Mystery, Mayhem, Malice

[Khendon Sevon]

Animal rage ran through Teth’s blood like a virus. It took hold in the most basic of his instincts and viciously ripped out any sense of humanity. He was pure evil.

Powerful claws clasped a nearby sailor and flayed flesh with ease. The quarter-blood pulled apart the man, still screaming, and devoured his beating heart. Crimson liquid flowed down his mouth and body in a waterfall of life.

That was enough to make the remaining humans flee in complete and total terror.

Save for the stupefied one that had been flung wantonly. He remained in his daft state.

Being in demon form was disorienting. There were so many scents, enhanced desires, and compulsions to perform dastardly deeds. It was ecstasy.

By comparison, humans were relatively worthless. Their sense of smell was shot, their bodies were weak and easily hurt, and they held their emotions in check.

Tall, dark, and ugly spit a jet of human blood over the entirety of the motionless soldier. It wasn’t for comedy, it was spice for future flavor.

[Varius Troy]

He would've completely overlooked the crate. It was just luck that something caught his eye. It was the accents, the odd characters. Or rather, lack thereof.

The word structure was almost identical. Almost.

Latin. It's not often that you see it printed anywhere, much less on a crate. Jonah could only think of one particular type of people that would want to label something in Latin.

He fished around for something to pry the wooden crate open. Nothing. No time to scour the ship... Lord, this was gonna hurt.

Bringing his left elbow down, he forcefully struck the top of the box. The wood cracked. He brought that hand up, balled it into a fist, and punched through the wooden surface. He winced. Knuckles ringed with pain. There was a good chance something broke in his hand. There was a bit of blood.

He took his good hand and ripped back the splintered boards. The packing material was hay. Not many shipping industries use hay these days. Maybe his hunch was right.

He fished around until his hand struck something. The item he pulled out was wrapped in cloth, tied in several spots by old hemp rope. He untied the ropes and brought back the old rag.

His eyes widened, a smug look crossed his face. He didn't know why the Order would ever transport it in this matter.

"Well I'll be damned."

[Averin Trangall]

The moon shone brightly through the opening in the canopy down into the meadow. They saw the enemy across the way, just as the enemy saw them. The action was slow for the moment, but the first person to charge would incite bloody chaos all through the ranks, and both sides would be slaughtered.

Gregor smiled at Averin--a meek, scared smile, but a smile nonetheless. It spoke volumes, reminded him of all the fun times, and hard, that they'd had together. The times where Averin almost killed him because of his affliction, and that Gregor had stayed with him all throughout anyway, helping him hide his condition from others as best he could, helping him advance through the ranks of greatness and staying behind himself as a result. It was all there, in that one simple smile that lasted but a single moment.

"We will win," he said. "I know it." It was that one smile that told Averin that Gregor did not plan on living through this battle. Before he had time to react, Gregor was charging across the meadow, roaring out his guttural, pure, simple battle cry.

Or was that him? Rushing across a broken, sinking ship, towards the same fate, with the same pure battle cry. But what purpose did he have? Gregor had won the war with his valor--all that Averin was about to acomplish was his own demise.

In mid-stride, he stopped and sprinted the other way, towards the door that led below deck. He ran as fast as he could, running from the demon that would rip him in half with no more effort than it would take to rip wet paper. He tripped down the stairs and landed hard on his chest and hands, but pushed himself quickly up, ignoring the pain.

He saw the guy from on deck, who had somehow damaged the demon, looking at something in a broken chest. He couldn't make it out with the blood and hair falling into his eyes. He rushed into the room and collapsed, a tangled mess of ripped clothing and flesh, covered in blood that wasn't his.

[Khendon Sevon]

Rage thrust its syringe of chaos into the pulsing vein that was Teth. Hatred was injected through his body in a warm flood. Although the rain pounded, thunder clapped, and the water churned, he was singular and distilled to an essence of being beyond mortal comprehension.

The hate-breed, now in his most true form, embraced the whispered contempt that ran through his mind. Instead of reining in on his animalistic self, the shunned soul let go.

The beast grabbed the remnants of the mainmast and, with muscles pumped, lifted it high. In a show of unimaginable power he used the long wooden beam to knock down the fore and aft rigging. As if chucking a pencil, he threw aside the towering phallic symbol—Freud would have been proud.

He was pure evil.

[Varius Troy]

"Kid, you look like hell."

He didn't want the stranger to see the artifact he was holding, so he tucked it away behind his coat. He fiddled with it quickly, finding a way to attach it to his belt. He tore some of the fabric it was wrapped in and wrapped his hand with it. The bleeding wasn't so bad but the swelling was less than favorable.

"Come with me." Walking past the beaten and battered man on his knees he grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to his feet. He was too disoriented to resist. Part of him probably realized it was for the best.

Jonah pushed open the door to his cabin. "Wait here," he ordered the stranger. The man leaned his weight up against the door frame. The elder man rummaged through a large burlap sack, pulling from it what resembled some type of sawed-off shotgun. He turned and tossed it to the man in the doorway.

"Let me make something perfectly clear," he spoke coldy. "I don't like you. And I certainly don't trust you. I think I have every reason not to." He reached into his coat pocket and took out his handgun. He flipped open the cylindar, reaching into a pouch on his belt and removing three new bullets.

"Now that we're clear on that, I should let you know that what yer holdin' is only good for one shot, so it's gotta count. Now, you can use it one me," he paused, then chuckled cynically, "but that hellspawn up there will kill you, and then you can have a fun life in damnation."

Silence on deck. No gun shots, no screams. All the crewmen with rifles were either dead or dying, or jumped ship. In about seven seconds that thing would descend upon the rest of the ship.

"It's what I like to call my Holy Buck Shot. You have to get in pretty close. Like I said, make it count. After that... just get outta dodge fast as you can."

The other man looked puzzled, as if he meant to ask why Jonah was doing all this. He decided it would be best to answer first.

"I need you alive when all's said and done," he told him, "because when the dust settles, I'm taking you for Judgement."

He brushed past him out the door, proceeding to walk back up the hallway to the stairs.

[Averin Trangall]

"Judgment?" The man ignored his question and continued up the stairs to the deck, where the demon awaited, ready to flay the first thing that moved.

The man who had somehow avoided flaying (probably only because the demon was just expecting to flay him later) stumbled in his attempt to follow. It was amazing how much easier it was to run from imminent doom than towards it once you'd come to grips with reality.

He let himself fall to the floor.

"You just go ahead," he called out to the man who was already half-way up the stairs. "I'll wait here." The broken man dragged himself back into a corner of the room, facing the door so that he could blast the demon in the face if the other guy couldn't take care of things.

Some water was starting to slowly creep in through the doorway. Averin would deal with that later; for now, he was going to just sit and rest as best he could, without imagining what was going on above him.

[Khendon Sevon]

Putrid tar rolled from the blackened skin of the demon. Red eyes burned like brimstone beneath a heavy brow. Small, sallow horns protruded from pink patches of flesh near the temporal regions of the monster’s skull.

He was biblical evil.

The hell spawn’s thick tail moved as if possessed by its own volition. It quivered with pent up intent and smashed into the floorboards of the deck. Splinters rose like mist as the ship became porous.

Wave after crashing wave consumed the deck and filtered through the wounds of the vessel. The sea flooded into the belly of the ship and began the process of her death sentence. Soon enough, Rosalyn would drown.

Teth was a monster of pure animalistic desire.

If the craft sank it would be of no detriment to the Guard. Indeed, it would hinder those that sought the purification of all that the organization embodied.

Two slit-like nostrils flared—human blood was in the air and it was fresh. The ten-foot tall acolyte of the apocalypse wheeled around and dropped his jaw in a tormented howl—row after row of razor teeth was bathed in acrid salivation at the thought of meat.

Heaven and Hell were at war on the High Seas.

[Varius Troy]

You just can't rely on anyone but yourself these days.

At least, that's what Jonah thought to himself as he made his way up the short staircase. No matter; he did not need the other man, it just would have made what he was about to do a whole lot easier.

That was, of course, assuming that his hunch wasn't completely off.

Kicking the door open, he came in contact once again with the harsh winds and torrents of rainwater. Lighting arced its way across the sky. The grim scene was lit up for a moment, that of bodies, dismembered and disembowled; pools of black soaked the deck. Small fires burned here and there; the result of too much brimstone, most likely. The blasted stuff fell off the creature's fur like lice from a wino.

Across the deck stood the demon, hunched over, feasting on one of the crew. The thunderous boom from the kicked-open door perked its ears up; as Jonah stepped out on deck, the monstrosity turned slowly, slightly at the neck, slightly by torso.

Blood dripped from its lips. It snarled, showing off the wicked daggers embedded in its gums. A low, gutteral growl came from deep in its throat; most that heard it would swear it was rolling thunder in the distance, the sound of a passing storm.

This storm was only beginning.

"Hey handsome," he called above the shrieking winds and waves crashing against the hull, pausing in speech as he stepped over a desecrated corpse. Drawing his revolver from his coat pocket, he spun it about his finger the way the heroes of the Spaghetti Westerns he would watch as a child might do.

"You didn't go and forget all about me now, did you?"

[Averin Trangall]

The water was already about an inch deep, and was steadily growing. It was rising too fast for the tastes of this man who was not even sure that he could swim. He had gone through training just like everyone else, but it was like forcing a technician to learn combat--no one ever thought he would ever actually need it.

Regardless, he still had at least a few minutes to rest before he would have to pull himself up and make his way upwards, hopefully finding the suspiciously charitable guy to be both alive and still charitable. There was little chance that he would make it off this vessel alive without help, given his current condition.

The salt water at least felt a bit refreshing, though the smell was rather unfortunate. It was at least good to get some of the sticky blood off of him, though it would be impossible to get it all.

He had the shotgun lying in his lap for the time being, but he wasn't sure if it would hold up after being submerged, and he thought it would be best not to risk testing that particular notion.

Averin waited.

[Khendon Sevon]

Muscles rippled under thick, armor-like flesh. The beast splayed his claws in anticipation of blood to be drawn. Feral eyes narrowed and took hold on the essence of the soul standing defiantly before the maelstrom of sin.

A hoof pounded the wet wood of the deck anxiously as a grunt drew a cloud of exhalation from the beast’s nostrils. The demon shook water from the patches of jagged fur that protruded intermittently.

It was like a bull seeing red.

The devil’s minion threw itself forward on its powerful legs. The frame of the vessel shook violently with every weighted step in the headlong sprint.

Talons were brandished, teeth gnashed, eyes blazed.