Chapter 25 Maximus #2
I shoved Maneater’s dying body aside, already moving toward Hawk-Eyes, but I was too far away.
Hunter’s eyes gleamed with cruel triumph.
In that split-second of imbalance, he struck.
His rapier slipped past her guard and plunged into her chest. Hawk-Eyes gasped, her eyes wide with shock as Hunter twisted the blade before yanking it free.
She crumpled to the deck, her cutlass clattering beside her.
A scream of anguish tore through the chaos—a sound so raw and primal it momentarily froze the battle around us. Stitches stood at the hatchway, her weathered face contorted in horror as she watched her daughter collapse.
We all chose this life, didn’t we?
Her words from yesterday, in the galley, echoed in my mind.
But had we chosen, really? Had Hawk-Eyes chosen to die on this deck, betrayed by her own crewmates? Had Stitches chosen to watch her daughter bleed out before her eyes?
The old woman moved with a speed I wouldn’t have thought possible, pulling twin surgical knives from her apron. Within a blink, she was upon Hunter, driving both blades into his neck with surgical precision. Blood fountained as she severed his carotid arteries, her face a mask of cold fury.
Hunter’s eyes bulged in shock. He opened his mouth, but only a wet gurgle emerged before he collapsed, twitching, at Stitches’s feet.
My throat constricted as I watched Stitches drop to her knees beside Hawk-Eyes, her blood-slicked hands making a futile effort to press against her daughter’s wound.
The fierce determination in the old woman’s eyes—the same determination I’d seen countless times as she stitched up my own injuries—now battled against despair.
I took an involuntary step toward them. Among The Black Wraith’s aeronauts, Hawk-Eyes was one of the first I’d grown to respect after coming aboard. A tireless worker with a large heart. She didn’t deserve to die like this.
“Stitches,” I called out, my voice breaking. “I’m—”
But the words died in my throat as Butcher’s hulking form disappeared down the hatch, dragging Kaspar with him. The look of terror on Kaspar’s face as he vanished below had molten fury coursing through my veins.
Plug him in.
My body felt torn in half—one part desperately wanting to comfort Stitches in her grief, the other part knowing I had to find Kaspar.
“End this, Reaper!” Stitches shouted, as if reading my thoughts. Her voice was steel despite the tears streaming down her weathered face. “Don’t waste her sacrifice.”
With a final, agonized glance at mother and daughter, I turned toward the hatch.
I fought my way across the deck, my sword an extension of my arm as I cut through the opposition. Willy appeared at my side, wielding a short blade with determination in his young eyes.
“We’ve got your back, Reaper!” he shouted. “Go get him!”
I nodded, grateful for the loyalty. We reached the ladder, but a figure stepped between me and my destination.
Viper miraculously reappeared, blocking my path. His stupid fucking hat somehow still perched on his head despite the carnage. His sword gleamed in the sunlight, his dark eyes narrowed with hatred.
“You’ll have to go through me first.”
I shrugged off my long coat, tossing it to the deck, and the brass buttons clinked against the wood. “Gladly!”
Our blades met with a screech of metal on metal.
Viper fought like the pirate he was—all show and intimidation, designed to terrify opponents into submission before skill became necessary.
I fought like the fleet officer I’d been trained to be—patient, methodical, waiting for the opening his flashy style would inevitably create.
When he twirled his sword around in a flourish, I aimed mine for his open side, but Viper was too quick.
He blocked my strike, and I wanted to growl in frustration.
Despite all his misgivings, Viper had always been an excellent swordsman.
It was the one thing he had going for him and likely the only reason he was able to maintain his position as captain for so long.
A few of the crew formed a sparse ring around us, their faces a gallery of bloodlust and fear. Some shouted for Viper, others for me, but most watched in silence, knowing their futures hung on the outcome of our dance of steel.
Every second we crossed blades was another second Kaspar was being dragged below. I needed to end this quickly, but Viper knew it too, using my urgency against me, drawing out the fight with defensive parries and retreats.
“You ungrateful bastard,” Viper snarled, pressing forward with a series of vicious strikes that forced me backward. “After everything I’ve done for you.”
I deflected his blade. “You’ve done nothing but use me, like you use everyone.”
“I made you my second!” His blade slipped past my guard, slicing a shallow burning line just under my collarbone. Blood immediately soaked my shirt, hot and wet against my skin. “I gave you a place when you had nowhere else to go!”
The pain sharpened my focus rather than dulling it. I fell into the rhythm my old instructor had beaten into me. Measure twice, strike once. Let your opponent’s emotion become their weakness. Viper’s attacks grew wilder with each exchange, his technique deteriorating as his rage built.
“You’re throwing it all away,” he spat, circling me like a predator. “All that we were trying to achieve. For what? A freckled boy with green eyes? I never took the Reaper for a lovesick fool.”
Something vicious flashed through me at the mention of Kaspar. “You don’t speak of him. Ever.”
Viper saw the reaction and smiled, cruel and knowing. “The mighty Reaper, brought low by a pretty face and a warm—”
I lunged forward with a flurry of strikes that drove him back toward the railing.
Sweat stung my eyes as I calculated each move, conserving energy while Viper’s face purpled with exertion.
His breath came in ragged gasps, each swing more desperate than the last, while I maintained the steady breathing rhythm that had kept me alive through countless battles.
But Viper wasn’t finished with his tricks. As I pressed my advantage, he suddenly dropped low and kicked out—directly at my prosthetic. The impact sent a shock of pain through my hip socket as the mechanical limb twisted unnaturally. I staggered, momentarily off-balance, and Viper pounced.
“Always knew that leg would be your downfall,” he crowed, bearing down on me with his full weight.
I barely caught his blade on mine, the hilts locked together as he leaned in, his foul breath hot on my face. “You were never worthy of being captain,” he hissed. “You don’t have the stomach for what it takes.”
With a grunt of effort, I shoved him back. “You’re right,” I said, finding my footing again. “I’m nothing like you. And thank the goddesses for that.”
I feinted left, then struck—not at Viper, but at the ridiculous oversized tricorn perched on his head. The hat flew off, tumbling across the deck like a wounded bird. Viper’s eyes followed it with naked panic, as though I’d struck not fabric and feathers but his very identity.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the watching crew. Some even laughed.
I laughed too—a genuine laugh that seemed to cut him deeper than my blade. “All this time, I thought you wore that monstrosity to intimidate us. Now I see you needed it to intimidate yourself.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Viper snarled, his face contorted with humiliation. “Slowly. And then I’ll make your boy scream for days.”
“No,” I said simply. “You won’t.”
With a roar that was more animal than human, Viper lunged forward, abandoning all technique for brute force. His sword extended too far, his balance compromised by rage. He stumbled—just for a heartbeat—but in swordplay, a heartbeat was an eternity.
I didn’t hesitate. My blade swept in a perfect arc, slicing cleanly through his exposed neck. There was a moment—just one—where his eyes met mine, filled with disbelief. Then the light in them dimmed as blood gushed from the wound.
As he dropped to his knees, I leaned close to his ear and whispered, “This isn’t for me. This is for every soul you’ve sacrificed to feed your ego.”
He collapsed forward, his body twitching as the last of his life drained onto the deck. I grabbed him by the collar and dragged his corpse to the railing, leaving a crimson trail across the weathered planks. The crew parted silently, watching as I heaved the body overboard.
We all listened for the distant thump that we would never be able to hear.
“Let the sand serpents feast on what’s left of him,” I announced, turning to face the assembled crew. “A fitting end for a snake.”
Tension drained from my shoulders—a weight I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying since the day I joined this crew. For one breath, I allowed myself to feel the satisfaction of justice served.
A moment of stunned silence hung in the air, then Patty thrust her bloodied short sword skyward and let out a victorious whoop.
The cheer spread like wildfire across the deck, aeronauts raising fists and weapons, their jubilant cries filling the air.
Blood spattered their clothes—some their own, some their former crewmates’.
Several bodies lay crumpled on the deck, tragic casualties of our brief but brutal civil war.
“Captain Reaper!” Willy shouted, his young face streaked with blood and grime. “Captain Reaper!”
The crew took up the chant, their voices unifying into a thunderous rhythm that seemed to make the very ship vibrate beneath our feet. “CAPTAIN REAPER! CAPTAIN REAPER!”
For a fleeting moment, I thought of the young officer I’d once been, who believed in honor and fair fights.
In following the code to the letter. He might be disgusted to be standing here, captain of a pirate ship.
But that man died long ago, and the Reaper who replaced him knew only one truth: Viper had to die so Kaspar could live. I regretted nothing.