The metallic tang of salt spray and blood clawed at my nostrils, a grim perfume clinging to the humid air of the Sea Serpent.
"Clear the aft deck!" Captain Darius' voice, though raspy with pain, still held its authoritative edge. He leaned heavily against a stanchion, a makeshift bandage blooming crimson on his left arm, but his eyes, sharp and unwavering, raked across the carnage.
Gods, that was close, I thought, my heart still hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The initial, frantic struggle with the Bloodsucker pirates had been fierce, their reputation for brutal strength preceding them. Yet now… now it was a chillingly efficient cleanup.
Their captain, that hulking brute whose reign of terror I'd personally ended with a well-aimed shot from the flintlock pistol Captain Darius had gifted me before, lay sprawled near the mangled remains of a supply crate. The solid weight of the weapon lingered in my memory, the smooth, polished wood a stark contrast to the surrounding chaos. Darius trusted me with this, I mused, my fingers instinctively tightening around the grip. The roar it had unleashed, so powerful for such an old design, still echoed in my mind as the lead ball found its mark, dropping the formidable pirate leader instantly.
Captain Darius had taken a nasty cut in the melee, a testament to the enemy's initial power, but my shot, courtesy of his generous gift, had been the decisive blow, the one that had broken the back of their surprisingly strong attack. With their leader gone, the rest of these once-daunting pirates had become pathetic. Like rats scurrying from a sinking ship, I thought grimly, my gaze sweeping over the fallen forms. And miraculously, despite the ferocity of their assault, every marine was still breathing. Bruised, battered, but alive.
"Anything moving, Lazarus?" Corporal Davies called out, his face smudged with soot and grime, his voice tight.
"Just the tide pulling at their little boat," I replied, my gaze fixed on the damaged vessel bobbing precariously alongside. A few mangled shapes lay sprawled across its deck too, likely the result of the marines' sharp shooting, following Captain Darius' initial, decisive orders even while wounded. Good lads, I thought, a flicker of pride warming the cold knot in my stomach.
One of them, a skinny kid with a desperate look in his eyes, made a suicidal dash for the railing, a foolish hope to leap across the churning water to their pathetic excuse for a ship. A sharp crack from Sergeant Max's rifle ended that fantasy in an instant. He crumpled like a discarded puppet, another body adding to the gruesome tableau on the deck.
It wasn't a fight anymore. It was… pruning. The marines, their movements still reflecting Captain Darius' earlier strategy despite his injury, moved with a cold, almost clinical efficiency, their boots thudding softly on the blood-slicked steel. Each controlled burst of gunfire, each swift, brutal takedown was a punctuation mark in this grim sentence they were writing. There was no bravado, no shouting, just the methodical elimination of a threat that had already been broken.
They're good, I acknowledged silently. Captain Darius had instilled a discipline that even his own injury couldn't shake. And I… I used his gift to put down their leader.
And against all odds, we hadn't lost a single one of our own. A grim satisfaction, laced with profound relief, settled in my chest.
"All clear in Sector Four, Captain!" a voice crackled over the comms.
"Roger that, Ronald," Captain Darius replied, his voice strained but firm. "Lazarus, check those supply crates again. Wouldn't put it past these scavengers to hide something." His focus, even while clearly in pain, remained on securing the ship after the chaos I had helped quell with his generous gift, and ensuring his men were safe.
"Aye, Captain," I said, nodding. I pushed aside the lingering images of the fallen. The deck was a macabre mosaic of spilled blood and discarded weapons. The setting sun cast long, distorted shadows across the carnage. The air was heavy with the silence that follows a storm, broken only by the rhythmic clink of spent casings and the quiet, purposeful movements of the marines as they secured the ship under Captain Darius' watchful, albeit injured, eye.
Those few Bloodsuckers foolish enough to try and reach their own vessel were met with a relentless barrage, their desperate leaps ending in a splash or a final, shuddering collapse on their own blood-stained deck.
"Anything, Lazarus?" Davies asked again, his eyes scanning the shadows.
"Just rats," I muttered, kicking at a loose plank. Rats with sharp teeth and greedy eyes. My flintlock had silenced their alpha. Now the pack scattered. And by some miracle, we all survived. It was over. The Bloodsucker pirates, for all their fearsome reputation, were nothing more than corpses scattered across the deck of the Sea Serpent.
Now, all that remained was the grim task of cleaning up, a stark reminder of the brutal cost of piracy here. I turned away, the metallic taste of blood still lingering on my tongue, and the hollow ache of loss a constant companion in the sudden, heavy silence. Another day lived. Another battle won. I had used Captain Darius' gift well, and against a stronger foe, we had all made it through.
Captain Darius, his arm still bleeding through the makeshift bandage, gave the order. "Helm, set course for base. Get these lads patched up." The deck, slick with pirate blood, shifted beneath my boots as the Sea Serpent turned, leaving the carnage behind.
"System?" I muttered, a hopeful yet uncertain tone coloring my voice.
Ding! Host now have 50 simulation points.
A soft Ding! echoed in my mind. Okay, 50 points. Let's see what I can do with that.
The options flickered before my eyes:
Bronze Simulation (10 points)
Silver Simulation (50 points)
Gold Simulation (100 points)
Diamond Simulation (500 points)
Right now, silver was my limit.
My stats also appeared:
Endurance (20), Strength (9), Agility (7), Spirit (12)
Note: Average normal human (10)