Chapter 58 - Danica
Danica
These filthy assholes stink to high heavens as I fight them off, their body odor a pungent mix of sweat, grime, and what I can only assume is the lingering scent of their last victim's blood.
I can practically see the stink lines wafting off their unwashed bodies.
It's enough to make me gag, but I don't have time for that luxury.
I'm a whirlwind of motion, my daggers flashing in the dim light as I fend off their attacks. I trip one particularly foul-smelling bastard, and he goes down hard, his ass hitting the deck with a satisfying thud—no time to celebrate, not when I've got another one trying to sneak up behind me.
I spin in time, my daggers clashing against his sword with a bone-jarring clang. The vibrations shoot up my arms. I grit my teeth and push back with everything I've got. I'm not letting some two-bit pirate get the best of me.
My peripheral vision catches a weathered barrel to my right. In a heartbeat, I feint left, the pirate's blade whistling past my ear. I pivot, my boots finding purchase on the barrel's curved surface. The wood groans under my weight as I coil, then explode upwards.
For a split second, I'm airborne, the dank air of the ship's hold rushing past my face.
Time seems to slow as I twist, my legs pistoning forward.
My feet slam into the pirate's chest with a sickening thud, the impact jolting up my legs.
His eyes bulge, breath exploding from his lungs in a wheezing gasp.
The force of my kick sends him reeling backward.
He pinwheels through the air, crashing into a stack of crates with a thunderous cacophony of splintering wood and clanging metal.
Debris rains down around his crumpled form as he lies motionless amidst the wreckage, the acrid smell of gunpowder mingling with the metallic tang of blood.
The others are on me instantly, their blades flashing in the flickering light. I let my instincts take over, my body moving on pure adrenaline and muscle memory.
Gripping my daggers tighter, I slice through the neck of another pirate, his blood spurting everywhere like a macabre geyser. He grips his throat, a sickening gurgle escaping his lips as he drowns in his blood—no time to revel in the kill, not when another one comes at me from the left.
I tap into my time-warp power, the world around me slowing to a crawl as I see his next move before he can take his next breath.
I tuck and roll, coming up behind him in a flash.
With a savage twist, I sheath both daggers into his carotid arteries, his blood coating my hands in a slick, sticky mess.
Using my foot, I kick off his back, dislodging my daggers to face the next filthy pirate charging me.
He swings his sword with a roar, and I meet his blade with both daggers, the weight of his swing sending shockwaves up my arms. The bastard releases one hand from his sword, and before I can react, his fist connects with my face in a sucker punch that snaps my head back.
Stars explode behind my eyes, and for a second, I swear I can see through time.
But I'm not about to let this walking petri dish of bad hygiene get the best of me.
I drop to the ground, sliding beneath the pirate's legs.
With a vicious thrust that would make a proctologist wince, I shove my daggers up into his groin.
His scream of agony is music to my ears, a beautiful symphony of karma and instant regret.
"Didn't your mother ever teach you it's not polite to hit a lady, asshole?
" I quip. "Or did she drop you on your head one too many times as a baby?
Actually, don't answer that. I think we both know the answer. "
"Goddamn it, Dani," Rhyland's voice echoes in my head, his worry palpable through our bond. "I'm coming. Just hold on."
I quickly roll to my feet, another pirate slamming me up against the wall, a barrel digging into my back. White-hot pain shoots through my lower spine, but I refuse to let it show. "You're out of your league, little lass," he sneers, his rancid breath washing over me in a putrid stench.
Spittle flies from his black, rotting teeth, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to vomit. I channel my inner Rhyland, remembering his Viking Fighting 101 lessons. With a quick jerk, I slam my forehead against the pirate's nose with a sickening crunch.
He staggers back, blood gushing from his shattered nose.
His hand comes up to cup his face, his eyes wide with shock and pain.
I don't give him a chance to recover. With a fierce cry, I slam my foot into his gut, putting every ounce of strength I have behind the blow.
He goes down like a sack of bricks, his body crumpling to the ground in a heap of filthy rags and unwashed flesh.
I finally get some breathing room, the remaining pirates circling me like sharks. One of them, a particularly ugly bastard with a face like a bulldog chewing on a wasp, leers at me with a predatory grin.
"You're going to pay for this, bitch," he snarls. "And when I get my hands on you, I'm going to take my dick and fuck you until you scream, until you wish you were dead. Then I'm going to fuck your corpse."
I feel my stomach churn at his words, a wave of revulsion washing over me. But I don't let it show, my face a mask of sassy defiance. "Sorry, ugly," I fire back. "I don't do necrophilia. And even if I did, I'd rather fuck a cactus than let your tiny, shriveled excuse for a dick anywhere near me."
His face contorts with rage, his eyes bulging as he lets out a roar of fury. It's like looking into the face of a rabid dog, all frothing madness and primal fury.
He charges at me, his sword raised high above his head, ready to cleave me in two. But I'm not about to let that happen. I've been through too much, fought too hard, to let some scurvy-ridden bastard take me out now.
I can feel the familiar heat building in my hands—that inner fire—always simmering beneath the surface. It's a part of me, as much as my snark and attitude. And right now, I'm tired, pissed off, and in desperate need of a bathroom break.
With a flick of my wrists, my daggers burst into flames, the blades erupting with a brilliant, white-hot glow that illuminates the dank, shadowy bowels of the ship. It's like I'm holding two miniature suns in my hands, the heat so intense I can feel it on my face.
Holy shit. Okay, that's new.
I stare at my flaming daggers in shock, my mind struggling to process what I see. I've always known that my angelic heritage gave me specific abilities. But this? This is something else entirely.
The bastard's ugly face hardens. "Witch!" He lets out another roar, tinged with a hint of desperation, and lunges at me with all his might. But I'm ready for him.
Our blades collide in a cacophony of metal and magic, my flaming daggers hissing and spitting against the cold steel of his sword.
The clash sends sparks flying, each a miniature star born and dying instantly.
The heat is oppressive, warping the air around us into shimmering waves, but I remain laser-focused, my senses heightened by the rush of battle.
We weave a deadly dance, our weapons flashing in the dim light like lethal lightning. The pirate moves with a fluid grace that speaks of years of combat, but against the inferno raging through my veins, his skill is a candle before a wildfire.
With a primal roar that tears from my throat, I channel every ounce of my angelic fury into one devastating strike. My blazing daggers cleave through his sword as if it were nothing more than parchment, the metal liquefying and then shattering in a shower of molten droplets and glittering shards.
The pirate staggers backward, his face a mask of terror and disbelief. The acrid stench of fear mingles with the heavy smoke and sweat. His eyes, wide with horror, reflect the dancing flames of my daggers as realization dawns—he's staring death in the face.
I lunge forward, my body moving with inhuman speed. My daggers trace twin arcs of searing light through the air, leaving fire trails in their wake. They find their mark with brutal precision, sinking deep into flesh and bone.
The pirate's scream of agony is cut brutally short, replaced by the sickening sizzle of burning flesh.
His body crumples to the ground, smoke rising from the charred ruin of his chest. The smell of cooked meat and scorched hair fills the air, a grim testament to the devastating power of angelic fire.
The other pirates watch in horror as their comrade falls. I stand amidst the carnage; my daggers still wreathed in flames. "Who's next?" I taunt, my voice ragged as I pant, chest heaving. "Come on, boys. Let's dance."
The pirates hesitate, their eyes darting between me and their fallen friend, his body still smoking on the floor.
I can see the fear etched into their faces, the dawning realization that they've stepped into a world of shit they never could have imagined.
They know they're outmatched and facing something far beyond their meager comprehension.
Before they can move, a familiar voice cuts through the tension, "You're all fucked."
The pirates whirl around, their faces draining of color as they face the massive Viking vampire. He stands there like an avenging angel, his azure eyes blazing with fury, his fangs bared in a snarl that promises nothing but pain and death.
I grin, feeling relief like a cool breeze on a hot day. "Looks like the cavalry is here, boys," I quip. "And trust me, he's not nearly as nice as I am."
The pirates try to scatter like rats fleeing a sinking ship, their courage failing in the face of Rhyland's wrath. But there's nowhere for them to run, nowhere to hide. Rhyland is on them in a blur of motion, his body moving with a speed and grace that defies belief.