Nightsea Outlaw

Charles ducked down an alley as a cadre of armored guards raced past. He held his gun steady at his side and did his best to blend into the shadows. One breath. Two breaths. Three breaths.

Clank. Clank. Clank.

They passed him by. He jumped out of the alley and continued toward the wall ahead. Ortega had disappeared over the top of the wall, and he had no way to catch up—not that he was complaining about being out of the fight. Fighting in the nightsea was for crazies. He wasn't crazy.

"Jumped off like a jackrabbit."

Aside from his curse, which nullified the curses of others, Charles was just a human. He didn't have any fancy techniques or other powers. All he had was his gun and his curse. It was all he needed. A shot in the back, by surprise, with an unstoppable bullet was more than enough to handle the worst he ran into.

"Usually." He spat as he came to the wall. "Tarnation."

He didn't have nearly enough bullets to handle all his problems at the moment. Even with getting his hands on six more rounds, that just made ten. Four in his pockets, six in the gun. It wasn't enough to take down an army of guards, or to waste shooting at some buffoon jumping around in the sky.

Errn.

A metal door in the wall, near the closed gate, creaked open. Two soldiers in steel breastplates stepped out. Charles tucked and rolled, slamming his back into a nearby cart and recovering with his revolver held by his head. He chewed at nothing in his mouth and wished dearly for another cigarette. However, his days-long effort to stay awake and leverage his curse against Miss Malone's memory control had dwindled his supply.

He only had one left, and he was saving it.

"This is like trying to crawl through an ant mount." He breathed out a heavy sigh as he peered around the cart.

"Do you see him?"

"No, he had to have found another exit."

"Back in."

Errn.

It was a quick conversation, but it gave Bolton an opportunity. He didn't know if the door would lock, but he had seen enough gates and guards to suspect it would. He jumped out from behind the cart and huffed into a forward lurch. He had to pull up his pants to keep them from falling down. Charles lunged at the last moment with his gun.

Thud.

Just enough to keep the door from closing shut tight. He breathed out a sigh and nearly coughed up some of the black tar that would come from his lungs. It took a concerted effort to keep it all down. Once he had his breathing under control, he reached his fingers through the door and propped it open enough to see inside.

The two guards were gone, and the short hall in front of him led to a T-shaped intersection ahead. Glowstones lined the walls at regular intervals, giving dim light down the hallway. They were just enough to be better than torchlight, without all the smoke.

Errn.

Charles edged the door open, his revolver following his gaze as he swept the room. If he ran into trouble now, he would have to use one of his bullets. He didn't like that idea, but it was just the cost of staying alive. Madness was the answer.

"See you on the other side," he whispered. "Reject."

He exhaled and opened his gate. A cold darkness reached out from his heart, clawing its way down his arm and to his gun. His hand trembled. His shadow stretched and twisted, and a slow smirk drew a line across his face like a sharp knife.

The trembling stopped as the darkness settled across his bullet. His eyes widened, and his moustache frayed. A cold certainty settled across his mind. He could accomplish anything that needed to be done. He was ready to survive and get off Grim Aegis.

Clank.

A guard turned the corner, long spear in hand and helmet off. The fool didn't even think that an intruder might find him. He raised his gun. The barrel lined up perfectly with the man's bald head. Without a second thought, Charles pulled the trigger.

Bang. Thud.

The guard fell as thunder echoed through the hall. Charles ran. He didn't stop to think about his kill. Chaos was his only friend now, and he needed to gain as much ground as he could before the guards figured out where the shot had come from.

He found the first set of stairs at the end of the long hall and started up them. He kept his gun trained above him and hoped that it would all lead to the roof. Even if Ortega and the Finger he fought weren't up there, the height would give him an advantage.

"What—Intruder!"

From below, the echo of a guard's voice rang through the halls. Charles didn't stop. He turned as he reached the next level and continued up the next set of stairs, even as a guard noticed him from the second-floor hall. He spun, aimed his shot and pulled the trigger.

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Bang. Thud.

The neck had been the target. The guard went down, clutching at his throat, his head falling behind his body. Charles ran up the stairs. He was two bullets down. Four remained in the revolver and four in his pocket.

Charles's lungs burned as he took the next flight of stairs. His legs felt like jelly. However, he knew he couldn't stop running. The cold darkness in his arm pulled him forward. His shadow led the way. There couldn't be many more floors in the wall. He had to be close to the top.

"Another one!"

They had found the second guard. Gunshots were hard to track with just a person's ears. Two shots were needed to figure out the direction of a gunshot. With them going off in different locations, it gave Charles the advantage. So long as he stayed on the run, he could keep ahead. The bodies were his only trail, and that meant his pursuers would always be a little behind.

He raced to the roof.

Mister Tyson looked across the wall, trying to find any trace of Ortega. The outlaw clearly wanted to drag him down into the wall to search for him. It was a way to limit Mister Tyson's movements and negate his ability to fly. Mister Tyson would not fall into that trap. He had a bird's-eye view of the battlefield. If Ortega tried to find a way around him, he would see the outlaw and handle him then.

Flap. Flap.

"He's also not the type to just leave me behind." Mister Tyson narrowed his eyes, his wings keeping their regular flapping to hold him aloft. "He'll come back to fight me."

Mister Tyson took in a deep breath, gathering himself and preparing his body for the fight to come. He had already expended a heavy amount of flames. While he wasn't too tired yet, the defenses Ortega had put up slowed him down. If worst came to worst, he could always enter the second level of his curse; however, that would put him out of it for the rest of the fight. One didn't just drop out of the second level without consequences.

"However, that gambit would be well played if it took down Ortega."

Fwip.

His thoughts were interrupted as a metal rod cut past his head. He instinctively threw himself to the side, his flaming wings pushing him away from the attack. His eyes raced over the wall again, but he saw nothing. Ortega was nowhere to be seen.

"Don't think—"

Fwip.

Two this time. Fire raced across his arm as one of them cut across his shoulder. The second one still missed. Mister Tyson clenched his teeth and flung himself up. If Ortega was just going to take potshots from a distance, he would put himself out of the outlaw's reach. Higher and higher, he soared into the sky, until he was sure he was at the barrier's height.

Except the barrier was no longer there.

A chill ran up Mister Tyson's spine. He, more than anyone, knew what it meant for the barrier to be down. Either the prince was dead,, or worse, Miss Malone had taken the prince and run. Neither option boded well for the operation. With the barrier around the castle, so went the barrier around the island. Without a barrier around the island, anyone could come and go as they pleased.

"Including the blasted dreadnaught." Mister Tyson grimaced, slowing his ascent and looking out to the horizon.

It wasn't quite accurate to what would actually happen. A dreadnaught wouldn't enter an island, but its cadre of ships would swarm in. A dreadnaught was a carrier foremost, the ultimate response vessel for the Empyrean that allowed them to overwhelm with manpower and firepower.

And, as he knew all too well, there had been one outside the barrier for the last three weeks.

"You're distracted."

Thud.

He hadn't heard the voice behind him until it was too late. A massive metal fist connected with Mister Tyson's head, sending him plummeting from the sky and toward the wall. Shock shook him as his vision swam and his mind reeled. Ortega had snuck up on him, or had the outlaw been above him all along? He had never thought to look higher for the outlaw, believing him to be bound to the ground, like most of his foes.

What if Ortega could fly? He had seen the outlaw float on Aherlow, not with his grace, but a sort of awkward levitation. Could Ortega have manipulated his metal to come at him from below while he waited above? That he had allowed such an oversight was unthinkable.

Flap.

He threw his wings out, fire spreading around him as he halted his movements. Fire raced down his arms as he looked up. Ortega was already coming down at him, his massive metal fist held ready as he shot toward the ground. Mister Tyson lowered his hand, focusing aether through his arms.

"Rebirth Slash!"

His hand extended as he flung his claws upward at Ortega. Lines of fire formed from each claw, each one cutting through the air directly at Ortega. Mister Tyson thought the outlaw might dodge out of the way. He might adjust his course and slow down. What he didn't expect was for the outlaw to take the hit head-on.

"Acceleration Piston!"

At the last moment, the metal fist shot forward, slamming into one line of flame while the rest cut through Ortega's body. However, to Mister Tyson's surprise, there wasn't a hit of pain. The outlaw didn't scream. He didn't even flinch. He took the flames as black liens cut across his face and skin.

Boom.

A fist slammed into his chest, sending him crashing down into he wall below. Stone cracked around Mister Tyson, and he lost his breath for a moment. His eyes blacked out, and he blinked to find himself laying out in a small crater in the wall. The stone had collapsed above him, and a few rocks crumbled down into the street below.

He remembered to breathe a second later.

"I'm not out yet," he whispered, pushing himself up from the crater, his flames still intact as he jumped up tot he top of the wall.

Thud.

Ortega landed nearby, his fist connecting with the wall as he caught himself in a crouch. The outlaw was smiling, even though his right eye had shrivelled away from Mister Tyson's flame. Mister Tyson tilted his head. It was a downright suicidal way to fight, and completely unlike the unfeeling powerhouse he had seen on Aherlow.

"You think you've won this?" Mister Tyson heaved out a breath, drawing himself to his full height. "Then let me show you how outclassed you are, outlaw. Molten Serpent!"

He drew in a massive breath, taking in as much aether as he could muster as he opened his gate wider. He fed that aether into his gate, calling on his form to change. He grew, elongated, as his body took on the orange, bright, hot light of the flames. His second level curse gave him the form of a giant, flaming serpent. It would burn Ortega to a crisp.

Bang.

The flow of aether halted as a gunshot rang out. Mister Tyson dropped to the ground, catching himself on stumbling feet before finding his hands on the ground. Blood fell out of his chest, and he absently raised his hand to touch the hole that hadn't been there before. Then, without a second thought, he fell face-first into the stone and breathed no more.