^{Atlasday 13th Amiel}

BOOM! Another sonorous tone added to the cacophony of battle that had been raging outside for the past ten minutes now. High-pitched shrieks and shouts of pain soon followed, complimenting the staccato of point cannon fire before another bellowing shot was loosed from the orchestral war-beast that was the Ocean Horizon, which only caused it to shake the entirety of its' structure. Amidst the opera of war, that had descended upon his ship once again, sat Captain Fletcher G. Payne; at his desk, entirely nonchalant and seemingly oblivious to the whole situation, despite the shattering of glass ornaments and china crockery that had once decorated his quarters.

The ship shook once more, this time from being on the receiving end of the enemy's cannon-fire. But the Captain refused to look up from the various maps that had been sprawled out upon his desk and aptly held in place by a few knives stabbed into the softwood surface. He reached out for his flagon of rum, draining it until only the last few dregs remained. Only then did he look up towards the door and sighed. His personal stock had run dry weeks ago and he was now relying on whatever they had left in the hold. But that would mean going outside and having to fight through whatever meager boarding force was trying to capture his ship this time around.

In a normal situation, Fletcher would have been far more attentive to the whole thing but considering this was the twelfth attack in as little as two weeks, he had grown extremely bored of it all. The attackers in question were likely another vassal ship to one Green Goran; a long-dead Captain of Vivian's Mercy, a notable pirate crew around these parts or at least they the used to be. The pirate crew, who still sailed in his name, were understandably angry at his untimely death and had put out a sizable bounty on Fletcher's head ever since his Bosun & long-term associate-turned-friend, 'Poole the Unkillable', had shot Green Goran through the face about three or four years prior.

The fact that Poole had actually come back from the dead to carry out the slaying, however, meant that the crew didn't actually have the balls to attack the ship themselves, thus sending whatever ragtag crew of pirates who didn't know any better to carry out the job instead. It was pathetic really, but it remained the same ritual every time they passed through this section of the skies on their way through the skies nearest Shoel. He reminded himself to thank Poole once again for this inconvenience.

With an exaggerated exhale of breath, Fletcher pushed himself out of his chair, using his grasp on the edge of the desk to steady himself. The ship's shuddering was becoming increasingly more violent, not the mention the effect that the rum was having on him. 'Maybe another flagon would be too much?' His mind quickly thought. "Nonsense!" He somewhat slurred in reply. Making sure to grab Fujin, Fletch made his way to the door of his chambers and to the sounds of raucous fighting beyond.

Opening the heavy, wooden door took some manner of effort and the Captain was instantly met by the bellow of an enraged pirate. Certainly not one of his own, but too well equipped and dressed to be just any pirate. The repulsively ugly man turned to face him, recognizing him for who he was. Another shout went up, this time in joy, and he began his charge towards Fletcher's doorway, his battle-axe flailing in the air above him. Being in the state he was, Fletch was in no hurry at all to try and stop the man. Instead, he merely waited until his charge brought him close enough and simply slammed the thick door closed. The resulting Thud! was accompanied only by the crunch of his nose and the sound of the assaulting pirate clattering to the deck completely unconscious. Fletcher smiled at his own ingenuity.

He opened the door once more, this time stepping outside immediately and over the crumpled heap in front of him. To his surprise, the atmosphere was vastly more chaotic than he'd expected. Instead of the the half-hearted defense they been used to fielding for these attacks, Fletcher could see nearly every significant member of his crew out on the main deck, fending off the onslaught of pirates. It was then that he recognised the ugly one's attire. They contained the colours of Vivian's Mercy. He was immediately taken aback. They must've finally grown tired of sending dogs to do their dirty work and had decided to confront him themselves.

Fletcher smiled, this was exactly what his crew needed: A good fight. Over the last month, the mood aboard the Horizon had become increasingly sullen as it always did at this time of year. It was only two weeks until the Festival of Light, the week-long celebration of the three Progenitor Moons graciously offering all of their combined light to the survivors of humanity. It was a time of jubilation and remembrance. It had been a traditional festival of celebration even long before Atlaias was slain. But with life upon the Eternal Ocean being so dark and bleak, a Festival of Light held all the more significance now.

For the crew of the Ocean Horizon, however, this was not to be. In the eight years since Fletcher had set his ship to the skies above the ocean, the Horizon had never once made it back to Shoel for the celebrations. Not through bad luck or timing but by Fletcher's own decision. Admittedly, it wasn't a very popular decision but the young Captain had maintained his stance on the matter nonetheless, stating that his mission was far more important than a week-long booze-fest. He'd even prohibited any festivities on board the ship. A rule that certain members of his crew had tried to break on more than one occasion but only succeed in earning his ire. Strict punishment in the shape of lashing awaited anyone who would try nowadays.

But this year was to be different. By some stroke of luck, which Fletcher had found hard to believe at first, the Horizon was going to be making port at the Tower-City of Shoel just in time for the Festival. He believed that the Progenitor Gods had finally had enough of his ruling and had conspired with fate to force the Horizon to attend the celebrations. Had he not been so religious, thanks to Cagen's balanced teaching of Science and Religious Studies, he would have immediately turned his ship in the opposite direction and sailed for three weeks straight. As it was though, Fletcher would have been a fool to do so. Many a Sky Ship Navigator relied on the constellation of the stars and the positions of the Moons to successfully guide their ship towards their destination safely and unharmed. And it was widely believed that the Progenitor Gods controlled the stars specifically to aid the sailors in this. And if the stars had led his ship to arrive at Shoel around the time of the Festival, then who was he to purposefully deny that from happening.

Without thinking any further, Fletcher stepped into the fray, holding his sheathed blade high above him and yelling, "Fight harder men! After this we sail toward Shoel & the Festival of Light!"

Silver stifled a yawn as he looked over the battlefield from a higher elevation on his Slyph fighter. This had to be the fourteenth fight in a row or was it the tenth? It had been a busy two weeks and he had forgotten how many times he had to take to the skies to fend off these attackers. He adjusted his goggles before grabbing the controls of his fighter and diving back into the fray while issuing orders to the pilots under his command with a combination of hand signals and bursts from his short range radio.

The guns on the Slyph fighters weren't strong enough to do any serious damage to the other pirate's ship, but they could handle taking out gunners on deck as well as other fighters. His job would just consist of dogfighting other Slyphs and making attack runs along the decks of the ships. Silver cursed his luck as he ended up in a diving barrel roll as a burst of rounds whizzed past his head nearly ending his short life.

Kingsly finally leveled out his fighter underneath the battling sky ships only to be jumped upon by two hostile fighters that had just been launched. Yelling curses at the other two pilots, Silver put the nose of his Slyph towards the sky before killing the engine and letting it flip over as the two enemies shot past him in a matter of seconds. Firing off a short burst as he started up his engine again and followed after the sole remaining fighter into a turning battle.

The fight didn't take long as Silver fluttered his left engine to cut his turn shorter and was able to get a bead on the other pilot before he knew what had happened. As he watched the other ship tumble into the Eternal Ocean below, he covered up another yawn as he shook off the encroaching fatigue that was slowly overtaking his body. This was not the time to be tired though as there was still more work that needed to be done before they could take a nice long rest. Soon they would be able to relax on Sheol for the upcoming festival which Silver was looking forward to as he had not been to Sheol in over 9 years and wondered how his parents were doing. He shook his head as these were thoughts for another time as he quickly gained altitude back toward the roar of men and cannons.

Petros surveyed the ongoing battle aboard the ship. One tactic, aim at hostiles but never shoot, had become routine for him in his short time on the ship. He had no doubt that this ruse would eventually get him in trouble, but for now it served to keep him sane. In reality, Petros wasn't as comfortable as some of his crew-mates when it came to killing. Sure, he'd defend himself if a pirate were to ever rush him, but being that his style was best used in the back lines- there never seemed to be much chance of that. After all, between Fletcher, the pilots, and the crew in the front lines- incidents didn't seem to last for very long. The enemies never got very far, and it always ended up feeling like a skirmish rather than an outright battle.

Instead, Petros would occasionally draw from his assortment of explosive bows- seeking to fire them into the enemy canons or to cause enough disrepair on the enemy ship to force a retreat. Petros was rather exceptional when it came to aim. He managed to take out a few of the enemy ship's weapons. He took a slow breath with each shot careful about his placement to avoid hitting hostiles. From his vantage point, he could see Fletcher dealing with some of the enemy pirates himself. He was certainly a skilled fighter. His apparently supernatural abilities were enough to make Petros more than a little nervous, however. In fact, any of the crew that possessed such capabilities made the archer's heart skip a few beats now and again. Shrugging it off, he continued his shooting. Hopefully this fight would be over soon.

Even then, an end to this madness meant traveling to Sheol for the Festival of Light. An unfortunately persistent tradition of fools in a drunken stupor injudiciously romping about the towers. Petros was neither religious or a drunk, and so the prospect of him spending a week in Sheol was utterly dreadful. Either way, this meant some shore-leave and Petros could definitely use a break. He'd likely make haste for the quietest corner in a library, and bury himself in archival studies for the week. Now that was a thought...

"This has been an unexpected development."

"That doesn't mean this isn't your fault!"

"This is not my fault."

Poole and his inebriated friend had been fighting other pirates for years, and at this point, they could talk while they did. They stood on the bridge surrounded by a loose, shifting circle of pirates of Vivian's Mercy, fighting whichever would rush forward at the moment. Fortunately for Ocean Horizon, the invading crew was larger due to its loosening standards for acceptance with the loss of Green Goran, though unfortunately for Poole, that meant that there were more crewmembers of the Mercy that had not known him, first-hand, as a man who could not be killed.

A short, pockmarked pirate with curly red hair lurched forward from the circle of cutthroats surrounding the two, and unsheathed his weapon; a shimmering steel rapier. He wore a blue shirt and grey pants, banded together with a wide black belt, with Vivian's Mercy's mark across the center of his belt -- The red silhouette of a woman holding two swords. In an instant, the redhaired young man sprung forward at Fletcher with his right arm outstretched, intending to run him through at that very spot. The captain side-stepped and spun down the outside of the man's arm in a flash of movement and was behind the fencer, back to back, in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Still turning, Fletcher's spin brought the Fujin's sheathe directly to the side of the man's head, sending him flying back into the crowd of pirates.

"Is too your fault!"

"This is not my fault."

Another pirate tore through the crowd of more cautious invaders encircling the two, though this one rushed towards Poole. Unlike Fletcher, Poole lacked martial training. Unlike Fletcher, Poole also used a gun. As quickly as the man leapt at Poole, Poole drew his rifle up and shot at the man from the hip. True to his mark, the shard instantaneously exited the back of the man's torso, and he crumpled forward towards Poole.

"Perhaps we should discuss this after the battle has commenced."

Maria sat in the small, dark, and windowless corner of the medical bay with only a small light illuminating the surface of her tabletop. She was well aware of the battle occurring right outside with the occasional shaking of her surroundings and rattling of equipment. Since it's become a common event recently, she plugged her ears and attempted to continue grinding various plants and herbs into powder. With her minimal combat experience, staying hidden and out of the way was the best method of helping. She paused for a moment and glanced down to her katar which had slid off of the table from the swaying ship. While reaching down to grab it, another cannon blasted into the Ocean Horizon.

The impact knocked back Maria's chair, and she flipped onto her stomach. She groaned in pain exaggeratedly while rolling onto her back. A crash and crack were heard as her clay mortar and pestle shattered into pieces on the floor. Without hesitation, she sat up in a panic and immediately tried to gather the scattered pieces and small grains of powder. To no avail, her gloves managed to gather bits of dust and broken clay. The resulting powder had separated and disappeared, with a zero percent chance of recovery. Maria clenched her fists tightly and yelled out of frustration. She pulled out her ear plugs and grabbed her katar, ready to irresponsibly rush into battle.

Unfortunately, her loudness already attracted an intruder into the sick bay. Upon looking up, Maria's eyes met with a fairly burly goon who managed to get onto the ship. She quickly stood up in an unsteady manner and staggered before tripping over her own feet. With a loud thump, she fell flat on her face once more. The enemy pirate sneered at the girl's encounter with blunt humiliation before approaching her with his weapon drawn. Maria kept her face down in shame and mumbled to herself, "Can I die right now please?" Glancing up, she spotted her katar only inches away from the despicable pirate. He purposely stepped on it and kicked it even further away. Eventually, he hovered just above her and pulled back his weapon, ready to rain down death upon an innocent bystander.

But alas, to save the day, a hero bird swooped in from the open door and ferociously pecked at the pirate's head. While he was distracted with flailing around, Maria took the opportunity to lunge towards her weapon. Frantically but carefully pushing herself to her feet, she pulled back her katar and charged it straight into the brute's abdomen. Unable to pull it out afterwards, she let go and stepped back in hopes of seeing the burly pirate die. Luckily, with a stab to the stomach and multiple blood-drawing pecks, he collapsed to the ground. Maria knew he wasn't dead yet but figured with a wound like that he'd be gone in no time. She struggled for a few minutes to pull her katar out of the unconscious body and made her way outside to where the real scuffle was happening. Her bird familiar sat itself comfortably on her shoulder as she engaged in combat with uninvited guests--or, at least attempted to.

The crow's nest was Carlos favorite place during a fight, he could take his time, not have to worry about melee combat and make every shot count. These enemy pirates were numerous and tough, so he only focused on what looked like squad leaders or alpha pirates. The headshots were coming easy, satisfying crack and splatter sounds were coming from the impact of the Long Game Sniper Rifle. In 5 minutes, 12 pirate heads busted open like raw watermelons. Carlos didn't particularly enjoy violence, but he had so much fun hitting targets he found himself smiling with every shot. But this was no duck hunt, or at least, these ducks had guns too.

BRAPEPP, PSSSKT

Carlos shot back behaind the cover of the iron laced crows nest, not entirley bullet proof, but it was so far out of a pistol's range it didn't need to be, plus these Vivian's Mercy shooters were some of the worst marksmen he'd ever seen. No timing, no posture, just trigger happy thugs that couldn't hit a white whale on a black background. They seemed to be better in close range though, Carlos did his best to ignore the screams of the nameless crew members as they were being gutted buy the enemy in front of him. As he loaded his Long Game rifle he noticed some of the main crew in the mix.

Poole and Fletcher were kicking ass all over the place, between the dead man's shooting and the captain's grace with the blade, Carlos already knew they needed no assistance, he turned his head to focus on his old schoolmate Silver Kingsly in the sylph fighter, sweeping up some of the awful gunners on the Vivian's Mercy ship. Again, someone who needs no real help from Carlos.

But then Carlos spots it, the new-ish member Petros who was doing a more than fine job of busting artillery with his exploding arrows but something was odd. Any true marksman such as Carlos could see that...He wasn't shooting any pirates. A bullet wizzed past his face as he stood there in amazement and mild horror at this fact. Why a pirate of the Ocean horizon wouldnt kill attackers was a mystery that Carlos had no good answer for. Carlos stopped himself from making the stereotype that a homosexual pirate would be less willing to fight. Carlos himself has occasionally enjoyed the company of laying with a man, and he had no qualms about popping heads open with high caliber rounds. Maybe there is something else going on here......

BIZZZOOOOOOM

A bullet ricocheted off the crows nest, and Carlos returned to sniping hastily, realizing that there was now a fairly large group of pirates firing on his position since leaving himself exposed.

Requesting cover from ground units, keep them away from the nest while I climb out of here and man the cannons, where the hell is The Black Baron?

Yara turned and flung her dagger at a man advancing towards the nest. He dropped to the ground when the blade pierced the back of his skull. She moved quickly to retrieve her weapon. Pulling the blade from the dead man's skull, she wiped the blood off on the corpse's shirt, and was back to defending the ship, and her crew mates. Officially she was just a medic, but by all accounts she was also a pirate, and thus was rather good at fighting. The girl knew her way around a gun, and was even better with knifes.

A bullet jetted pass her ear, and she raised an eyebrow as she looked for the source. A fat bald man smiled as he aimed the gun at her. Yara just miss getting hit as she weaved out of the way, but unfortunately the bullet hit one of her fellow crew members who had been behind her. The nasty shooter was to far away for her to toss her blade with any accurately. Luckily Carlos took him out before the bastard had time to reload. Yara almost smiled up at the nest, but she was back into the fighting a millisecond later.

She jumped off a crate onto a burly pirates back, and slit his throat before he had time to struggle. Then she noticed Fletcher had finally made an appearance, which boosted the moral of the crew, and promises of going to the Shoel Festival, was followed by simultaneous cheerful shouts. Judging by the way things were going, the enemy would most likely call for a retreat in the next few minutes. Out of the dozen or so fights and battles that had taken place the last two weeks, this was hardly an endeavor. Yara decided to make her way over to where Maria was hacking away. The deck was littered with bodies, blood, and brain matter. She was not looking forward to the clean up, when this was all over with.

The elevated bridge of the Ocean Horizon rose approximately ten meters higher than the port and starboard nacelles, comprising the twin hulls of the unique Sky Ship. Alcides Demophon, also known as the Black Baron truly loved working and living aboard this fine flying vessel. It was beautiful to behold donning an ominous impression on those who would seek to do her harm. As navigator, Al Demophon, formerly of a tiny flat on the 197th floor of the Western Tower or the Broken Spires, was able to both chart courses at the Captain's direction and handle the flight controls for the wonderful ship. Al's life on the Broken Spires was long ago, and he never considered it home any longer, or at least in the past seven or eight years. He was home aboard the Ocean Horizon.

Fletcher Payne is more than just the Captain of the Ocean Horizon but one of Al's best friends. He and the ship's Master-at-Arms have seen a lot of action aboard this uniquely crafted warship, but never as much action as they witnessed in the past two weeks. Today was far from an exception. This may have been the tenth or fifteenth encounter with hostile pirates in the past two weeks. Alcides had lost count of how many attacks the crew of the Horizon fended off. They grew weary, but would not buckle under the strain of constant fighting. Al considered his lust-filled desire for a shot of rum on a number of recent occasions, but could not recall where a full bottle could be located. It was on his list of things to procure once they docked at the Southern Tower, the City of Shoel. However, they would need to survive the current encounter with Vivian's Mercy in order to claim that prize. He resigned this objective to be one of his many rewards he would receive for winning this battle with such a brazen crew.

Al heard the story about how Mr. Poole many times. The ship's Bosun was killed by a merciless pirate named Green Goran. Then the half man, half machine creature rose from the dead delivering a face full of crystals into Mr. Goran, resigning this pitiful seaman from a life of piracy. Due to his untimely death and resultant resurrection, giving him the opportunity to enact personal vengeance upon his killer, Mr. Poole was henceforth referred to as Poole the Unkillable. It was a name that stuck, generating respect from every quarter of the Ocean Horizon. No one would ever mess with the Horizon's Bosun. Besides, how many people have the chance to kill their own killer after they died?

Before the fracas commenced, the ship was set on a course of one three five (135°) at an elevation of twenty five hundred meters (8200 ft.). The Black Baron anticipated arriving in Shoel the day after tomorrow. He and the rest eagerly anticipated participating in the Festival of Light, something they had been deprived of as long as anyone aboard the Horizon could remember. He checked the flight controls and heading to ensure they remained unchanged. Satisfied they were accurate Al decided it was time to join his brothers and sisters.

The crew of Vivian's Mercy were more numerous than those aboard the Horizon. This was quite apparent. The Captain informed everyone they would need to dig down deep inside themselves to fight hard in order to win their opportunity to participate in the Festival this year. Al was aware celebrants at Showel used various forms of pyrotechnics in their revelry, but the crews of the two sky ships locked in combat were generating their own fireworks.

"Get the hell off my bridge!" Alcides yelled at a pair of unknown pirates as he thrust his rapier into one man's chest. Then he thrust his right boot into a second man's abdomen, knocking him back several paces. "This is no place for scum like you!" He yelled at the Vivian crewmember. He retrieved a cryslock pistol from its holster discharging the weapon at point blank range into the man's face. Al viewed the destruction of his blast, "oh, that's gotta hurt." He allowed himself verbal assaults upon his opponents. It was only fair since the Horizon was hosting this engagement.

A pair of Sylph fighters raced up in front of the bridge arcing over the top and streaked aft about five meters above deck. It was enough to make Al duck. When he regained his composure, he caught Mr. Poole in a fight with a drunken bastard from Vivian's Mercy. It did not take long for the seven foot Bosun to put an end to his wretched existence, with a little help from the Ship's Captain, Payne.

"Fletcher G! Very nice to see you old boy! I am so glad you could join this afternoon's merriment. It is a lovely day, indeed. The sun is bright and a cool breeze is blowing in from south, southwest. We have a splendid array of guests streaming aboard ship and I promise to buy you a drink of whatever you may desire as soon as we make port in Shoel," Al Demophon spoke to Captain Payne during the fight. He listened to Mr. Poole and Captain Payne argue over who was responsible for this onslaught aboard their home. The Black Baron felt obliged to add his two cents, "Mr. Poole, it is your damn fault! Now get on with the business of dispatching these scurvy rats to some bottomless pit."

"They're blowing holes in my beautiful ship, man! Stop letting them do that, for the sake of the gods!" Grant released his two-fisted grab on the deckhand's jacket, returning his gaze to the cannon in front of him. The barrel had, through some unlucky miracle, been hit by an opposing shot, tearing off the entire front half of the metal cannon. "Shit." He said, not for the first time. "Rest in peace, Mackenzie," he said, then whirled to the deckhand. "You! Keep firing! Bastards want to shoot my baby, you're going to shoot back, damn it! Go! Go!" He pushed the man gently toward the nearest intact cannon, ready to fire.

This was a problem. Each cannon had its purpose, each shot, a target. This was a boomber, and now it wasn't booming. He had a spare barrel in one of the store rooms behind him, but he needed someone else to help him lift it. The thing weighed a ton, at least. He couldn't spare anyone down here: Jackal was down and out cold, and they had already been understaffed when the fight had occurred. "Damn pirates," he mumbled, not for the first time. "Keep firing!" he roared again. "You have your orders, and you're all smart lads! Keep on 'em, and don't let them blow any more holes! I'll be right back!"

Then he was gone, whooshing down the ship's second deck. "HEY!" He roared, for anyone who might hear him. "I need a guy! Or girl! Literally anyone who can help me lift some shit will do!" He repeated the call over and over, even though he knew no one was downstairs. Everyone was on the top deck, duking it out with the pirates. He'd seen them all and knew where everyone was, but that didn't mean he could just run up there and hope to survive. He had his knife and his gun, and that was it: not exactly an arsenal.

Gun in hand, he poked his head out of one of the hatches, looking over to Fletcher. "Oy! Captain! Really, really could use someone to help me out downstairs!" Hopefully his voice would carry so that someone would hear him. He shot a man rushing toward him for added effecting, hoping to draw the captain's attention.

There was a battle of another kind going on below deck, Ravin could fight just as well as the other men, but if he let ship go down they were all doomed to a watery grave. There was a muffled sound of a cannon, which was followed shortly there-after by a blast through the hull. Metal and wood flew through the air like shards of glass, and the impact sent Ravin flying into the other side of the engine room.

A moment later he came to, only to find two enemy pirates had weaseled their way in to his domain. Worse yet a cannon ball had sailed right through the main frontal engine. Shit! Ravin said aloud, more in aggravation than fear. He tried to take a step towards his aggressors, but his prosthetic leg had been damaged in the blast, he fell over instead.

Both men came rushing towards him. With little time to react, Ravin swiftly, and expertly assessed the damage to the engine, made a few minor calculations in his head, and the grabbed a lever just underneath the destroyed engine. He pulled as hard as he could, and boiling steam came bursting forth from one of the damaged pipes. Searing the faces off of the rival pirates in a terribly grotesque display.

With a sigh of relief Ravin shut off the steam and hobbled his way to the ships Redundancy Systems to switch on the secondary engine. But when got there the console was all but destroyed. Wires and circuits littered the groud, along with wood metal and outright destruction. Ravin cursed under his breath, looked around for an intact intercom and found one nearby. He smashed the button down with his finger, nearly breaking it in the process and called out over the ships PA @Emma “Yara!” He called from engineering, “I need your help in engineering NOW! With a please of course.” He added with a barrel full of sarcasm.

With that Ravin slid down the wall into a sit, he needed the back up engine engaged manually, but with his broken leg he couldn't do it on his own. He had to wait for help.

"This is not my fault."

Lots of social nuances had escaped Poole since his resurrection, and changing the cadence and tone of things he'd repeat to not sound creepy was one of them. Poole repeated his phrase in the same timing, tone, and electric-sounding voice, as if the bosun were speaking in front of a fan. Having shot his rifle once and without a spare five seconds to reload, Poole tossed the rifle forward towards a pirate confusedly opening his arms, before crumpling downwards after actually catching the behemoth of a gun. With one pirate temporarily disabled, Poole raised his fists in a pugilist's stance and thrust an arm forward with a hydraulic-sounding hiss, punching a pirate in the chest more like a firing piston than swinging strike.

The man was launched backwards into his fellow crewmates, and in rapid succession, Poole did the same with his unextended fist to another. Poole continued to swing at the small group towards him, punching his steely fists into men full-force, sending them crashing backwards at best and breathlessly grasping their collapsed ribcages at worst. It wasn't long before the group that had formed around the two began to disperse, grabbing a few of their wounded and dragging them back towards Vivian's Mercy.

"They are retreating. Shall I advance?" Poole remained in his clinched boxer's stance, prepared to continue his onslaught if need be, though Fletcher shook his head, placing his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

"That won't be needed. We sail for Shoel today, not the heads of our enemies." The captain gave a chuckle, and was joined in his laughing by the few crew members who could hear him over the dwindling battle. "Excellent work Mr. Poole. We'll clean up the rest of the trash on deck, you're free to go charge."

Poole gave a nod, and that was that. He straightened himself with a mechanical whirr to his motions, and began making his way below the deck to his cabin. There were still a few enemies left to be finished off or thrown overboard, but what was done was done -- the retreating pirates incited even more to retreat, and so on. With Fletcher having dismissed Poole, the cyborg was now more focused on having some time alone and recharging than picking off a few pirates or listening to the captain talk about the attack and whose fault it was.

He descended further into the belly of the ship, towards his quarters and office. The captain and quartermaster had offices near the top of the ship where the sun shone, but not Poole. His room was at the end of a dead-end hallway only close to the ship's boiler room, the engines, and the deckhand's bunks. Poole enjoyed the solitude -- Less questions, after all. He grasped the handle of the door and opened, entering the room and closing the door behind him. It was dark, as it always was, illuminated only by the arcing electricity of several coils and terminals in the room, with the only noise the bubbling of several glass bottles and beakers. At the corner of the room was a dusty glass tube where Poole had slept for two thousand years, though it was now cracked and forgotten.

"Poole the Unkillable, I take it?"

A figure crept out from the shadows, and Poole's head snapped to the side to meet his gaze. He wore a black pair of pants and sleeveless red shirt, though what Poole noticed immediately was the man's sword. It was a simple enough scimitar, though it seemed to be connected by the hilt to a battery pack worn on the man's back by a wire. With the click of a button, the blade began to drip with sparks of electricity in the darkness of Poole's dungeon of a room, illuminating the pirate's face for split seconds at a time with blue light. He was a fearsome man with a shaved head and black goatee, with a scar running over his nose.

"My name's Zeke, but that don't matter for long. Pretty soon I'll be Zeke the Zombie-Killer, and you'll be a dead man once more."

"I disagree." Poole grabbed one of the bubbling glass bottles and flung it at the invader, and with a swing of his sword, it shattered mid-air into thousands of pieces around the man. Coated in the bottle's pink liquid but unharmed, the man gave a laugh and brushed some of the pink fluid out of his eyes. The two began to circle one another, the pirate with his electric sword and Poole with his metal fists.

"Dirty trick. You use the same dirty tricks to kill Goran, dead man?" The pirate began circling closer and closer towards Poole, swinging his sword over his shoulders in a flashy spin to draw the bosun towards the wall.

"There is only one dead man here." Poole swung his arm towards the man, and in a flash of movement, the pirate swung his electric blade at the bosun, sinking it into his arm as it expelled electricity. Poole seized back as the electricity surged through his body, though the same could not be said for the soaking wet pirate who stood before him, frying himself in his inability to take his thumb off of his hilt's button. He twitched twice as he began to smolder, and Poole dropped to his knees to dislodge his arm. The man slumped forward over one of Poole's steely shoulders, and the bosun pushed his body off with a shove.

Biologically, Poole didn't have a use for deep breathing. He no longer required oxygen to send to his remaining brain, and had no parasympathetic nervous system to stimulate in doing so. Still, Poole sat on his knees, with his undamaged arm supporting him as well, breathing deeply. After a few moments of this, Poole stood up and straightened himself out once more, before lumbering towards a metal box on the wall, and dialing a few of the buttons.

"This is Bosun Poole requesting first aid and a body's removal in the bosun's quarters."

He lifted his finger from the "talk" button, and walked over to the other side of his room, sitting on his bed with a creak and plugging a cord attached to the wall to the back of his neck. He stared at the smoldering pirate's body for a few more moments, before sitting back and closing his eyes as he awaited whoever may come. Recharging was the closest thing, after all, that the ship's boatswain had to sleep.