is in the way? You seemed pretty adamant to help me when I was dying back there. Don't be such a hypocrite,"

Jarvan's eyes widened upon such accusation, his mouth wide as his brows furrowed in an angry frown. "Don't exaggerate, Shyvana. You weren't dying, just bleeding heavily. Under normal circumstances, where we were not threatened by undead or sea savages, I would have sat down and thought of any ways possible to help her. But we do not have the time for that,"

The fury in Shyvana's eyes only burnt even stronger, and if she could, her eyes would have burnt a hole through Jarvan's forehead. Her gauntlets were trembling with silent anger, her lips pulled taut in protest. "If it was a human in there, would you have done anything to help her?"

Jarvan snickered. "This is not the time to discuss discrimination or whatever you think it is. Be reasonable, Shyvana. We know nothing about this creature, people who what to kill us are almost at our heels, and if we help her we might end up in a bigger mess. None of us gets saved then. I'm not risking your life, or the lives of my men just to save a creature whom I've never met. And she belongs to Gangplank, best if it remains that way,"

"Do you know how cold you sound, prince?" Shyvana mocked. "Or perhaps I was right after all – you humans are cruel and selfish, you only care about your own kind,"

"Cold?" his voice rose in volume, anger seized his mind as he bellowed furiously. "I am desperately trying to save our fucking asses. Being indifferent to her predicament to save us from ours, it is the lesser of the two evils. You call me cold?! Why are you so eager to help anyway? Maybe you have a death wish, do you? Hell, you've been wanting it since I met you. Perhaps I should just leave you here if that's what you wish,"

That only stoked her fury even further. The half-dragon bared her fangs.

"Fuck off then!" she roared, swiping her gauntlet in a wide arc. Jarvan stepped backwards quickly, noticing how her swipe was a lot slower than usual, or he would have never dodged it. Sparks and flames were thrown from her gauntlets, and the chamber suddenly felt a lot hotter than it should be.

The prince glared at her, saying nothing but his eyes still bright with anger and hurt, hurt by her accusation and ungratefulness. He watched the fleeting emotions upon the half-dragon's face, shifting from anger to hatred to despair. Disappointment was clear on her face, and he wished to comfort her, but the stubborn prince insisted that he was right.

It would be inhuman to ignore a dying creature in need, no matter its race. But the prince had men under his care as well, and he could not risk their lives or simply abandon them, for the sake of a life he had never known before.

The silence between the prince and the half-dragon was overwhelming. The heat in the chamber only got twice as intense. Shyvana's gauntlets were glowing, evidence that fire was already dancing in her palms. Their gazes locked, and did not falter.

"You disgust me, Jarvan," she spoke finally, breaking the silence. Her voice was harsh, yet full of hurt. "I thought you different from others. But you were just like them, fucking liars,"

"Shyvana, please," he pleaded.

"You told me that everyone deserves kindness," her piercing golden eyes met his blue ones. "You helped me because you said no one deserves this kind of torture, you promised me you will show that not all humans are the same as the ones I've met,"

The prince did not answer, nor look down in shame. They stared at each other, daring the other to make a move. Shyvana expected him to walk out of the chamber without her, knowing how her words had cut deeper that swords. She saw how it had hit him hard, that he was obviously hurt by her accusations, but she did not care. She remembered how the prince's words had inspired her to believe in his race once more, yet what he did now contradicted with whatever he said before.

Are you helping me just because you want me? Not out of kindness? She wanted to ask him, but was afraid with the answer she might get. Instead, she banished the thought from her mind.

Prince Jarvan stared at her. For years in his life, he had made plenty of mistakes. He had flaws, yes, and he had been ashamed of them. But he had never been called cold in his life, never. And he thought he always cared for the lives of his subordinates, and he never forgot the names and faces of his fallen men, whose deaths were mainly caused by him.

Truth be told, he had never come across another species who had needed his help. All his years in the Great Barrier he had spent hunting down creatures, sentient or not. He had never bothered to help them – he once came across a wounded wyvern screeching pitifully on a cliff, her hatchlings latched closely to her and crying for help. The wyvern was littered with arrows, and judging by the blood and gore upon the scene with two burnt corpses, some idiotic hunters were probably trying their luck on the wyvern.

He heard and he saw. But he remained indifferent. He simply rode away, not even bothering to kill the creature, because she wasn't in his way. He did not help, because he thought it was none of his business.

Now he thought about the wyvern who had possibly succumbed to her injuries. Then he thought of the wailing hatchlings. Oh gods. And he felt a pang of guilt.

But that was before he met Shyvana. He thought of what he had told her, what he had told August about being in her good graces just so he could recruit her in the Demacian military. He thought of what he told her earlier, and he swore that his feelings were genuine. Now he felt guilt gnawing at him, cursing himself for being dishonest, despite how she had always been truthful with him.

"Damn," he cursed, and finally tore away from her gaze. Gripping his lance, he went past the half-dragon towards the glass tank, leaving her dazed and confused. The prince placed both his hands upon the lid of the tank, attempting to lift them with his bare hands but to no avail. Using his lance as a lever, he wedged the tip of the weapon into a small crevice between the lid and the tank.

Shyvana watched him silently, her fury from earlier already dissipated. The prince looked back at her and narrowed his eyes. "Well, what are you looking at?" he motioned at the half-dragon. "Help me get this open,"

The half-dragon felt a small smile tug at her lips, which she struggled to feign a straight face. She hurried to the prince, and as he held down his lance the lid was slightly lifted. Shyvana quickly placed both her gauntlets beneath the lid, keeping it opened.

The creature inside the tank was paler than before. Her eyes were half-lidded as she watched them remove the lid. Jarvan and Shyvana both heaved and hefted the heavy glass lid from the tank, moving it away until they could reach the Marai.

"What do you have in mind?" Shyvana panted, her face red from the exertion.

"I don't know…" the prince shook his head, his gaze fixed on the harpoon. To Shyvana's horror, Jarvan dipped his finger into the water tainted with blood, then placed it on the tip of his tongue, tasting it. His eyes widened. "This… It has no taste,"

Shyvana's eye brows knitted in confusion, trying to understand his point. When realization dawned upon her, she shared the prince's astonishment. "It's not sea water?" she concluded, and the prince nodded in agreement.

"Fresh water, I suppose. From mainland, but not the sea. Gangplank couldn't have gone all the way to bring fresh water from the mainland to the middle of the ocean for nothing. He came prepared, with the notion to hunt a sea creature…"

"Or a Marai," Shyvana finished.

"Fresh water," Jarvan whispered to himself. "She's not in her natural habitat. Help me remove the harpoon, I'll try to plug the wound,"

"With what?"

"Hush now, I'm thinking," he rummaged through his sack for anything that would help with the situation. Suddenly, they were plunged into utter darkness, and he was about to shout for Shyvana until a hand clamped his mouth shut.

"Don't move," Shyvana whispered in his ear, and Jarvan stopped struggling. Her eyes blazed for a moment, to which the prince shuddered in fear. They remained still in the dark, close to each other within the thick silence, until it was broken by echoing footsteps.

"… losing… Cap'n… blastin' him to smithereens. Ain't workin', then the fuckin' ghosts came and fucked everythin' up," someone lighted a candle upon the scones on the walls near the door, lighting a small radius. Shyvana's draconian senses flared, and she could see two pirates, buff and menacing, swaggering into the chamber, their jerkins and coats streaked with blood.

"Don't matter," the other pirate growled. "The Marai will take care of it. The Lady calls and we deliver. She'll protect the Dead Pool from the Mist,"

The former pirate spat. "Protect my arse. I ain't believin' shit about that priestess' ramblings. What will the fish do anyway? She's half-dead, Cap'n placed her in fresh water to stop her healin', she's got to be dead,"

Jarvan arched an eyebrow. Shyvana remained still, and listened.

The pirates were almost close to them. "Half-dead better than dead. We oughta find out. Could save our fuckin' hides. I lost enough mates tonight. If the rest of her folks want her back, they'll make 'emselves food to the Mist. Sacrifices for our escape route. The priestess' preachin' annoy me, but she ain't wrong either –"

Shyvana leapt towards one of the pirates, her eyes ablaze which the pirates could only stare in shock. She swiftly grabbed hold of his head in both hands, and twisted mercilessly. Before the other pirate could yell, Jarvan swung his lance, slashing his throat wide open.

Two dead men laid in Gangplank's chamber. A pool of blood spread upon the wooden floorboards, seeping through the gaps between the boards. The well-treated sea serpent's hide was soon stained with blood, making the monster seem twice as fearsome even after death.

The chamber door which the two pirates came through remained open. Shyvana quickly put out the lighted candle upon the scone, engulfing them in darkness once again.

"Sea water," Jarvan spoke quickly, heading over to the glass tank and peered at the wounded Marai. "You heard what they say? They put her in fresh water to stall her healing abilities. We need to release her into the sea,"

"I don't know," Shyvana shook her head, conjuring a ball of fire in her palm again. "How do we carry her? We can't lift the glass tank,"

Jarvan thought for a long while, before approaching the wall behind the glass tank. He pressed his ear against the smooth wooden wall, knocking lightly upon it. He went to several spots and did the same, until he stopped at a particular spot.

"There's a way," Jarvan sighed. "But I don't think you'll like it,"

Above deck, Gangplank was panting tirelessly. One hand held a flaming curved sword coated with black blood and ashes, while the other held a loaded gun. The cannons still fired, while some lackeys would run back and forth, assessing the damage inflicted and received, telling him how much longer the ship could hold on.

His right forearm was simply bandaged – a red spot slowly spreading upon the yellowed, ragged cloth. An undead had crept on him and tried to land a killing blow, right before he slashed the defiled creature into two with his sword. Still, the undead had managed to nick his arm with his rusted sword, which Gangplank quickly applied potions that almost numbed his arm to prevent it from becoming gangrenous.

He was in a tight situation. The metal titan was fast approaching, and his men were almost outnumbered by the undead. He had sent two of his trusted men, telling them to 'feed the Mist'. They obliged without hesitation, knowing their fate would be grim no matter what.

Another group of undead rounded him. With a roar, Gangplank fired two in their heads, blasting brain matter everywhere as the barrel of his gun began to smoke. He slammed his shoulder into a creature's upheld shield, shattering the rotten wooden shield into pieces, before countering with an upward slash. The creature went up in flames, screaming until it collapsed on the deck.

Another rumble shook the ship. The titan's anchor must have caught hold onto the ship's hull again, as the ship started listing violently. The bulwark was heavily damaged, and could resist the titan's attacks no more.

Gangplank rushed to the railing and squinted his eyes. Up until now he saw only the titan's shadow, but now the giant metal hunk was close enough to reveal his eyes – two glowing red pits beneath a rusted metal helmet. The waves rolled and dashed against the ship's stern as the titan moved closer, and each time the waves receded from him Gangplank could clearly see that he was not wearing any armour or suits for the purpose of protection. It was obviously a man in a diving suit which had not been used for almost a century, when in the olden days divers had worn gigantic metal suits thrice their sizes to traverse waters that were hundreds of fathoms deep.

"Bloody hell," Gangplank cursed.

Each time the titan moved, his rusted metal suit would groan and creak. His movements were very slow, but Gangplank could only imagine the impact he could inflict upon them.

The titan gave a sharp tug on the anchor's chain.

The anchor held fast, and the ship swerved to one side violently. Everyone aboard the ship staggered and stumbled. The Jagged Hooks quickly grabbed purchase of anything nearby, while the skeletons and the undead stumbled clumsily, dropping weapons and crashing into each other.

Waves upon waves crashed onto the deck, spraying bouts of sea water onto the pirates who were still battling the Mist. The titan's grip was firm and strong, and with another tug, the ship dragged a little towards his direction, sending another wave crashing against the stern of the ship. Gangplank gritted his teeth.

"Change course, for fuck's sake!" he bellowed at the helmsman, his arms flailing wildly at him. The helmsman was an old member of the Hooks who had served for two full decades as one of Gangplank's crew, and he knew what awaited those who stoked the ire of the pirate king. The poor sod shuddered at the sight of his enraged captain waving his gun about, and did not need to be told twice to spin the wheel in three full rounds, indifferent to the carnage around him. Because there was no sight – not even the Mist or the giant metal hulk wanting to tear them apart – that was more terrifying than a furious Gangplank waving his gun around like a madman.

The Dead Pool swerved in an opposite direction, opposing the titan's pull and holding the ship in place. Gangplank knew that it wouldn't work for long, and he had to think of a solution quickly.

"Cap'n," a gruff voice called out, and Gangplank recognized it immediately. Baskharan, one of his most trusted men who had led multiple skirmishes on smaller trading ships and always returned without a single man lost. Gangplank trusted him so well, that he had offered a larger share of loot compared to the other pirates. With a grunt, Gangplank glared at him, silently commanding him to speak. Had it been any other pirate, he would have snarled and roared at him, especially when he was in no mood for more bad news.

Baskharan was a tall and lean Bilgewatian, hailing from the outskirts of the Serpent Isles who had stolen and robbed and killed his way into a dock gang. One of the leaders of the Jagged Hooks, his dark olive skin criss-crossed with fading scars was the clear sign of his resilience and experience, and how good he was at surviving. He was merciless – he had butchered a merchant's son right before his father's eyes before cutting his throat as well – and that was what Gangplank needed, ruthlessness.

"Runnin' low on cannonballs. The harpoons and ballistae too. Mist is too strong, and soon no men would man the machines," he reported, his eyes were calm and cold, indifferent to the chaos around him.

"Don't tell me what I already know," Gangplank snapped.

Baskharan said nothing, his lips still pursed in a taut line.

"Prepare Death's Daughter," Gangplank ordered. "Load the reavers,"

Baskharan paused for a while, and if he was surprised or frightened, Gangplank saw no sign of it. "All three, Cap'n?"

"All three,"

The loyal pirate did not ask another question, and left immediately, heading to the gunship deck to carry out his orders.

Reavers, Gangplank's eyebrows furrowed. He remembered how he had come to obtain four black jars that caught his curiosity when he was at an illegal weapon shop in the black market, trying to get his hands on new weaponry that could paint devastation upon the seas of Valoran. Four black jars no larger than his palm, yet the lid was sealed with a magic barrier that one could not pry open with sheer force alone. When Gangplank touched the surface of the jar, a deep hum throbbed within, spreading from his fingertips to his palm then to his arm, numbing him completely. He remembered jerking back his hand immediately, wary of whatever that was hidden within those jars.

Caught your fancy, Gangplank? the dealer's voice echoed with fascination. Latest work from Zaun. Aye, nothin' more fearsome than these little fuckers. Just one pinhole through this lid, just one small pinch of these lil' monsters will fuck up an army. Ain't got no mercy. They eat through flesh and bones, some even burn through metal. After they had 'nough, they die out. They call 'em reavers. Aye. Ain't easy smugglin' this from Zaun.

Do I look like a fuckin' wizard to you? Gangplank had asked him. How am I supposed to unseal it?

The dealer grinned. Just a simple rune, mate, he demonstrated by sliding his finger across the lid, drawing a quick yet simple gesture. A rune appeared, blazing with light and heat in strokes which he had drawn across the sealed jar. Then the barrier disappeared, and the rattle of the jar grew more vigorous.

The dealer quickly drew another rune. The jar went silent.

How much? Gangplank inquired. The dealer grinned and told him the price.

Gangplank's gaze darkened.

You will lower the price, Gangplank growled. The dealer noted the threatening tone in his voice, but he was too stupid to care. After all the reavers were hard to come by, and he had thought it was a rather reasonable price.

The dealer disagreed, his voice almost raised twice as high. Gangplank's mood only darkened even more.

It's not easy smugglin' this from Zaun! The dealer yelled. If you ain't willin' to pay, I'll just find myself another buyer then!

He even tried to shoo Gangplank out of his shop. The captain only snapped his fingers, and Baskharan came out of nowhere, grabbing hold of the dealer and slamming his face down on the table top. The loud thud shook the jars, almost toppling them.

I'll have all four, Gangplank stated. Perhaps I shall even need a demonstration.

The dealer shuddered, struggling to call for help. Baskharan unsheathed his scimitar, and slashed both the dealer's calves so that he could not run. The dealer screamed in agony, falling to his knees.

Gangplank took a jar, and drew the rune on the lid.

The dealer's eyes widened, and he started begging for mercy. But Gangplank's face was a mask of stone, betraying no anger or hatred or satisfaction in seeing him suffer. Baskharan forced the dealer's mouth wide open.

I'll see if it's worth it. Gangplank twisted the lid a little, and forced the jar into the dealer's mouth.

He must admit, he was very satisfied with the result.

Then there were three jars left, and Gangplank thought he had nothing to lose.

Below the gunship deck, his deadliest cannon groaned, a sign of being loaded. The reavers would be filled into an empty shell, and when fired across, the shell would explode, dispersing all its contents upon the target. Gangplank readied his flaming sword, and Baskharan shouted a command, a signal that the Death's Daughter was ready to fire.

The titan came closer, and Gangplank could see his eyes, like two glowing red pits. The diving suit was reddish brown with rust, and even littered with sea moss and barnacles.

He lifted his sword aloft and bellowed, "Fire!"

Three loud blasts, followed by silence. He watched as the shells arced through the air, falling towards the metal giant.

The shells exploded the moment they came into contact with the titan. One shell hit the chain of the anchor, another two more landed on his rusty helmet. The explosion was followed by a loud buzzing noise, a cloud of void-like darkness engulfing the titan instantly.

Gangplank had no time to lose. "Full sails! Away from here!" he barked. The helmsman heard, and did as he commanded.

The reavers were as formidable and deadly as expected. The ones that hit their mark on the chain of the dredge ate through the metal, corroded the links like acid through wood. Soon the links of the chain snapped, leaving the anchor still embedded in the Dead Pool's hull but at the same time severing the titan's hold on the ship. With the winds in their favour, the Dead Pool sailed away, putting distance between the titan and the ship.

The titan was covered by the reavers entirely, and he struggled to keep himself afloat. Soon only his helmet could be seen bobbing above the surface. Gangplank could not see what happened to him nor did he care. The last thing he heard from the titan was a loud, dragging moan – the sound of a door with rusty hinges opening – and it sounded as though he was sad, instead of being in pain.

"The titan's done with," Gangplank turned to the deck of his ship, his eyes darting from battle to battle. Green spectral horses raced everywhere, with baleful glowing eyes of the undead who were still fighting the Jagged Hooks. "Now the Mist,"

He then remembered giving orders to two men to retrieve his prize, and his eyes burnt with frustration again. Where are those two idiots?

As though answering his question, an explosion caught his attention. Alarmed, Gangplank strode over to the railing where the source of the noise was, and peered down.

He was greeted with the sight of a large hole blown through his cabin, with splinters of wood still falling into the rolling sea beneath. Inside his cabin, two figure stood out. He recognized them by their ragged cloaks, if not for the idiotic man who had openly tried to stab his throat back in the merchant's ship. Earlier the man who was dressed in rugged tunic and breeches, was now donning a suit of golden armour, adorned with spoils of beasts.

Then he saw the figure beside the man, who had been hooded earlier. And Gangplank's face contorted in fury. She had a mane of vibrant red hair, with steel-grey skin and golden eyes that burnt with strength. In her palm was a ball of fire, obviously conjured by the use of magic.

Somehow he did not care how inhuman the creature looked, as both of them were pulling the glass tank towards the opening where they had blown from the wall of his cabin. They both pushed, toppling the glass tank sideways.

And the Marai he had tracked all the way from the Blue Flame Islands to the middle of the Guardian's Sea was released into the sea, the harpoon already removed from her tail. The creature dived beneath the surface, and was soon out of his sight. All the tricks and ploys he used to lure the Marai to the surface – all for nothing.

At that moment, Gangplank lost his cool entirely.

"You bloody fuckers!" he roared with the wrath of a dragon, aiming his gun at them both. The woman's head shot towards him in alarm, and she quickly pushed the man away. Gangplank fired two quick shots, but missed as the woman had faster reflexes. Soon, they disappeared from his sight, and the pirate king bellowed with all the rage in the world.

In his fury, he viciously cleaved a skeleton with his flaming sword, scattering its yellowed bones upon his feet. He then grabbed a pirate by his collar, baring his teeth at him and screamed in his face. "Tell all the Hooks. Get 'em both!" he roared. "I want 'em dead. Dead!"

Thanks for all the reviews and your support for this story! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Until next time!