Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Upon a Painted Ocean ❯ How the Mighty Fall ( Chapter 14 )

Upon a Painted Ocean
Chapter 14: How the Mighty Fall

The wreckage of the once magnificent mansion was worse than he had originally thought.

Crawford wrinkled his nose at the noxious fumes that snaked lazily toward the night sky from the charred remains, an uncomfortable layer of sweat beginning to form on his skin from the residual heat. Around him, he heard the others rummaging through the mess - dull thumps and muted shouts from his own men as well as the Redemption's - and wondered if they were feeling as uneasy as he was in these macabre surroundings.

Uneasy?

No, that wasn't even a possibility. Not for him.

To say that he was at all uneasy, or even uncertain about anything would usurp everything he had so painstakingly made of his life.

This wasn't uneasiness, he told himself. He merely disliked this place. Yes, that was it. He simply had a strong distaste for such a drab and lifeless setting.

Thus convinced, he cautiously toed over a large piece of burnt wood, face averting in disgust when the sickening stench of cooked flesh assaulted his senses at the action, yet for a fleeting moment, he was nine years old again, standing helpless and afraid, sniveling like a cowardly weakling amidst the blackened ruins of a life he had despised and a world he had shunned. It was a lesson that had been hard learned, but it was a lesson that would forever remain engraved in his soul: life was a ruthless entity, and if one wished to triumph, one would have to be ruthless in return, regardless of any resulting casualties along the way.

This was why he had to find Ken. He refused to believe that the brunette would dare perish so easily in this mess. Ken, in all his strength and innocence, was something he would not relinquish to anyone, a prize that was his and his alone. He wanted the beautiful brunette, and nothing and no one would stop him - not that self-confident redheaded captain and certainly not some long-buried memory of the child he used to be. He thanked whatever powers that be such the pathetic and useless creature he had been had died as well in those burning ruins that day.

A soft intake of breath to his right jarred him back to reality. He turned in the direction of the sound, only to be greeted with the sight of the kneeling, dark-haired boy who had followed him from the mass rendezvous in the woods. The child didn't look too healthy by half, his plain shirt and pants hanging loosely from the thin frame of an undernourished body, but for some reason, the kid had mindlessly tagged along with the Valiant's crew to the wreckage site and had scavenged through the rubbish like everyone else.

At that moment, the boy hissed painfully as he futilely tried to pull something from the smoldering ashes, something reflective but stuck, undoubtedly melted by the explosion and too hot to touch. Carefully closing the gap between himself and the younger brunette, Crawford narrowed his eyes against the darkness and attempted to delineate what had caught the boy's attention. Even with the fading moonlight, he had a difficult time discerning the object, but after a few minutes of inspection, he realized that the kid was trying to rescue a sword - or what used to be a sword had the hilt maintained its shape - from beneath the debris.

The small brunette looked up, noticed his small audience, and stood quickly, taking an involuntary step back as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. They stood in silence - the younger casting his gaze downward and the older staring questioningly at the former - until Crawford realized the kid wasn't going to speak unless he was spoken to.

Stepping forward, the dark-haired captain dug at the misshapen metal with his boot, as he demanded, "What is it?"

"It's ... it's a sword, sir." The boy's tone was meek, a perfect complement to his downcast eyes, and yet, Crawford could have sworn he heard an underlying hint of steel in those words - the signs of a survivor.

"I know that," he retorted, sounding as if his patience had been tried. "What's so important about it that you would risk burning yourself to remove it from this rubbish?"

His harsh voice didn't seem to affect the boy, who responded in the same non-assuming manner as before. "Schuldich was looking at it before ... " He let the sentence trail off, the rest fairly self-explanatory. "If it's here ... I thought that I could find ..."

Again, the young brunette didn't finish his thought, but he didn't need to. Crawford fully understood what he was trying to say. "So Schuldich was really caught inside the explosion," he concluded aloud.

"Yes, sir," the boy responded, eyes rising momentarily to assess the older man's reaction.

Crawford's lips thinned at the confirmation. He wasn't certain what he should feel or how he should react to such an event. Schuldich had been a good crewman these past three years, a little too arrogant and cocksure at times, but definitely convenient to have around. Still, that didn't erase the fact that the redhead was just a deckhand, another expendable pawn to him when all was said and done, which meant the heaviness that had settled inside him could only be attributed to the loss of a competent worker, not the man himself.

Yes, that and his need to find Ken.

Ken ...

"Was there anyone else with him when it happened?" he asked abruptly.

The small brunette shook his head, eyes still refusing to meet his interrogator.

"Do you know if Ken was in here at all?"

The boy didn't answer immediately, his face reflecting a mind that was trying to match the name to a face. Then, finally, "I don't know. He was taken away before we escaped. He might have made it out."

It wasn't the answer Crawford had wanted but it would have to do. The possibility that Ken might still be alive was enough to continue the chase, and that was what mattered. Nevertheless, even in knowing that the brunette might not be dead didn't seem to alleviate any of the weight inside his chest - a strange oppressiveness that he would have to analyze and rectify later.

Seeing the boy as a good source of information, more questions danced on Crawford's tongue, but before he had a chance to speak again, shouts from across the smoking ruins cut him off. Curious, he turned, and watched a huffing crewman run up to the Redemption's portly first mate and his tall, blond companion. He was too far away to hear the exchange, but judging by the tense reactions of the men to whatever news the arrival had brought, it must have been fairly significant.

Crawford observed their actions carefully; whatever turns this game decided to take, he would be ready.

(***)

'There was no possible way anyone could have survived this,' Youji thought as he sifted through the remains of what undoubtedly had been a great house. Various pieces of rubble still burned stubbornly around him, thereby illuminating the numerous holes and crevices in his search area, but even so, he knew the likelihood of finding the redheaded captain was very low.

Angry rustling and a muttered curse from several steps away veered his attention from the morbid turn his thoughts had taken and focused them on the familiar compact figure digging furiously through the smoldering mess.

It felt odd having Omi by his side again. For the past year, he'd been trying to rid himself of the over-optimistic boy, traveling to the most obscure parts of France and encountering the most unpleasant of company in hopes of losing the younger blonde, but it had been to no avail. Somehow, in the unscrupulous Parisian tavern that long ago night, he had picked up an annoying and unwanted shadow, a quick-witted and too cheerful shadow, but an unwanted one nonetheless. There had been times in the past year when he'd wondered where Omi had come from - his background, his family, his heritage - if only to send the kid back there, but the boy had always managed to brush the issue aside nonchalantly whenever it had come up, which only infuriated Youji even more. Yet, when the golden-haired annoyance had been taken in that attack after he'd signed aboard that frigate, he'd actually found himself faced with a panic he hadn't felt in years. He remembered every gory detail of the massacre that occurred that day, the cries and dying screams embedded into his mind with a host of many others, but despite all that, what had stood out the most was watching those marauders surround and capture the free-spirited boy.

Now, Omi was here again, healthy and whole. To say that he wanted the boy gone wouldn't be the exact truth - his inexplicable need to find the young blonde was proof enough of that - but having Omi near was making him increasingly more uncomfortable, as if the youth's innocent charm and openness were revealing to him the cracks in his own feckless and rakish demeanor.

"I don't think Ken was here when it happened." Even Omi's tired voice couldn't tarnish the natural optimism of his words. Youji watched the boy rise and walk over, the brightness of those clear blue eyes visible even in the slowly dying night. "I think we've looked long enough to know that he must have made it out. I know Ken, and he seems like a strong one to me."

Youji's jaw clenched. "But even if they were in here, that explosion could have easily destroyed any evidence."

He instantly regretted his words when he saw the boy's shoulders slump, but before he got a chance to retract his hastily said statement, he heard someone else approach.

"The boy's right," Kit said as he maneuvered his sizeable bulk over the rubble to join the two blondes. "Ran isn't here. I've known the boy since he was in leading strings and practically raised him myself. I would know if he was here. Call it a sailor's intuition."

Omi's expression lightened somewhat at the reinforcement. Yet, as much as Youji would've loved to join his companions in their high hopes and wishful thinking, he knew he had to keep a level head and not get too drawn into their infectious optimism. To do so would only mean some serious repercussions if reality decided to contradict everything one had made himself believe.

"Sir!"

The loud shout and general ruckus from behind Youji had all three men turning to investigate: a large, heavyset sandy-haired man was quickly making his way toward them, his panting breaths and sweat drenched face evidence enough that the man had been running for quite some time.

Youji searched his memory for the newcomer's name: Tippy, or something to that effect, and if he recalled correctly, the man had been left on board the Redemption when the small search party had set out.

"I've got news," Tippy panted as he bent down, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. "Mr. Mumbles was working on the riggin' when he saw a ship leave harbor due north of here."

All three men straightened at the hopeful information, and waited impatiently for the rugged sailor to continue.

"One-eyed Connor took a closer look through the glass and said it was that ship we were followin' before ... that Mino-something."

Omi looked up at Youji questioningly. "Youji, do you think ..."

The taller blonde's gaze was fixed on the Redemption's first mate. "It has to be ..."

Kit's eyes hardened and with an affirming nod, he turned to the news bearer. "Tippy, round up all the men and get back to the Redemption as fast as you can. We set sail immediately."

(***)

The early morning sea air tickled Ken's bare wrists and caused his body to shiver involuntarily. Yet, the chill of the clean atmosphere was not entirely to blame for the uneasiness that had settled in his chest: just minutes prior, they had dragged both Ran and him on board their ship, stripped him of his chains and thrown them carelessly on deck to await their uncertain fate.

Ken moved his arms experimentally and tested his newfound freedom as he looked around Nikolai's ship and assessed the surroundings. This was the first time he'd actually remained above deck as the Minotaur set sail, and even from his jaundiced point of view, he had to admit that the vessel was impressive. From bowsprit to rudder, the ship appeared to be the epitome of nautical prowess, the sizeable topsails and mainsails catching the wind easily as the crew competently handled the rigging.

Now that they had made it out into the open sea, Ken guessed his captors saw no need for the shackles, although if he was forced to it, he had no qualms about jumping overboard. He heard Ran shift angrily beside him, the proud redhead undoubtedly furious at having been captured and treated like a lowly prisoner on board an enemy ship. However, even he knew when to concede defeat, and thus, he sat and watched, seething, as Nikolai's men went about their duties. Ken was aware of how much effort the young captain was exerting just to maintain his calm, and he could only hope the older man would restrain himself until this was all over.

The brunette discreetly moved his hand over until it rested lightly on Ran's, hoping the contact would be encouragement enough for the man. At first, he remained still, his eyes continuing to put on the appearance of soaking in his busy surroundings, but slowly, unconsciously, unknowingly, his gaze drifted to the side ... and to the stunning violet gems that were locked intently on him.

Surprise, curiosity, and yearning clashed riotously in those bottomless pools of amethyst, a silent battle that waged within the very soul of the man by his side, and yet, Ken seemed to sense every muted cry and hear every unheard shout that begged for him to end the agony of confusion and fear. This was neither the forbidding captain he had seen at the helm of a mighty ship, nor the man he had fought with in a drunken stupor. This was Ran ... and Ken understood at that precise moment that what he was witnessing was something that no other living being had ever seen - vulnerability.

"So I assume you were the arrogant bastard who had the audacity to destroy my whole empire."

The angry voice and heavy footsteps came upon them so quick that Ken barely had time to register Nikolai's presence until the man bent down, grabbed Ran's hair, and tilted the young captain's head back so they could look face to face. Ken cautiously withdrew his hand and fisted it in hopes of reigning in his own temper. Their captor no longer carried the supplicating air of a businessman; in his place was a disheveled and emotional thing, vengeance burning in his heated gaze. Still, the brunette couldn't help but notice that Nikolai had met his match in the redhead before him. All traces of weakness had disappeared from Ran's expression, his veneer now replaced with an impassive mask as he stared coldly back at his tormentor. He didn't know how Ran had managed it, but even from his subservient position on the floorboards, the young captain appeared like he was actually looking down his nose at Nikolai.

"Go to hell," the redhead ground out calmly, eyes unwavering and seemingly oblivious of the ruthless hand pulling at his hair.

The bone-crushing punch occurred before Ran even had a chance to defend himself. Almost instantly, Ken moved to rise and attack, only to be stopped by the young captain's warning gaze as he quickly recovered.

Even with the thin crimson stream of blood leaking from his lips, the redhead somehow exuded his unquestionable air of command, and Ken found himself sitting back down grudgingly.

"I suggest you think about your actions before you carry them out, sir," Ran said slowly as he straightened, eyes deadly as they fixed themselves on the dark-haired man. "Lest you set a bad example for your men."

A harsh, mocking laugh escaped Nikolai's throat as the said man rose to stare down at the defiant redhead. "An example?" came the high-pitched and incredulous retort. "You sneak into my home, steal one of my possessions, destroy an empire that took me a lifetime to build, and you wish me to set a good example?" Malicious humor twisted the older man's lips into a grotesque imitation of a smile. "You certainly are more addlebrained than you look."

"Ken was never one of your possessions," the redhead stated seriously, insult easily ignored and hooded gaze still on his captor.

Nikolai let out another amused chuckle before responding. "Arrogant to the end," he said in an air or superiority. Then, with a resigned sigh that bordered on theatrical, he signaled for two of his men to move.

Unsure of what the dark-haired man intended, Ken waited as two gruff sailors grabbed Ran roughly by the arms and dragged him halfway across the deck. The young captain struggled at first, refusing to move and shrugging off their hold, but he eventually saw the futility of his situation and lessened his resistance when one of his opponents pulled out a dagger and held it to his throat. Only when they stared stripping Ran of his doublet and jerkin did Ken bolt up, a white-hot streak of fury lancing through his body and blinding his vision.

"What in bloody hell are you doing?!" His shout echoed throughout the whole deck, halting almost all activity, but he didn't care. All he saw now was Ran, bare upper body exposed to the early morning air as he was unceremoniously being tied spread-eagle to the rigging of the foremast, any show of defiance on the redhead's part being answered with a blade to the throat.

"What am I doing? Why, simple, my dear boy. Your supposed saviour wanted me to set an example, and so I shall." Nikolai's glib response served to irk the brunette even more, and Ken couldn't care less for what the man had in mind. The only thing he cared about was getting Ran unbound; the redhead didn't deserve to be stripped, tied, and humiliated before a whole ship, and especially not on his account.

He started moving toward the immobilized redhead, intent on freeing the man regardless of the consequences, but he hadn't gained more than two steps before Nikolai produced a concealed pistol that had been securely tucked away in his doublet.

Ken froze, eyes leveled dangerously at the other man's smile of self-satisfaction.

"I wouldn't recommend any hasty actions, my boy," Nikolai said as he stepped closer and ran a finger gently down the side of the brunette's face. "We wouldn't want to mar any of this now, do we?"

Ken fought the urge to retch at the revolting touch.

Christ's blood, what he wouldn't give for a blade with which to run the man through.

Apparently content with the younger man's obedience, Nikolai handed his gun off to one of his men and moved to issue an order to another.

"You, bring me the cat."

Ken's eyes widened at the order.

God, no. Not that...

During his time as a slave, he had become well acquainted with the cat o' nines, the hated implement causing enough damage with one hit to equal that caused by nine ordinary whips - hence, its name. And they were going to use it on Ran.

Ken's gaze quickly traveled to the redhead, and suddenly, every fibre of his being seized. With his arms spread and tied above his head, the captain's sculpted chest, and firm abdomen were emphasized to utter perfection, a sight that would have been the envy of even the most skilled of artisans. Sentries of red, pink, and orange danced away from the now emerging sun, and across the lightened sky, providing an almost surreal backdrop to the bound man helplessly awaiting his fate. Ken couldn't look away, the young captain seeming simply mythical as the early dawn shone off a vision of glowing crimson and gold.

The vicious 'thwack' of a whip striking the boards was enough to break Ken's reverent trance though. Looking over at Nikolai, the brunette saw that the appointed crewman had brought the cat and had passed it to his employer for inspection. Giving the detested weapon another try, the dark-haired man finally seemed satisfied with the result and tossed it back to the waiting sailor, gesturing for the lackey to proceed as if he couldn't be bother to perform such a menial task. The assigned torturer smiled eagerly at the order, and walked over to the bound redhead with a sparkle of anticipation in his eyes.

By now, the whole crew had stopped in their regular duties and had moved to watch the show. Ken stood, disgusted and in shock, as they prepared to bring the cat down on Ran's bare back. He tried to meet the redhead's gaze from where he was, to silently tell the man that everything would be fine, just like the young captain had done that long ago night during the storm at sea, but those violet orbs were focused elsewhere, the fire of seething hate and burning defiance shining brightly in those amethyst depths as they scanned each and every one of his would be tormentors.

Ran wasn't supposed to be tied up and flogged like a common criminal. The state into which they had forced the proud and noble captain was a complete injustice, and Ken longed for the opportunity to seek retribution.

And then, the whip cracked, the crisp sound of leather striking flesh slicing through tht clean morning air unhindered.

Muscles tensed, bonds strained, and body jerked, but not a sound left the young captain's mouth.

Ken watched horrified as the whip was pulled back again in preparation for another blow, and it was then that he moved. He didn't think. He just reacted. Heedless of the gun aimed in his direction, Ken darted across the deck, past the pairs of watchful eyes, past the authoritative figure of Nikolai, and to the bound redhead. He managed to cover Ran just as the cat was brought down, the stinging lash feeling like a thousand heated needles digging into his own back. His sharp intake of breath caused the tied captain to stiffen in realization at what the brunette had done.

"Get off!" Ran screamed and tried to buck the younger man from his back.

Ken wrapped his arms a little more securely over redhead's shoulders and rested his forehead in Ran's silken hair, the burning pain on his back momentarily forgotten with his closeness to the captain. "No," he said quietly enough so that only the man he was protecting could hear.

"Ken, get off now!" Ran shouted again. Seeing that his command was being disobeyed, he turned to Nikolai. "Get him off," he hissed out in a dangerous voice. "Your punishment was intended for me, not him."

The dark-haired man smiled lopsidedly and shrugged. "If the boy wants to suffer in your stead, I have no objections. In fact, it's quite entertaining to watch." Then, oblivious of the lethal intentions written plainly on Ran's face, Nikolai gestured for the flogging to continue.

And so, again, the whip cracked.

Ken briefly tightened his hold on Ran as the lancing pain shot through his back, but he tried to distance himself from it; instead, he concentrated on the warm feel and the enticing smell of the man in his arms. He heard the redhead say something to him - some noble command about leaving him unprotected no doubt - but it was eventually lost in the bittersweet haze that encompassed him and removed him from the torture and pain that reality had become.

Thus, the cat was brought down again ... and again ... and again ...

(***)

"Get off!"

Ran shrugged his shoulders violently in hopes of tossing the brunette from him, but the warm weight of the younger man's body clung stubbornly to his back. He didn't know whom he was madder at: Nikolai for his maligned intentions or Ken for his act of sheer idiocy.

His grip tightened even more on the ropes binding his wrists as the whip was brought down again, jaw clenching as he heard Ken's breath hitch in his ear.

"Goddamnit, Ken, get off," he said more quietly, more pleadingly, more desperately to the brunette behind him.

No movement.

He heard the whip strike again and again, a sickening crack that stripped away a little bit of his soul each and every time it echoed into his ears, and although he didn't feel the paralyzing sting of the treated leather against his skin, he sensed every painful lash in the irregularity of Ken's breath, in the bucking of his smaller body, and in every death grip of the strained arms around his neck. He closed his eyes, teeth grinding at his own helplessness and his inability to protect the man he had originally planned to save.

'Please, God,' he prayed silently to a faith he had turned his back on long ago. He was willing to try anything now, anything as long as Ken was safe. 'Please, let him survive this ... please ... '

The smell of sweat and blood eventually saturated the air around him, the thick, suffocating stench enclosing the two bodies in a sickening blanket of otherworldly pain and detached suffering. Disinterestedly, Ran noticed rivulets of moisture trickle lingeringly down his neck and onto his bare chest: whether it was his own sweat or Ken's, or something else entirely, he didn't know, but it was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

So focused was the young captain on the constant pressure against his back that he failed to notice the lack of response from the brunette at each crack of the whip until he felt Ken's hold slacken around him.

Panic tasted like bitter bile as it rose in his throat.

"Stop!" Ran yelled as he tried to keep the deadweight of the younger man's body from crashing to the boards. "He's had enough! Stop!"

Flashing violet eyes shot daggers at Nikolai. The dark-haired man didn't even raise an eyebrow. With a slight nod of his head, Ran felt the bonds around his wrists loosen. Uncaring of the rope-burned and raw skin on his arms, the redhead quickly twisted around to catch Ken's unconscious body the moment his ropes were cut away.

Perspiration had plastered the younger man's dark hair to his face and gave that angelic countenance an almost ethereal sheen, but not even that could distract Ran's attention from the blood that seeped onto his hands from the open wounds on the brunette's back.

With a gentleness that would have put the most devoted of mothers to shame, the young captain lowered his burden to the ground, worried eyes working busily to ensure that the younger man was still alive. The slow rise and fall of Ken's chest calmed him somewhat, but it wasn't enough to erase the burning fury and raging hatred the redhead harbored.

Eyes gleaming with a demonic light, Ran looked up and found the man responsible for the brunette's condition. "You're dead," he said in a voice that would've frozen molten lava.

Even Nikolai took a step back at the threat, dark eyes widening considerably at the power a single man could wield in his voice alone. Quickly collecting himself, he forced a self-assured smirk onto his face. "And how, pray tell, will you accomplish that?"

Sometimes, Fate indeed did have a convoluted sense of humour - or so Ran would've thought upon reflection later - for no sooner had those words left Nikolai's mouth than a resounding boom cut through the tension-filled air.

Immediately, like any well-run ship, the crew sprang into action, orders loudly shouted and battle stations hastily assigned as every man prepared himself for the upcoming attack. Ran glanced quickly at the horizon, an unconscious smile of satisfaction appearing on his lips as he caught sight of the Redemption's outline in the distance. His ship was easily traversing the distance between herself and the Minotaur, sails set at full and all gun ports opened. The one thing he was concerned about was her angle of attack: judging by her speed, he could only guess that Kit hadn't realized he was bringing the Redemption in on the side of the Minotaur's gun ports. Ran hoped his crew and ship would be able to withstand a volley or two from Nikolai's cannons.

As if on cue, he felt the boards beneath him shake while the Minotaur fired in one huge explosion of gunpowder and grapeshot. Not to be outdone, the Redemption returned the attack in kind almost instantly, the crew reloading in record time, loosing a volley of her own through her primed and carefully adjusted cannons as well. And this time, her aim was true as splintering wood and ripping sails filled the smoke tainted air that blanketed the larger ship.

Ran instinctively threw himself on Ken's unconscious body as shattered debris rained down on them at the hit. Chaos erupted around him before he even rose, shouts of colluding anger and agony spreading throughout the ship at the damage - both on the vessel and to her crew - caused by the sudden attack.

Thinking that both crews would need some time to reload their weapons, the redhead pushed himself up and began to drag Ken's still form to a safer location, at least a sheltered area away from errant shrapnel and wood. Yet, he hadn't taken more than three steps when another volley of cannon fire whistled through the air. He barely had enough time to brace himself before half-falling and half-diving onto the brunette as the massive impact rocked the whole foundation of the boat. Rising faster this time, Ran looked over the rail opposite to where the Redemption had been and to the source of the most recent attack - the Valiant.

Somehow, the redhead wasn't surprised. He quickly assessed the course heading of the third ship, and cursed under his breath at the misfortune; Crawford wanted to board, and with the velocity and angle of approach, his vessel would arrive sooner than the Redemption, hindered as she was by the Minotaur's cannons whereas the Valiant was not.

Not giving any more thought to the matter, Ran moved into action and continued to pull Ken away from all the violence. The small awning created by a ripped sail beside the stairs of the quarterdeck was the best he could find, and so, he left the brunette there while he searched for a way to assist his own crew.

His eyes fortuitously alighted on a discarded cutlass lying beside a fallen body of a burned sailor mere steps away. Any hesitation in picking up the weapon was dispelled when, in his peripheral vision, he noticed the dark figure of Nikolai through the smoky haze flitter across the deck. Lips set in a grim line, he dashed to grab the lying sword and started to move toward the front of the ship. He didn't get more than halfway when the whole vessel shuddered and a loud crack rent through the air.

Ran looked up.

Bloody hell.

He turned and jumped as far away from his original spot as possible, breath leaving his lungs in one huge rush at his rough landing, but still, himself managing to move out of harm's way as the foremast fell in a sad display of tattered canvas and splintered wood. The pained cries of the men caught in the makeshift avalanche were the only things he heard for a moment, but even that was quickly dismissed when he saw the grappling hooks latch onto the rails.

Crawford's men were boarding ... and no doubt the dark-haired captain would be with them. Hand tightening around his borrowed sword, Ran rose. He wanted Nikolai's blood, he wanted to watch the man suffer a slow, lingering death for what he'd done to Ken, and neither the Minotaur's men nor the Valiant's were going to stand in his way.

Letting out a growl that sounded near inhuman, he charged, efficiently and methodically cutting a bloody swath through a maze of men. He didn't know - and didn't care - if they were the boarders or the boarded; there was only one person he was concerned about and that man was hiding near the forecastle like the coward he was.

His blade was well-honed, but even its lethalness could not match that of its wielder, whose bloodlust and thirst for vengeance had almost blinded him of all else save that one singular goal. It was not until Ran blocked a deadly slash from a beautifully crafted Damascus steel blade that he was jostled back into reality.

His blazing violet gaze fell onto the fine weapon and slowly traveled up its length to its owner.

Crawford.

Their eyes clashed. Their challenges were made. And without a word, their duel began.

Thrust and parry. Slash and block. Lunge and deflect. The lessons in swordplay that had long been drummed into his head by his father and his years at sea flowed like water through his mind and into his muscles. His body moved in perfect harmony with the sharpness of his wits, the intricate dance of life and death performed to perfection with his partner amidst the blinding smoke and the fervent battle cries of the two crews.

Crawford moved as skillfully as he, his attacks well planned and well placed. If Ran didn't know any better, he would've thought the dark-haired captain had had the same formal, aristocratic training as he had had, their blades meeting in complete accordance as if they had rehearsed this fight earlier and could read each other's moves before they even occurred.

Nevertheless, they continued to spar, swords meeting with a deadly clang as their breaths slowly quickened and became shallower. Ran didn't know how long they kept at it, but he felt his muscles begin to tire at the constant strain and his grip begin to slip at the sheen of sweat on his palm. Yet, if it meant Ken's life, he would've fought to the very end of his own physical limitations and beyond; however, as the case turned out, he didn't have to.

He had seen Crawford's attack easily, and riposte without thought, but as the other man withdrew his blade in preparation for another thrust, two heavy bodies came barreling at him from the right side, sending him off balance even as he tried to evade them. He didn't know whether they were the Valiant's men come to help their captain, or if they were the Minotaur's men come to recapture a prisoner, but frankly, he didn't care ... not when they were so intent on fighting him.

Ran barely had time to adjust to their crude style of swordsmanship before they attacked, teeth bared and swords raised. The first impact knocked him back a few steps, but after the initial hit, he collected himself and reaffirmed his grip on his weapon, now completely ready to face his two new opponents. Thus, he fought, the heat of battle claiming his entire being, consuming all rational thought as time and time again, he taunted death. And yet, even the overwhelming fever couldn't mask the sudden desperation he felt when he saw Crawford give him a mild salute and head off toward the quarterdeck ... and Ken.

(***)

His whole world had become nothing more than a collage of sensations.

Heat ... a burning, branding, scorching fire that licked every inch of skin on his back.

Pounding ... an assaulting, crashing, booming cacophony that filled the air around him.

And softness ... a warm, assertive, firm gentleness that pulled at his body relentlessly.

Ken forced open his eyes, and through the heavy fog of pain, he was greeted with a smoky, grotesque scene of blood and slaughter. He leaned heavily on whatever or whoever had been holding him, his head spinning at the effort of remaining conscious.

"Come, Ken love. Just a little more and we'll be off this godforsaken ship ..."

That voice ... deep, rich ... so familiar ... he'd heard that voice once long ago in the dark recesses of his mind, buried memories of a time better left forgotten.

"We're almost there..."

Crawford!

Despite the willpower it took, he managed to keep his eyes open and look over at the man assisting him across the floating battlefield. Mussed black hair, matted to his forehead with sweat, feathered over hard, yet determined, gold eyes, its owner currently half-dragging and half-carrying him toward the middle of the ship.

Even in his state of semi-consciousness, he felt an overwhelming urge to distance himself away from the man and his revolting touch. Gathering as much strength as he could, he began to resist and push away from the dark-haired captain, but weakened as he was, he didn't meet with much success.

Then, as Fortune would have it, Crawford threw him to the side, leaving the barely cognizant brunette to hang on desperately to the ship's rail to remain upright. Ken glanced over with half-slit eyes and noticed that one of the Minotaur's sailors had decided to engage the Valiant captain. If it hadn't hurt so much, the brunette would've actually smiled at having made his escape so easily.

Ran. The name came to him from nowhere.

He had to find Ran.

Opening his heavy eyelids further, he quickly scanned the chaos around him for a familiar flash of crimson.

Nothing.

Although he found no trace of the redhead, he was not at all surprised considering the suffocating smoke of cannon fire and his own semi-lucid state. But one thing did catch his attention: a slip of black near the forecastle deck, heading toward the crew's quarters - Nikolai.

Lips thinning with resolve, Ken started moving toward the bow, his feet more staggering than walking as he inched over using the ship's rail for support. Along the way, he stumbled over a discarded sword that had probably belonged to one of the unfortunate sailors whose bodies lay strewn all over the deck. Rather clumsily, he picked it up and painfully continued on his way.

He didn't know how he managed to traverse half the length of the ship without incident, but somehow, he did, head screaming and back protesting from the overexertion as he slowly descended the steps into the darkness of the crew's quarters.

The first thing he noticed as he stepped onto the boards below deck was the shock of coldness that lapped around his legs. Ken moved experimentally and almost fell when the effort did nothing more than throw him off balance.

The ship was taking on water ... and fast.

Refusing to be deterred by this, he looked around the darkened chamber, the light from the open hatch his only source of illumination.

But Nikolai had snuck down here; of that he was certain. Closing his eyes, Ken fought the driving need to fall back into a painless oblivion and focused on the sounds around him. Anger fuelled his efforts, and where it ended, pure unadulterated vengeance took over.

It didn't take him long to hear the unnatural splashing off to his left. Moving with a speed that contradicted his injured state, Ken trudged determinedly through the thigh high water.

"Nikolai!" he yelled as he approached, sword poised to deliver a deathblow.

The older man turned, his ashen face becoming much clearer now against the blackness that surrounded him.

"You - !" Startlement, surprise, and fear - yes, fear - lit up in the man's dark eyes, but Ken never had a chance to relish it. Nikolai was a businessman, not a fighter, and because of that, Ken's sword thrust met its mark easily, the dying man gasping in disbelief at the swiftness with which the blade had pierced his chest.

Nonetheless, the brunette pushed his weapon deeper still until the lethal tip exited the body in the back, reveling in the frozen immortal look of shock emblazoned on the older man's face and the warm, dripping blood that languidly dripped onto his hand. For in Nikolai, Ken saw every reason that his treasures had been stolen from him, every man who had dared possess him, and every injustice that had ever been done to him.

After twisting the sword for good measure, Ken emitted a feral growl when he was content with his handiwork, and pulled his blade out with what was left of his waning strength. Nikolai's lifeless body plopped into the rising water with a resounding splash, and not long thereafter, Ken found his own legs giving out as well, the driving force that had kept him going until now dissipating at an alarming rate.

And so, he fell into the frigid liquid, body spent and mind ceding consciousness as it removed itself from the physical. To Ken, the world was no longer his concern, detached as he was from the piercing agony of his back and the debilitating numbness of his limbs while he floated into a comforting, senseless void.

(***)

"Captain!"

Ran whipped around, crimson stained blade ready to take on the next opponent, and paused when he saw his first mate amble around a sea of fallen bodies toward him. Slowly, the red-tinged cloud of battle began to lift and the young captain looked around the corpse-covered deck that had been his battleground. His own men had boarded and what few skirmishes were still going were being taken care of by the new arrivals.

"Captain, we need to get off the ship now!" Kit shouted loudly as he approached. "She's taking on water, and we can't keep the Redemption here when she sinks."

Ran knew the consequences of leaving his vessel attached to the Minotaur; he risked sinking the Redemption as well.

"Kit," he commanded in a voice that brooked no argument. "Get the men back onto the ship now and move her to a safe distance."

"Captain?"

"Now, Kit." A slow burning violet fire blazed in the young captain's eyes. "I need to find Ken first."

"Ran ..."

"Go, Kit."

The first mate straightened at the serious tone. "Yes, sir!" Orders taken, Kit quickly left to carry them out.

Ran didn't give his old friend another thought. If there was one thing he trusted above all else, it was Kit's loyalty and competence, traits that he would be eternally grateful for considering their many years at sea.

With Kit off to round up his crew, Ran turned his attention to the more urgent situation at hand. He had seen Crawford head toward Ken after their pre-empted duel, but he could have sworn that he'd seen the dark-haired man fighting just moments ago. A glance at the quarterdeck told him that Ken wasn't there any longer. Trying to keep his panic under control, he skirted around fallen bodies and slid across the blood-slicked deck toward the captain's cabin.

Nothing.

Undeterred, he headed below deck. Systematically, he checked the hold back to front, and eventually made his way to the forecastle.

The forecastle ...

Ran mentally kicked himself: how in God's name had he forgotten about Nikolai? He had last seen the man head in this direction but had been so easily diverted by Crawford and his ensuing opponents that the man had been forgotten. Bracing himself to perhaps meet - and ideally kill - the bastard, Ran cautiously made his way down into the crew's quarters.

Almost immediately, the redhead's eyes widened at the scene before him. The Minotaur was taking on water and nowhere was that clearer than this half-submerged chamber. Ran couldn't see anything in the murky darkness, but even so, he dove into the rapidly rising fluid - to look for Ken, if not Nikolai. The meager light from the opened hatch was not enough to see by, although the water's reflective quality helped his situation slightly.

But he couldn't give up now. He refused to believe that Crawford had taken Ken, and since he'd already looked through the whole ship, this was the only place left. Nikolai became a mere afterthought as he swam blindly around the cold water, his chest constricting and his throat burning as he continued to feel nothing in his path but unresisting liquid.

"God, Ken, where are you?"

A frantic, almost hysterical, emotional wave began to overtake him and if he hadn't been experiencing it firsthand, he would never have believed it: he, Ran Fielding, captain and privateer extraordinaire, was panicking.

Just as that thought occurred to him, something featherlike grazed his left hand. Latching onto whatever it was wildly, he managed to grab what felt like a handful of fabric and drag it closer to the outside light source for inspection.

It was Nikolai, dark eyes frozen wide open in an ashen-grey death mask.

Dead.

Ran pushed the body away in disgust and swam back into the darkness. "Ken. I know you're here ..."

No response.

Swimming deeper into the chamber, Ran felt desperately around him for something - anything - that would anchor his sanity. He was operating in pure darkness at the moment, so far was he from the open hatch, but even so, he wouldn't give up. He had finally found Ken after such a long and arduous search, and there was no way in hell he was going to lose the brunette now, not when he'd come so close to having it all.

Reaching out a hand, he ended up touching the wall and realized that he'd gone as far as he could go.

"Damnit, Ken, where are you?" he muttered.

The contact was too brief, and Ran wouldn't have felt it at all had he removed his hand from the wall, but something did brush up against him just then. Reaching out like a madman, the redhead took hold of a human form. Swiftly, he dragged his discovery back toward the hatch and its revealing light, careful to ensure that whomever he had found floated on his back.

Simple words could not describe the overwhelming sense of happiness that flooded through him the moment he could see the beautiful face of the man he'd found, his muscles weak all of a sudden as he tried to pull the heavy form above deck. Worriedly, he checked for Ken's pulse when he got to the hatch, and felt his own heart stop when he couldn't find one. He pushed his thumb and index finger a bit harder against the sides of the brunette's neck, and almost cried out in relief when a slow, barely perceptible beat drummed beneath his fingertips.

He blinked rapidly at the sudden burning in his eyes, absently cursing the effects of the salt water for causing such a discomfort as he held Ken close and began pulling him up on deck.

By the time Ran got Ken's unconscious form out into the early morning sun, the water had risen to fill almost the whole chamber below. He hadn't realized that he'd been under for so long.

A swift look around the deserted deck told him that both the Valiant and the Redemption had cast off their hooks, their sails now flapping loudly a short distance away.

Ran bent down, looped his arms around Ken's chest, and began dragging the brunette toward the quarterdeck. His already overexerted muscles screamed bloody murder at the additional strain but he didn't care. He was so close ...

The trek was a difficult one, especially considering the upward slant of his path and the blood-soaked slipperiness of the boards, but eventually he made it to the mid-ship rail, Ken in tow. Looking over, he assessed the jump to be a safe one and lifted the brunette's weight up with a grunt. So doing, he pulled his own legs over, tightened his hold on Ken, ... and jumped.

The pain of his impact with the water was almost a welcomed reprieve considering all that he had gone through - a world of silence and peace that came to meet him in a rush of tranquility - but as the refreshing liquid encompassed him, he remembered the important bundle in his arms. Tightening his grip even more around the brunette, Ran began to kick furiously, propelling himself and his impromptu passenger up towards the rays of sunlight.

He broke through the surface with one giant gasp of air, and looked down quickly to ensure that Ken was still breathing. The younger man's breath was shallower, but he was alive, and for Ran, that was enough. Looking around, the redhead began to orient himself, eyes skimming over the welcoming figure of the Redemption, and then the more looming one of the Valiant. Ran froze for a moment: there, standing tall on the quarterdeck of the latter ship, undoubtedly staring down at him, was a familiar dark-haired figure that he had come to despise - Crawford.

The redhead's eyes narrowed briefly. That man would have to be dealt with later; that, Ran swore to himself. But first, he had to make sure Ken was safe.

And so, he began to swim, his precious burden secure in one arm as he moved away from the sinking ship, away from the Valiant, and to the Redemption ... toward home.

End Chapter 14