Blizzard bolted upright, his heart hammering against his ribs as he struggled to suck in a lungful of air. Sweat clung to his skin, the rough wool blanket tangling around his legs as he fought to shake off the lingering terror of the nightmare.
Just a dream. It was just a dream.
He stumbled out of the cramped quarters, making his way to the main deck, desperate for the cool, fresh air. The first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, the vast expanse of the ocean stretching out before him like a shimmering tapestry of hope and uncertainty.
But the nightmare's icy grip lingered. Josiah's distorted face, his accusing voice... it repeated in Blizzard's mind, amplifying the guilt that already gnawed at his soul. It was getting harder to separate the dream from reality, those fragmented visions blurring the lines between what was real and what was merely a figment of his fractured memories.
He leaned against the railing, the gentle rocking of the ship a rhythmic counterpoint to the turbulent storm raging within him. He closed his eyes, willing the images to fade, to be swallowed by the vast expanse of the sea.
Navy Officer: Couldn't sleep either?
The officer stood nearby, a pipe clenched between his teeth as he puffed out a plume of sweet-smelling smoke.
Blizzard nodded while forcing a smile.
Blizzard: Just... a bad dream.
Navy Officer: They can be like that, can't they? (the officer remarked as his gaze was fixed on the horizon) Especially after a battle. The mind plays tricks on you, brings back things you'd rather forget. (he paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow) You know, my father once told me a story, about something strange that happened douzen of years ago, before the Heartless. Before things... changed.
Blizzard wasn't particularly interested in such a story right now. His mind was too preoccupied with his own anxieties, with the looming threat of Black Beard and the unnerving whispers of the Organization. But the officer continued, his voice a low rumble that mingled with the gentle creaking of the ship.
Navy Officer: This world, this ocean, has always been a harsh mistress. Resources scarce, land even scarcer. And those who lived here... they had to be tough. Resilient. We survived on what little we could find, fought over scraps of land and fought off pirates. It was a hard life, but it was ours.
He took a long drag from his pipe, the embers glowing like miniature suns in the growing daylight.
Navy Officer: Then, one day, she appeared. Out of thin air. Like a phantom. My father was just a boy then, but he swears he saw her with his own eyes. A young woman, dressed all in white, with hair like spun gold. She appeared on the docks, right where we're standing now. Didn't speak a word. Just... smiled. And when she vanished, just as suddenly as she'd appeared... We found hundreds of crates filled with food, medicine, tools. Enough to sustain us for an entire centuary.
Blizzard raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued despite himself. A woman in white, appearing out of thin air? It sounded like something straight out of a fairy tale. But the officer's expression was serious, his gaze fixed on the swirling mist that clung to the horizon.
Blizzard: Why? (he asked, the question escaping his lips before he could stop it) Why would she do that without demanding anything in return? If she wasn't a Keyblade Wielder...
Navy Officer: That's what everyone asked. (the officer sighed while shaking his head) But there were no answers. No explanation. She was just... gone. And for years, her story was passed down, a tale whispered around campfires and in taverns. Some called her an angel, sent from the heavens. Others claimed she was the divine, a guardian of these waters. But the truth... the truth is, no one knows.
Blizzard shifted uncomfortably. The story, despite its fantastical elements, struck a chord within him. Before he could delve further into the unsettling thought, a voice, familiar yet distorted, tore through the peaceful morning calm.
Josiah?: Morning, Blizzard! Finally decided to grace us with your presence?
Blizzard whipped around, a gasp escaping his lips as a wave of icy dread washed over him. Standing before him, his form flickering like a dying candle flame, was the nightmarish Josiah.
Blizzard: Josiah?! Blizzard's voice came out as a strangled gasp, his hand shooting up reflexively as if to ward off a blow.
The officer's gaze followed Blizzard's, his eyes widening with alarm as he stumbled backward. It wasn't fear for his own safety, the boy was seeing things, things that weren't there.
You... the officer stammered, his voice barely audible above the crashing waves. Your hair...
Blizzard: I... what... what about it? (he instinctively reached up to touch it. It felt the same)
The officer's face went grave, he gestured to a nearby polished cannon barrel.
Navy Officer: Take a look. You'll see what we mean.
Walking over to the cannon, Blizzard stared into the curved surface. He gasped, a shock going through his entire system.
Starting at the roots, about a third of his hair had become pure white. Pure white as fresh snow against the blue, as if a brush had been dipped in white paint and carefully applied a third above his head. It stopped as if against an invisible barrier - the new growth perfectly symmetrical on either side.
He could hear the whispers starting around him, saw the apprehension in the eyes of the sailors nearby. This... this couldn't be happening. It felt unreal.
Blizzard: That's... That's impossible! This... can't be...
A pit of unease grew in Blizzard's chest, fueled by confusion and fear. This... wasn't normal. It couldn't be. Chirithy's brow furrowed in a rare display of pity for the boy.
Chirithy: This is... concerning to say the least.
Navy Officer: You must had been under stress. It seems it got so much to handle. (the officer's attempt at reassurance felt hollow, forced as it hung between them. The fear that now settled over the officer and sailors wasn't aimed solely at Black Beard's scheme anymore, but a quiet terror that something far darker lurked among them now) Get some rest when you can and stay hydrated.
Blizzard: But... don't you understand... I... (his voice cracked, frustration building as the memory of those chilling visions, of the mocking laughter from the shadowy depths of his own mind)
He caught a glimpse of Chirithy's warning glare before he could even mention it. No need to fuel this terror even more, no need to raise questions he didn't have answers to.
Navy Officer: Nightmares, we all have 'em. Especially after what you went through last night. But you're safe here. And those children... they need us. Focus on that.
Blizzard drew in a shaky breath, nodding slowly.
Blizzard: Right. You're... you're right.
Chirithy: And about your hair. (It stated in a lighter tone, with a hint of playfulness) It'll probably grow back. Just give it time.
Blizzard: I hope you're right. (he forced a smile, but the unease, the chilling memory of Josiah's visage, lingered beneath the surface)
The officer glanced up at the sky, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. Speaking of time... we'd best be on our way. Those children won't rescue themselves.
Hours passed as the MS Titan plowed through the choppy waves, its sails billowing like the wings of a giant bird. The relentless rhythm of the waves, the creaking of the ship, the cries of gulls overhead, it should've been a calming symphony. But Blizzard couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom.
For the next few hours towards the island where Black Beard held those kids, those sleeping Keyblade wielders, a tense anticipation held them captive as the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the hull seemed to amplify their worry.
Navy Officer: Land! (the officer's call cut through the quiet murmuring. He was pointing toward a blurred smudge on the horizon, his face tight with a mix of hope and apprehension. And then Blizzard saw them)
They were massive, hulking galleons that almost dwarfed the MS Titan itself - Their ragged sails painted in blood reds and jet black with a sea of crimson pirate flags depicting skull and bones. Cannons lined their decks. Men, armed to the teeth and sporting scars as wild as the sea itself, clambered on masts and lined the railings. And above it all, an overwhelming sense of power radiating outwards from their flagships - A dreadnought adorned with black bones and teeth of something large... very large to say the least.
Navy Officer: STOP NOW! (the officer's barked order speard across the deck. The MS Titan shuddered, its forward momentum slowing as the sails luffed, the creaking of timbers a counterpoint to the officer's urgent command)
Blizzard: I... (Blizzard's voice trailed off as he gazed out at that chillingly organized fleet. He felt the chill despite the sun blazing above, its golden rays reflected upon the endless vast ocean) We are not... We are not getting closer, are we?
Navy Officer: Twelve nautical miles. That's as close as we dare get. You think they have powerful guns... I can confirm that this ship would be splinters in seconds.
His gaze didn't waver from the menacing spectacle unfolding before them.
Navy Officer: Black Beard doesn't rely on gunpowder, not when he has the power of darkness at his fingertips. A single wave of that vile sorcery, and we'd be nothing but driftwood. Let's go discuss a plan bellowdecks. There's much to discuss and decide. Follow me.
With a curt nod to the first mate who stood frozen, mouth agape at witnessing this living legend amongst them, the officer steered Blizzard towards a narrow staircase leading down belowdecks, the polished brass handrail cold beneath Blizzard's clammy grip as they descended the narrow stairs.
His unease intensifying with every step. It wasn't the MS Titan herself, the impressive galleon suddenly felt more like a cramped, wooden coffin, especially as he navigated through the warren of narrow passageways. He found himself amidst a labyrinth of corridors, each turn bringing a chorus of groans from strained timbers. It felt less like a mighty vessel designed for battle, and more like a tomb sailing towards oblivion with them stuck inside, trapped by the expectations and whispered legends swirling around him.
As the officer pushed open the door, Blizzard couldn't help but feel a weight settle onto his shoulders, as if the eyes of every sailor on board were suddenly fixed on him.
It wasn't a grand chamber, not like he'd imagined, but a practical space dominated by a massive wooden table cluttered with charts, compasses, and half-empty mugs. Around it sat a dozen figures in varying states of dishevelment, their tired gazes meeting his with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Some looked exhausted, their faces pale and drawn from sleepless nights. Others radiated a nervous energy that vibrated in the silent room.
And one, a young man with a thin, wiry frame and eyes that seemed to bulge from his skull, was practically vibrating with great terror, a trembling hand clutched tightly to his forehead as if holding back an onslaught of unimaginable horrors.
The meeting didn't begin with formalities, no. It started with a sharp, collective inhale as the room collectively seemed to hold its breath, the only sound the creak of a chair and a muttered curse as a portly navigator knocked over his mug, staining a nautical chart with dark coffee.
Navy Officer: As you know, we have a guest today.
One of the men, younger than the rest with a mop of messy, auburn hair sticking out from beneath his Navy cap, cleared his throat.
?: Sir, with all due respect... just because this... lad showed up with one of those legendary weapons... (he trailed off as his eyes shifted nervously towards the heavy velvet drapes covering the portholes) It doesn't mean-
Navy Officer: He purged that fortress in a matter of minutes, creatures that have plagued our men for years... vanished. Gentlemen, this is a Keyblade wielder. I believe it's time we start taking this seriously.
The officer cleared his throat, and as if on cue, a hush fell over the room, the weight of their predicament settling upon them like an anchor.
Navy Officer: Well. (he gestured towards the empty seat at the head of the table) Let's get down to business.
And 'business,' it turned out, was more complex than simply aiming cannons and hoping for the best.
?: Right. (a stocky man with a booming voice and a thick mustache that quivered with each word boomed as he stepped forward) As the esteemed Captain mentioned, caution, gentlemen! The island's defenses are formidable - far beyond anything we've ever encountered. But fear not, for the fates have smiled upon us. A miracle has washed ashore - our very own angel.
Murmurs spread around the room like wildfire, a volatile blend of hope and skepticism as gazes flickered between the wooden map set on the table. Blizzard wanted to disappear, this... these people thought too much of him while failing to realise his limitations or experience.
With a creaking groan that mimicked Blizzard's tense posture, one of the men pushed a weathered briefcase onto the center of the table, snapping the latch with a sharp click before slowly lifting the lid to reveal an array of handcrafted chess pawns and a painted wooden board depicting an island fortress.
?: As long as we could remember, the Impostor relies solely on brute strength, overwhelming tactics that favor waves upon waves of Heartless and explosives, with no real need for refined maneuvers. However, brute strength can backfire. Here!
He gestured with a thin, almost skeletal hand towards the carefully crafted map. It depicted a miniature rendition of Black Beard's island - complete with the fortress at its center - and was studded with colored chess pieces denoting ships, defenses, and men.
One by one, with deliberate placement, he revealed those infernal pirate ships and described them each; from the regular vessels, and their simple Red Pawn denoting thier sheer strength, quantity and reckless usage by this new 'Black Beard,' and most notably that of Black Beard, an overdecorated piece taller than the rest that featured blackened wood adorned with spiky protrusions. That single, ornate pawn spoke of power, terror, and legend in the form of finely crafted
Blizzard: (frowning) What about... us?
Navy Officer: Blue. That's us (he swept his hand across a haphazard collection of blue pawns positioned just off the map's edge. Unlike their bloody counterparts, these blue pieces showcased variations, from basic sailor figures to larger pieces marked with stripes or wielding what looked suspiciously like tiny cannons. And as he noticed it, the silent dread reflected in the eyes staring not at the pieces, not at the crude representations of strategy and imminent annihilation, but at him)
Navy Officer: Black Beard. The words seemed to lace with fear and resignation. This... figure needs no introduction. Eight in total for his Pirates. While we... (he carefully placed sixteen blue figures near the MS Titan, eight slightly larger and ornately decorated with tiny swords. Sixteen, as it stand, our eight soldiers, and our eight veteran units.
A cough came from across the room, breaking the officer's somber explanation. The officer cleared his throat.
Navy Officer: While we lack manpower in sheer numbers... Our advantage lies elsewhere. He paused for dramatic effect, tapping the model MS Titan before placing a single, blue pawn near the island's far shore.
This... This lone pawn had no intricate detailing like the imposing Black Beard. Instead, it was crafted entirely from unblemished ivory as it looked pristine. Pure. It sat separate from the others, not even a single trace of paint upon its surface. It was simple... alone.
?: You wish us to launch a full assault? (one of the mens asked as the bewilderment on his face reflected what most were likely thinking as they exchanged worried glances with one another)
Navy Officer: Sending all sixteen pawns? No. (he shook his head, the shadow cast upon his face by his naval cap making it impossible to gauge his true intent as his hand hovered above that lone pawn before resting heavily on it) Direct confrontation... that would only serve to decimate our numbers. We won't launch a suicidal assault. We need... precision. And a key.
His gaze landed on Blizzard, as all eyes in the room followed his gesture.
Navy Officer: Which is why you will infiltrate that island alone, (the suggestion both simple and ludicrou) Our intel suggest their stronghold - The Iron Jaw - isn't impregnable, Blizzars will undertake the primary objective, infiltrating the island and extract the comatose children under Black Beard's captive claimship.
A murmuring spread across the chamber as Blizzard tried to grasp what he was hearing. They... they expected him to do this? ALONE?
One member who had not touch his breakfast, his skin a shade paler than his comrades while he chewed anxiously at his bottom lip as sweat beaded along his temples, suddenly slammed a fist onto the table.
?: Wait a minute! The kid is no god! You cannot possibly expect this boy to waltz into a fortified base that's practically swarming with bloodthirsty pirates who've never faced justice for all the horrible things they did?
Another man added his disapproval with a sneer.
Others voices shared his sentiments - it was suicide, a death sentence for a young man not even out of his teens.
?: He's just a boy! Sending him alone... are we mad?
?: We are sending him to the wolves! What are you thinking?!
A knot of guilt tightened in Blizzard's stomach. He'd never been good with tactics, always relying on Josiah's guidance, his innate ability to strategize on the fly. Now, here he was, thrust into a situation where the lives of two dozen innocent children depended on... him?
Was he simply a last-ditch effort to accomplish what they'd always deemed impossible - rescuing those captive souls, those dormant figures entrusted to them, that they failed? Had Yen-Sid led him down another hopeless path?
The officer banged a hand on the table, silence settling once more, fear and expectation warring against his commanding stare.
Navy Officer: Silence! Every plan we've thrown at that viper's nest, the blasted Skull Reef... It ends in disaster! He gestured forcefully at the board. (a dark line appearing on his brow) Those cursed galleons, they're crewed by the best, but they're pirates with decades of experience battling every foe, storm and cursed artifact imaginable. And if... (his gaze shifted towards Blizzard next)
'No, the boy is the only one who stands a chance. His objective will be to penetrate the inner fortifications, under the cover of night. For once... we might have something that could tip the scale.'
As the hours trickled by, measured by the sun's slow descent toward the western horizon, anticipation built. They prepped the small rowboat that would carry Blizzard under cover of darkness. A sturdy craft crafted with thick planks of oak reinforced to minimize any potential for sound or splashes. From there... it was all on him.
?: This is beyond irresponsible. This is... is... (a man sputtered as he adjusted his uniform jacket as a mean of concealing how much he was shivering right now, a hand clutching tightly at the brim of his Naval cap while facing away from that infernal rowboat slowly rocking against the ship as the late afternoon's orange glow painted upon the upper section of the MS Titan.)
Navy Officer: It was never our intention to send anyone... let alone a kid. (the officer who brought Blizzard stood a little further, his expression tight with worry despite years of military discipline) But at least... it is a better alternative than getting ripped to shreds out there by... I don't even know how we should call that madman.
They would entrust their hopes, their very survival, to a boy who hadn't even reached manhood and whose own existence was more legend than reality to most who walked this earth.
The sun was already beginning its descent toward the western horizon, casting long, wavering shadows across the main deck of the MS Titan as preparations for the unthinkable were underway. It was to be a simple operation. Deceptively simple, almost offensively so when considering the terrifying force arrayed against them. A single, small rowboat. No cannons. No escort. Just a boy with a legacy he barely understood, venturing alone into the heart of darkness to reclaim what had been stolen.
Navy Officer: You must ensure you are silent as possible. Think before acting.
One by one, the veteran officers offered words of caution as if to dispel any lingering illusions about the night's dangerous venture. No glory-seeking heroics. No impulsive charges into a horde of pirates hungry for blood and plunder. Simply get in, find those kids, and vanish like a ghost in the night.
?: You are free to remain here with us. (a young naval soldier, no older than nineteen and clearly new to this life, offered his unexpected plea, eyes flickering between Blizzard and those menacing shapes slowly sinking into the reddened waters)
The irony of this unexpected encouragement wasn't lost on Blizzard. In another time, a time before their world was shattered and ancient rules went ignored, it would have been Blizzard's age that deemed inappropriate for this risky operation. Yet now... there he was - the lone beacon of hope, as flawed and unsure as he might be, entrusted with a task those seasoned warriors could only dream of attempting, while it was the seasoned officers, hardened by combat, who spoke of abandoning protocol entirely just this once.
As evening deepened and that monstrous dreadnought became nothing more than a ominous silhouette swallowed by encroaching shadows and those menacing crimson flags painted in blood reds with skulls and crossed bones flapped languidly in the dying wind, a strange calm settled over Blizzard. Fear, that gnawing, almost physical sensation he'd come to associate with each step of this neverending adventure, receded.
He couldn't shake the chilling sensation that their worry stemmed not from some belief in his ability, in this mythical power of a Keyblade and its wielder. No, it was the crushing sensation of despair manifesting, those who no longer cared, who understood this for what it truly was, a desperate gamble more akin to flinging dice than enacting sound strategy. They clung not to hope... but to any alternative that allowed them to ignore a darkness encroaching far beyond any fortified shore, a darkness he felt within himself.
This mission - rescuing children held prisoner by a deluded monster drunk on power... It wasn't some noble quest. It wasn't about them, not really. It was about those who clung to the wreckage of the world they knew, clinging desperately to stories and traditions as the universe itself fractured around them. And if it brought them comfort... if it meant preserving even a grain of hope in this grim world... then he wouldn't back down. Not this time. Not even while he felt every judgmental eye burning into him.
Navy Officer: You good? We set off whenever you're feeling... you know... ready for this craziness. (there was worry in the officer's eyes. Not for himself, not for his crew, not even really for the captive children... It was a quiet, almost paternal concern for the burden placed upon someone so young as he nodded toward the small boat swaying gently in the evening's stillness. It looked frail against the MS Titan's vast bulk, the rhythmic lap of water against its blackened hull the only sound breaking the taut silence)
Blizzard: I... Yes. (the words came out quieter than he'd intended. No bold speeches about justice. No claims of confidence. Just quiet acceptance of this ludicrous task as one of the navy members tapped his shoulders after the officer moved aside, murmuring a quiet thanks and a soft prayer as Blizzard climbed into the boat.
Two veterans then hopped aboard, settling themselves on opposite ends before positioning the oars gently, waiting, staring ahead with apprehension in their posture as Blizzard stared ahead toward a growing island cloaked in a creeping twilight mist.
Chirithy: You know... if you want to back out... no shame in saying so. (there was no forced cheer in its tone now, only an honest concern as it settled down on the seat next to Blizzard)
But there, within that silence before two mens slowly moved the boat forward toward the island, Blizzard was finally getting what those officers had meant back in that room. There were no strategical options when a force of pure dark magic existed beyond those shores. Only variations of horrible fates for all parties concerned should he fail.
The rhythmic dipping of oars slicing through water was the only sound accompanying their slow progression toward a looming darkness that devoured even the faint starlight overhead. As the moon, full and fat, painted streaks on the restless ocean's surface, casting a cold light upon a shoreline devoured by jagged, twisting shadows, Blizzard found himself holding his breath more from anxiety than any tactical instruction barked back aboard the MS Titan. He had no illusions about what waited ashore - bloodthirsty pirates, hordes of those shadowy figures, and... worst of all... the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that gnawed at his insides like a ravenous beast.
Blizzard shook his head, unable to fully express the crushing truth that pressed against his chest, forcing the air from his lungs even with each gentle wave that rocked their rowboat forward. His fear... no, his sheer terror... felt inconsequential.
If refusing meant Josiah becoming yet another forgotten tragedy? That this new world order collapsed back onto those shattered islands devoid of purpose or connection because of his inaction?
Their rickety vessel scraped against the sandy bottom. Alright, lad. Time's wasting. One of the men, his weathered face almost invisible beneath the brim of his cap as he leaned closer, offered no words of encouragement. Not that Blizzard needed it, not really, but even that shared silence, the implicit acknowledgement of this being madness, fueled that bitter, sour anxiety building within his chest as he felt it tighten around him, choke him.
?: Get to higher ground. (the second one added) Watch out for any signs of movement, especially those things. We... well... good luck out there. (he kept his voice low but even against the rhythmic crash of waves, the desperation painted on the rower's features and the weariness etched around their eyes betrayed them)
It wasn't hope fueling their send-off. It was a desperate acceptance; trading an immediate and very tangible threat in those cannons now lining the distant silhouette of their target vessel for the unpredictable. But to Blizzard... both held the same grim truth, once dawn would loom, there would be no returning. The dice had been cast. His ivory figurine on that board was an illusion of choice.
Their rowboat scraped gently against the sandy bottom, its keel barely audible against the rhythmic lap of waves washing onto shore. With an agility honed from countless similar, if slightly less clandestine, arrivals, the men maneuvered the small vessel parallel to a jutting outcropping of rocks - an overhang offering just enough concealment from a distant fortress barely visible in this black ocean's vastness as its top half lit by torches and braziers.
Six hours was all they could afford. He swallowed thickly, dread twisting his stomach like a tightening rope while he attempted to make his limbs work. To start moving before his body seized with panic or, worse, gave way entirely. The realization came in slow waves, one after another.
He couldn't afford to panic. Not now, not with the faint sound of oars receding across the darkened waters, each splash an unsettling confirmation of just how little room he had for errors.
Creeping deeper into a tangle of overgrowth and palm trees, Blizzard scanned his surroundings for signs of the waterfall that marked their agreed-upon escape route - a treacherous path behind those heavily-guarded outer walls meant for him to navigate while holding those stolen artifacts within. His heart pounded, an insistent drumbeat against the backdrop of night sounds that, while familiar from their time traversing forgotten worlds, were now laced with a chilling unfamiliarity as every snap of twig beneath his boots felt too loud, and every cry of seabirds sounded too much like an incoming projectile from afar. Even Chirithy's soft padding alongside him had taken on an unnerving presence.
A faint glow up ahead drew him through a tangle of thorny vines and oversized palm fronds toward a cascading sheet of moonlight hitting a churning pool of water. He approached the base of the waterfall cautiously, eyes searching the swirling water for signs. And then... it wasn't so much 'seeing' anything as 'understanding.' An opening was there... obscured by a churning vortex but undeniably there as the rock around it was less water smooth and less clean than a natural flow would permit over so many decades of tidal surges.
He'd gotten a feel for it now, the way those impossibly rare energies seeped out - both Keyblade and these unnatural creatures with hearts devoured as it served to remind him they weren't truly alone. Not ever. But this awareness had its drawbacks, chief among them being an unshakeable understanding; they were nowhere near ready. Not for what those dark tides heralded.
Blizzard: Do I even know how to swim? (he blurted out, the question leaving him before he could overthink it, before doubt could cripple him. Fear, a visceral thing that clawed at his throat, forced the words into existence while an uncomfortable awareness took form, he didn't know. Couldn't remember)
Chirithy: To swim? No, Blizzard, there's no records or indication about your knowledge or skill regarding swimming. It's blank.
A wave of dizziness washed over him as he stared at the churning waters. He couldn't remember. Not a single childhood memory of splashing in a pool, of learning to float. It was as if that part of his life had been erased, wiped clean along with everything else.
He drew a deep, shaky breath. There was no turning back now. Not with the fate of those children hanging in the balance. He had to trust his instincts, trust that whatever muscle memory might linger from a lifetime ago would be enough to see him through. He had to trust... that he wouldn't drown.
His shoes sunk deep into the muddy banks as he sprinted towards the churning waters, heart pounding a frantic beat against his ribs. Chirithy's words, spoken with an urgency he'd rarely heard from the usually placid companion, were his only comfort as his vision narrowed, became this tunnel fixated on a single goal, get through.
Chirithy: Do your best. You can handle it, Blizzard!
Then, icy water slammed into him, engulfing him. For a heartbeat, he was blind, disoriented. Panic swelled, his lungs burning with the need for air. He forced himself downwards, deeper into the churning current as if some unseen hand were guiding him, pulling him towards that unseen opening behind the waterfall's roaring curtain.
Panic seized him as he tumbled through the churning water, dragged downwards by a current far stronger than he'd anticipated. He thrashed, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated, his lungs burning as his heart hammered against his ribs with a painful urgency.
It was like being trapped in a washing machine, the world a swirling vortex of darkness and icy cold as his vision swam as the last sliver of moonlight filtering through the cascading waterfall quickly fading to black.
He slammed into something hard, rock or wood, he couldn't tell, the impact knocking the air from his lungs with a force that sent a white-hot spark of pain exploding behind his eyes. For a moment, he clung desperately to whatever rough surface had broken his fall, fear a tangible, visceral thing that constricted his chest.
How much longer could he hold his breath? It had been seconds... a minute maybe... surely he should be gasping for air now, his lungs screaming for release, but it was as though his body, his mind... no longer obeyed natural law in this world gone awry. He had felt that otherness too often not to grasp how unnatural this prolonged agony felt. But for now... He shoved it aside, focused instead on navigating through this suffocating maze. Find a grate. Any damn grate will do. Just don't... don't drown in this place.
Each clumsy push forward was met with more of the same rough surface - cold and slick against his hands as he swam blind, seeking purchase, seeking... something other than this inescapable void. The water felt thick, heavy against his skin while pushing, scrambling, for any semblance of orientation was an exercise in futility as much as despair threatened to seize his remaining limbs as a realization set in... This wasn't a natural cave. The corners were too sharp, angles unnatural and unyielding, with joints far too precise for water erosion or tectonic shifts to be the reason behind it.
Heaving his aching limbs forward once more, fear becoming an ally to focus his dimming senses upon as time itself had dissolved in this unnatural stillness. Up. Always up...
Minutes crawled by. It should have been hours, enough to turn his blood to ice. Surely he was drowning now, shouldn't be capable of functioning... but the agonizing need for air simply... remained, as persistent but irrelevant as the patch of white that adorned his hair.
With a gasp of surprise - no. no surprise, a realization... his hand grazed metal grating, rough and corroded beneath his palm. Above him, a flicker of light danced against the rushing waters, and for a heartbeat... he felt Josiah there - urging him, guiding him towards the unknown with a manic energy as vibrant as life.
He almost imagined his friend whispering against the rush of current, his familiar cadence both unreal and so vivid in this suffocating darkness as panic clawed at the edges of control.
Pushing himself upwards against the current's relentless tug, scrabbling at slimy stones as that rusted grate loomed above. And then he was breaking free of the suffocating grip of the water, gasping, sucking air into starving lungs that, while never quite reaching that terrifying point of true pain... felt as if that threshold might not even apply down there as he coughed. Gagged, choking on water that trickled from his lips.
The walls that greeted him was narrow, barely enough room to crawl as his soaking wet clothes chafed against rough-hewn stones, but there... He gasped as relief replaced dread for a single heartbeat. That distant orange glow he'd glimpsed underwater was closer, more defined, a flicker of torchlight painting rough shadows onto a wet, moss-covered ceiling.
This wasn't a cave at all. This... This had to be part of their fortifications! He was beneath the Fortress! And from somewhere, carried by muffled acoustics... the familiar sounds of a language both old and shockingly recognizable: Laughter punctuated by grumbled complaints as a dice rattled on stone before settling.
Pirate 1: Seven!
Pirate 2: Damn you, Fitz! How are you always so lucky when it comes to Liar's Dice!
Another grumbled and slurred curses as footsteps moved closer - Boots scraping against stone were getting closer while their slurred whispers of complaints were quickly approaching towards Blizzard hiding in this small tunnel as a voice whispered - it won't take long for them to detect the sounds of splashing that served as Blizzard regaining his breath as fast as possible.
Pirate 3: A refill for us! Fetch us another bucket, will ya, Lars? This rum's going down faster than a kraken in a whirlpool!
A heavy thud of wood hitting stone and footsteps, slower than those who had just left, spearding with what must've been considerable girth considering how the floor seemed to whine as that person, most likely 'Lars' trudged their way closer, bucket in hand. He didn't even try to rise to get a glimpse as every nerve screamed a warning - hide!
With a practiced ease born from too many close encounters with far more dangerous things than disgruntled drunk pirates, Blizzard held his breath once more, lowering his aching body beneath the cool, thankfully murky, water just in time to watch as a pair of weathered boots, followed by sturdy calves straining against roughspun trousers came into view. A massive, scarred arm - the tattoo depicting a snarling mermaid holding a crudely-drawn cutlass, reached into the space he'd just occupied. It hauled a dripping bucket upwards before thudding back into existence, presumably now filled.
Lars: Lazy dogs. (Lars' grunt, more of a tired growl as much as annoyance coated his words, seemed to bounce oddly in the claustrophobic space while the slow squelching of his departure seemed to take an eternity)
Once those footsteps receded... nothing. He rose again. It took every last ounce of his energy to resist that gasping cry for air. This time he waited until his lungs felt close to exploding, counted slowly as a chilling awareness settled; he was nowhere near as close to death's grip as any normal human should have been in a situation like this.
Pressing himself against the damp stone, Blizzard waited. His breath hitched in his chest as each scraping footstep, punctuated by slurred laughter and the clanking of metal tankards, passed. A wave of nausea hit, and for a moment he swayed. This wasn't normal... to feel relief because drunken pirates happened to prefer cards and strong liquor to patrolling dungeons...
This entire infiltration scheme, conceived back in that sterile planning room, relied upon Black Beard and his pirates being so engrossed in plunder and mayhem that they ignored their captive wielders. A flawed assumption if there ever was one.
Only after the sounds faded completely, leaving behind a dripping silence punctuated by the distant clang of metal against metal as yet another bucket was refilled somewhere, did he allow himself to move. The corridor, lit by flickering torches spaced unevenly across the walls, was oppressive - claustrophobic.
Within those barred cells, huddled figures stirred fitfully, roused by this rare disturbance of a prison they'd clearly occupied for far too long. But they were just common prisoners, the remnants of skirmishes and territorial disputes judging from the tattered naval uniforms that clung to them. The ones he was seeking, the ones Black Beard coveted... their energy would be a siren song even in this oppressive dampness.
Blizzard: There! The exclamation left his lips before he even processed what his senses were picking up. Down the narrow hallway at the far end... it thrummed. A familiar, pulsating warmth that vibrated against him like a pulled string. Rushing towards the source as each step now was a triumph over fear, over doubt, his body propelled more by desperation than reason until... he froze, his stomach twisting as the scene before him threatened to unravel every last thread of control.
It wasn't simply that eleven figures lay motionless, they should have pulsed, their auras beaconing despite slumber. But these... These felt as empty and silent as the corridors lead toward wherever that monster resided above them. Only closer now did the horrifying details become clear; each child's thin neck held in place by a network of intricately woven, blackened tubes that snaked upward toward a ceiling obscured by shadows - tubes humming with an unnatural vibration, an eerie green fluid pumping sluggishly within.
One hour. Thirty agonizing minutes battling churning currents. Another thirty navigating those damp and claustrophobic passages, always aware of how each dripping moment, each squelching step brought him closer to failure.
Unlock it! Get them the hell out! A wave of nausea, sour and cold despite the lingering heat he carried, pushed its way into his chest.
He tapped Frostbite against the barred door... tentatively at first while expecting, even as disbelief blossomed, that sickening green glow signaling it was unlocking. Nothing. The silence intensified as each tap to get these damn bars open served to further shatter his hopes while whispers - pleas almost - to unlock turned to angry demands! Until the dull thump reberbate uselessly. And the door... it simply... remained closed. As if his blade... this so-called Key that can unlock any world, any seal... was nothing more than an ornate stick of ice, useless, pathetic.
And then... he froze. An icy dread, far colder than the frigid water that clung to his clothing, gripped him as his breath hitched in his throat. It was unthinkable. Impossible! And yet, the cold, hard reality stared back at him through those unyielding metal bars, mocking his every effort as silence settled, heavy and oppressive in its finality.
How? Why? The questions clawed at him, fueled by rising panic and the weight of eleven lifeless eyes peering through the bars, accusing in their vacant silence as surely as any whispered accusation could.
He didn't speak, couldn't even form a coherent thought, his gaze glued to Frostbite as though the weapon itself had somehow betrayed him. An abyss of despair opened up before him as doubt gnawed, relentless. It wasn't failure, not just the mission. No, this cut deeper, this was about questioning that one, fundamental, comforting belief.
That those keyblades, with thier glowing seals and ornate promises... actually worked, could do what was necessary. What good were legends and promises of unlocking those hidden locks and forbidden passage if those same keys, so vital to surviving... had suddenly, without reason or warning... become powerless?
Chirithy: Blizzard? What's wrong?
Chirithy materialized beside him. It studied the lock, its brow furrowing as it, too, seemed to sense the unnatural barrier.
Blizzard: Chirithy...! It doesn't... open. (each word took immense effort, exhaustion weighing on him)
Chirithy: Let me see.
It stepped closer, it pressing its small paw against the cold bars next. It recoiled instantly.
Chirithy: The magic... it's different. (Chirithy finally said, its voice tinged with a weariness Blizzard had never heard before. It almost sounded like... fear? Ancient. Powerful. Intertwined with... something else)
It's gaze remained fixed on the complex web of tubes and machinery that snaked through the cell, as it tapped the cell bar lightly before flinching, a grimace distorting its features.
Chirithy: This goes far beyond anything we've encountered before. It's as though...
Blizzard stared at the locked door, desperation clawing at him. He was running out of time. Dawn would be breaking soon, and the MS Titan would be forced to retreat, leaving him stranded in this cursed place.
Blizzard: There has to be another way, (he muttered, pacing back and forth, each footstep a metronome marking the relentless passage of time) Perhaps there's a control mechanism? A switch, a lever... something that's controlling the flow of energy to these... tubes)
His eyes narrowed, an idea forming, reckless but maybe, just maybe..
Blizzard: What if... what if I try to find Black Beard's quarters? There has to be a central control panel somewhere. Maybe...
Chirithy: Blizzard, no! You can't possibly be considering confronting him directly! You are no match for him!
Blizzard pressed a hand against his temple, his head throbbing with a dull ache. It was a reckless idea, bordering on insane, he acknowledged with a bitter twist to his lips as self-loathing burned his cheeks. Yet... what other option did he have? Those kids... were slowly withering away.
Blizzard: It's just... I have to try something, Chirithy. I can't just stand here and watch them... die off.
It stared at him, its expression unreadable for a moment. Then, it sighed, a weary sound that seemed to share the futility of their situation.
Chirithy: Alright, Blizzard. But be careful. And please... promise me you won't do anything foolish.
Blizzard: I will, fighting Black Beard was never part of my plan anyway.
Climbing the stairs towards the upper levels of Black Beard's fortress, Blizzard could feel the bile rising in his throat. It wasn't just the stench of stale ale and unwashed bodies that clung to the rough-hewn stone walls, a wrongness pervaded this place - radiating outwards with an intensity that made his stomach churn, forced him to fight back the urge to vomit. It was a tangible pressure, a darkness that seemed to seep into his bones.
His initial bravado, fueled by the reckless confidence of youth, had dwindled into something fragile, unsteady on its feet. This was different from any other infiltration. This was like tiptoeing through the belly of a sleeping leviathan, every rustle, every drip of water with impossible loudness as his gaze darted from shadow to shadow. And there... above him, radiating from the upper floors... a presence that felt both monstrously powerful and... off-kilter. Like something magnificent gone awry.
Blizzard: We're close. (he murmured to Chirithy while they reached a four meter iron-wrought double door adorned with a skull motif that seemed to leer down at them)
He pressed his ear to the cold metal, listening intently. He heard muffled voices from within, one booming, punctuated by drunken laughter as the clinking of what must have been metal cups added a disturbing beat to it.
Chirithy's small paw rested lightly on his leg as a sense of urgency radiated through that touch, a plea more than a gesture.
Chirithy: Blizzard... about that plan... I... (but the words died before they could even be properly formed. Chirithy, too, sensed it, this wrongness)
Before it could protest further, Blizzard was sliding open the two halves of the door, careful to make no noise, not even daring to breathe too loudly as he peered into a room fit more for a grotesquely opulent king than a simple pirate.
Red velvet drapes, heavy with gold embroidery, concealed the room's few windows as flickering candlelight danced across walls adorned with maps - not charts of seafaring routes or hidden treasures as expected. No... these... these were far older, more elaborate and detailed with celestial bodies arranged around a single island nation in what must've been this world's version of Earth... before its fall. And seated at the far end, upon a throne carved from what looked to be a massive whale's skull, a figure that defied belief.
3.4 meters... Black Beard wasn't simply 'larger than life.' He was a caricature of every pirate myth and legend - impossibly broad shoulders dwarfing even his throne, his black beard a cascade of tangled curls, a patch of skin near his temple shining with what looked to be silver inlaid beneath it, that reached almost to his massive bare chest. A tankard, overflowing with something that must've been incredibly potent judging by the pungent, almost floral, stench it carried, was grasped loosely in one hand while his other pounded the armrest to punctuate each guttural laugh.
His eyes widened as a black-clad figure rose, her stance casual yet unwavering against this display of monstrous mirth as much as unchecked power, despite being dwarfed in sheer stature as even her height, impressive on its own, was diminished by the very scale of that bone-throne and its occupant. There, clutched tightly within gloved hands as she stood directly before this looming giant, was the ornate hilt of Excalibur.
Blizzard: Norgam...?
He recognized her instantly - the pale features beneath her hood, the chilling intensity of those violet eyes gazing directly at Black Beard with an indifference that bordered on contempt, as though the pirate captain and his menacing laughter, the sheer power simmering around him... was inconsequential.
Blizzard couldn't make out their words. Not fully. His ears rang, his head stopped, his vision swimming with each violent burst of Black Beard's intoxicated cackling. All he could manage was a jumble of slurred syllables punctuated by that strange, almost musical cadence that set his teeth on edge from his first encounter with her, back in that mockery of Camelot.
Had Norgam and her organization taken advantage of their absence? Destroyed Camelot? It should have been an impossibility – a madman ruling a fabricated kingdom for all its wrongness... the fake King should had not fell so easily.
A gentle nudge broke him free of his stunned paralysis. Chirithy stood beside him, its usual demeanor absent, replaced by a wary concern. Blizzard's heart ached at the sight – its small form trembling despite every effort at maintaining composure as they stared through that crack in the door at the exchange unfolding before them. It was a silent, unspoken understanding - if Black Beard even glanced their way... it would be over.
Blizzard: Do you think... they destroyed it? Camelot? (Blizzard whispered, his voice wavering with disbelief)
Chirithy: Shhh! Stay quiet and calm yourself. We cannot afford to be discovered.
And yet, despite the sheer size discrepancy between them as much as Black Beard towering over her like a colossal, shadowed mountain... Norgam's expression, her stance, showed no trace of fear. As their eyes met - locked over a distance those drunken pirates might as well be miles away to even notice, she exuded an unnerving calm that was more terrifying than any blustering rage.
Black Beard: Ahoy there, Norgam. Word travels fast even across these shattered seas. You're the one they call 'a Nobody', aye? (he tilted his head back in amusement and curiosity battling for dominance as his beady eyes) It's not everyday a member of that secretive Organization graces my humble abode. (he chuckled, the sound rumbling through the room like distant thunder, each syllable warped by drunken amusement as much as unchecked power. He shifted, the whale-bone throne creaking ominously beneath his monstrous bulk)
Norgam: That I am, (she replied as her tone was smooth despite the annoyance that flickered across her features for a fleeting moment as she met his gaze, refusing to be cowed by either his size or his unsettling aura) You seem surprised. Have you forgotten our agreement? Dorval and yourself, sharing artifacts, information... exchanging pleasantries?
Black Beard: Dorval? (he spat the name like a curse, a flash of what might have been rage twisting those shadowed features) The Puppet Master likes his secrets, does he not? You tell your precious leader... not everything in this world is meant for manipulation. Especially not the tides of fate. (he took a swig from his overflowing tankard, a trail of amber liquid dribbling down his bristly chin before he wiped it away with a dismissive backhand) But you ain't here to reminisce about past dealings, are you, lass?
Norgam: Indeed. (her lip curling slightly as her hand instinctively tightened on the hilt of Excalibur) Camelot fell... thanks to our efforts, but we are in need of more... I suppose. We are after artifacts. Energy.
Black Beard: And what makes you think that I'd be giving up those hard-earned treasures, eh? (he chuckled again, the sound more menacing than jovial) The Organization and its ambitions... it's all a bit above my pay grade, as they say in the old stories.
Norgam: The leader can be quite generous. (the anger simmered within her, kept in check by necessity)
Norgam leaned forward, placing her gloved hands on the table before sliding a wooden box across its polished surface towards him. The box was carved with intricate symbols, a blend of ancient nautical designs and twisted figures that pulsed with an unnatural energy.
Norgam: We offer... possibilities. (her voice, while maintaining an even cadence, had a sharp edge to it, a subtle threat layered beneath the casual demeanor as she watched him) Power beyond what those tales whisper about. A way to reclaim what was lost. Wouldn't that be fitting for someone who styles himself after a ghost of the past, a mere... imitator of this Black Beard? Think of it as... an investment.
Black Beard's gaze lingered on the box, his eyes narrowed in thought. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he reached out his hand and lifted the lid.
Two copies of Excalibur sat side by side nestled in soft velvet lining – their jeweled hilts, glowing wickedly in the flickering candlelight.
Black Beard: Now, that... is what I call a persuasive argument. (he grinned, revealing a mouthful of uneven teeth) Two legendary artifacts, ripe for the taking, eh?
Norgam: Think of it as our way of acknowledging your past efforts and a down payment for your future endeavors. (she clarified)
Black Beard: And what, pray tell, are these 'future endeavors?' You seem awfully confident I'll be accepting this... generous proposal. (he eyed the blades. He had his own ways, a gut feeling when magic, when dark things were at play. And these... These were genuine)
Norgam: We seek more. She made no attempt to hide her ambition. The path to Kingdom Hearts is long and we are short on supplies. The progress we have made has been satisfactory, but time, as you should know... is not on our side.
Black Beard let out another deep chuckle.
Black Beard: Kingdom Hearts, eh? A noble goal, I'll admit. But not one for a simple pirate like meself.
He reached beneath his throne, hauling forth a chest, iron bands holding it together. It was small, unremarkable... but Norgam recognized the aura instantly.
Black Beard: There's many more within. Enough to make your... 'progress' soar above those eighty percent you seem so proud of.
Norgam: That much is a good start. (she admitted as she observed the contents of the chest) But Dorval needs assurances. Our leader... he doesn't trust so easily, and we require one final favor from you, Black Beard.
Black Beard: A favor, you say? (he leaned back, the whale-bone throne groaning beneath his weight, a guttural chuckle rumbling in his chest as if he found this entire exchange amusing) Dorval, he be getting greedy for something as paltry as a 'favor,' is he not? Fine! Name your price, Witch. And let's make it a quick one. This fine rum ain't going to drink itself, savvy?
Norgam: It's not rum this time. We require... assistance. A more... permanent solution to a problem. There's a young Keyblade wielder running amok, sowing chaos across the fractured realms. This child... he'd been a thorn in her side for far too long. He could provoke a cataclysm that would make your reign over these fractured islands seem like a child's game. (she stated as her tone turned cold) He needs to be eliminated.
Black Beard: Eliminated? A Keyblade Wielder? (he furrowed his brow. It took a monumental effort, one that sent another wave of that floral-tinged rum scent wafting through the chamber, for him to tear his gaze away from the artifacts she'd presented him with) And here I thought you Nobodies were after their hearts? Or... what passes for a heart in those... empty vessels of yours.
Norgam: Don't underestimate him, old man. This isn't some fairy tale you've stumbled across in a dusty tome, you know. (she spat the words out as annoyance, at his arrogance more than anything, flared for a heartbeat before she tamped it down. No point arguing. Not with an idiot drunk on stolen power)
Norgam: This... Blizzard? He's more dangerous than you realize. A wild card in a game with stakes far higher than just rum and gold. Think of him as... a loose thread that could unravel the tapestry of reality itself. A plague upon this universe.
Black Beard kept scratching thoughtfully at his beard, the whalebone throne creaking in protest beneath his massive frame.
Black Beard: Nah. That don't make much sense, lass. (he waved a dismissive hand) I've got me a fine collection of Keyblade wielders down here. Eleven in total, locked down tight. Sleeping beauties, one might call them.
Norgam's head tilted to the side as a dangerous glow entered her violet eyes.
Norgam: You... misunderstand. I'm not talking about those... comatose ones. The one I'm after... he woke up. A month ago, as a matter of fact. A fluke, as much as an inconvenience. (her gaze narrowed) We've crossed paths with him twice now... once in an alternate version of Camelot, another within the Technological World. And it seems that you disappoint me.
Black Beard: Huh?
Norgam: You call yourself a king? (she leaned closer, her lips twisting into a mocking smirk) You haven't even noticed the most blatant intruder in the room? (she gestured to the heavy double doors behind them)
Black Beard blinked, confused, glancing around his opulent chamber as though searching for this 'intruder.'
Norgam: HE'S HIDING BEHIND THOSE DOORS, YOU DAMM FOOL! (Norgam could finally see the flicker of realization on his face, followed by a wave of something akin to amusement)
Black Beard: He's been here the whole time? (his grin stretched even wider. He turned to face the doors, those bloodshot eyes glowed with a dangerous amusement as if he'd stumbled across a unexpected form of entertainment, that very grin... wrong on someone this massive)
Black Beard: Come on in, whelp. Stop hidin' behind that fine piece of carpentry. You already got us attention anyway. Ain't polite to eavesdrop. (his voice boomed across the room, bouncing off the velvet-draped walls like a physical force as he stood, towering even more as a thunderous wave of energy pulsed from his upraised hand - a massive sphere of shadowed light)
It wasn't anger, not rage. It was pure amusement that spurred Black Beard. This unwelcome interruption to their dealings had become an opportunity for... fun as he loosed that sphere directly at the doors.
{Black Beard}
Level: 70
Energy Level: 600
{Norgam}
Level: 25
Energy Level: 200
{Current Status}
Blizzard's EL: 150
Blizzard's shocked gasp as much as Chirithy's startled shriek were swallowed by the thundering blast, and the heavy iron doors evaporated in a fiery, explosive spray of molten metal and splintered wood that propelled him through walls and floors. Agony ripped through him, but the fear, the adrenaline... it was a lifeline he clung to as he crashed down into the overgrown forest floor several hundred yards from the Fortress, his body twisting in mid-air to land less painfully, as he looked back towards that looming structure.
A scream ripped through the air, cut short by a jarring thud as Blizzard slammed into the forest floor, branches snapping beneath his weight. He lay there for a moment, dazed, his ears ringing. A sickening ache pulsed from his legs but adrenaline was stronger, urging him to move, to escape.
Scrambling to his feet, he staggered forward, his vision swimming, the world tilting precariously around him. He could barely breathe, the impact having knocked the wind from his lungs. But he couldn't stop, not with Black Beard, that monster of a man and his vile ally out for blood, closing in.
Blizzard: My legs...! (he muttered, his voice a rasp as he stumbled. He glanced down, noticing the angle of his left ankle as a wave of dizziness swept over him. He was injured, badly, but panic fueled him onwards) Chirithy, we have to go, now! (he didn't look back, couldn't risk it. He just ran, weaving between trees, branches lashing at his face, pain a distant distraction he couldn't afford. They had to find cover right now)
And then the voice, sharp with amusement, stopped him cold.
Norgam: Going somewhere?
She stood there, not even bothering to conceal herself as the rising sun painted a halo around her form. She leaned against a gnarled tree trunk, Her violet eyes, normally chilling in their intensity, now glinted with a mix of amusement and anticipation as she surveyed Blizzard, her black coat billowing gently in the morning breeze as if the battle unfolding before her were nothing more than a playful distraction.
Norgam: That was quite a fall you had. Impressive really considering how far you flew. Your efforts are truly comical, and now you're running away?
Blizzard: I'm not... I wouldn't- (he started to protest but faltered, his cheeks burning. What could he possibly say?)
Norgam: He's still out there. Hunting. You truly believe that a flimsy wall, that even a pirate could break, could stop him? (a cruel amusement tinged Norgam's next question) That a pathetic attempt at hiding beneath murky waters would somehow spare you? Black Beard might be an idiot, drunk on his own power, but even he could sense it - that tremor of energy that heralded your pathetic attempt.
Blizzard recoiled, both from her words and from the truth they held. His gamble, his hope that he could slip through unnoticed, retrieve those artifacts before those monstrous pirates realized... had been foolish.
And yet... Chirithy! Dread twisted his stomach, far more agonizing than the throbbing pain that lanced from his ankle, as a new fear took hold. Had they caught it? What fresh horrors awaited his companion within that monstrous bone fortress?
He clenched his fists, fury momentarily replacing the fear that clawed at his insides.
Blizzard: You... you did this on purpose, he spat, accusing. You wanted to draw me out, to get me alone!
Norgam: (chuckle) You catch on quick, for a human. (she paused, her gaze lingering on Blizzard's injured leg) I'll grant you this, that energy energy surge is... unexpected. One hundred and fifty units? For a whelp like you? It's barely a threat to one of my stature. But it does suggest potential for destruction.
Blizzard: Where is Chirithy?
She cocked her head, curiosity and what looked like genuine amusement replacing her icy composure.
Norgam: That fluffy little... 'pet' of yours? Not my concern. She took another step towards him, closing the distance, the smell of ozone mingling with something else. Rotting leaves. Stagnant water. The scent of an approaching grave. Black Beard assured me our 'pest control' situation could be handled... quite swiftly. And after what happened to my dear Xanderius...?
He had heard enough. They were both mad. Drunk on stolen power as if all they cared about was a perpetual score-keeping of grievances and justifications.
Blizzard: Xanderius? Seriously? You're still clinging to this? (how could someone fixate on a death from weeks ago as if it had happened yesterday?)
Norgam: Do not underestimate my love for him you pathetic little excuse of a human! I will never forgive you! I will never forget! You took away the only being that I cared for, and you will pay!
Her composure cracked, hatred simmering beneath those carefully crafted words as she took a step back, her gaze sweeping across the forest floor.
Norgam: Where is he? Don't tell me he's abandoned you to your fate? The mighty soldier, hiding behind a child? (she shook her head as disgust twisted her features)
Blizzard: He... he's gone. (Blizzard said quietly, he'd tried so hard to ignore it. To shove the memory aside as if grief itself could be ignored as easily as a flickering lamp simply snuffed out)
Norgam: Gone...? (confusion briefly flickered on Norgam's face before her brow furrowed as comprehension dawned) The Crimson World... so that's where those idiots decided to take a stand.
A vicious laugh escaped Norgam's lips as a cruel smile transformed her features, more terrifying than any angry scowl considering how effortlessly casual her glee was, and as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat to speak... her words hit him with the force of a physical blow.
Norgam: He deserved it. An accessory to a criminal! And you... you are even worse! How does it feel, knowing you couldn't save him? That even with your... precious powers... you're nothing but a pathetic imitation of what we truly are!
Hatred boiled within Blizzard, fueled by a raw, unfiltered agony he'd never known before as he realized those whispered doubts... the crippling fear that had haunted him ever since waking from that crypt... it wasn't self-pity.
He didn't speak, couldn't. Not when every syllable would be choked by grief, by rage that turned the world into a blurry tunnel, a funnel of hatred that fixated on her smug smile.
He lunged forward, a desperate fury propelling him. His attack was a horizontal swing as Frostbite sang through the air, carving a path toward Norgam. She met his strikes with an almost languid grace, her spear deflecting each blow with precision while that massive, shadowed scythe seemed to dance around him while he felt the wind of it passing near his cheek - too close!
Norgam: Predictable. (she chided as he stumbled, the force of his own attack carrying him past her, those violet eyes cold, almost bored, as they followed his every move) Your emotions blind you, boy. You fight like a cornered animal, lashing out without thought or strategy. Tell me, how do you expect to accomplish anything if you can't even control yourself?
Blizzard: SHUT UP! (he roared, shame and frustration twisting his features as he scrambled back into a defensive stance, the ground slick with morning dew beneath his boots offering little purchase) WILL. Just... when you're gone!
Meanwhile, within the depths of Black Beard's Fortress, Chirithy darted behind a massive treasure chest overflowing with gold doubloons and glittering jewels.
Normally it would've simply popped out of existence, vanished back to the safety of Blizzard's mind, but Black Beard... his aura, thick with a sickening combination of rum and dark magic, felt like a cage. It suppressed its essence, trapped it in its physical form.
For a moment, it just stood there, pressed flat against the cold stone floor, listening. Waiting. Hoping.
A door slammed in the distance, followed by heavy footsteps and slurred laughter.
Chirithy: No... No! Don't go there! (it squealed as if Black Beard himself would consider obeying its plea)
Black Beard: Ahoy there, little critter. What do we have here?
But before Chirithy could even try to speak, to offer a reassurance its own terror was slowly devouring as a shadow stretched into the doorway... A massive hand gripping the doorframe tightly enough to splinter wood as heavy boots scraped onto stone. And those words... they came from behind him.
Chirithy's eyes widened as it recognized the glint of a dark energy forming around Black Beard's left hand - not a full-blown attack, no, but a playful snap of his fingers, conjuring a small orb of shadow that pulsed with a grand intensity. This... This wasn't about hunting, not about a hunt.
Black Beard sought entertainment, and it had become a plaything in his warped game.
He took a swig from his tankard, wiping his bristly chin with a dismissive backhand as he watched as the shadow orb pulsed in his hand.
Black Beard: Now ain't that a sight! Should I squish ya? Toss ya overboard to those beasties circling below? Or... (he leaned forward, a wide, gap-toothed grin splitting his bearded face)
The orb pulsed, a faint sizzle with a sound akin to sizzling flesh as its heat washed over Chirithy, and in that moment, as Black Beard raised his arm, it squeezed its eyes shut, terror coursing through its small form. There would be no escape. Not this time.