Chapter 1 - Blood&Brine

The deck beneath my boots was a slick, treacherous landscape of blood and brine.

Around me, chaos reigned.

The waves roared against the hull like a chorus of angry gods, the timbers of the ship groaned in protest, and the air vibrated with the clang of steel on steel. I couldn’t bloody see half the time either – smoke, thick and acrid, stung at my eyes, turning the figures battling around me into shadows and phantoms. The acrid bite of gunpowder filled the air, mingling with the guttural cries of combat.

The adrenaline coursing through my veins was both fire and ice, burning away any doubt, any fear, and freezing my focus into a razor’s edge. The world around me sharpened. I tasted the salt of the sea spray on my tongue, felt the rough leather of my sword hilt digging into my palm, heard the guttural roars of men locked in a struggle for their lives. And then I saw him. Morwen.

He strode through the heart of the chaos like he was born to it, captain of the damned Sirens of the Abyss. Towering over most men, with eyes as cold and unforgiving as the ocean depths, he carried himself with the terrifying grace of a predator. And in his hand, that damned cutlass - gleaming, almost alive - pulsed with a light like the heart of the ocean itself.

Right then, two of his lapdogs chose that moment to try their luck. Lunging at me- blades thirsty.

I sidestepped the first one - felt the wind of his swing ruffle my hair, that’s how close he came - and then parried the second, a clash of steel that lit the air with sparks. A twist of my wrist, a flick of my blade, and down they both went, clutching fresh wounds.

I locked eyes with Morwen again, and for a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of us. The roar of the sea, the cries of the wounded, even the thunderous booms of cannons in the distance—all of it faded away.

He raised his cutlass, and the eerie light playing around the blade intensified. The very sea seemed to respond – the water around the hull began to churn and roil with a sudden, violent energy- like some unseen beast had been stirred from the depths.

I gripped my sword tighter, my knuckles white with tension. Magic tingled at my fingertips, restless, like a caged beast eager for release. But I hold back; I need to understand the extent of Morwen’s abilities before showing my hand.

And then, with a roar that would’ve shamed a sea monster, he came at me.

And so, our dance began.

His cutlass, a bloody serpent of light, snaked towards me, and I threw myself into a parry, just barely deflecting the blow. The impact shot up my arm like a bolt of lightning. It was what happened next that nearly stopped my heart. The instant that damned blade touched the deck, a torrent erupted, a wall of seawater that lunged for me like a beast unleashed.

I threw myself to the side, boots skidding on the blood-slicked deck. Splinters exploded where I’d stood a heartbeat ago, the water tearing into the ship’s timbers as if they were made of sand. So, the rumors were true.

I’ve heard tales of that cursed blade, said to control water as if bending the sea to its will.

That thing can control water, and in a battle at sea, that’s as good as fighting a man in his own castle while you’re chained to the walls.

We circled, eyes locked, the air electric. Morwen lunged again, his blade slicing through the air, a deadly whisper promising pain. But this time, I was ready. Sidestepped, counter-struck, our blades met with a screech that set my teeth on edge. Sparks showered, reflecting in those cold, dark eyes. For a moment, we held, swords crossed, chests heaving.

“Y’u fight well,” Morwen growled, “but how will y’u fare against the wrath of the abyss?”

“Guess we’re about to find out,” I shot back, but there wasn’t a lick of humor left in me. Just grim acceptance that this might be it – a watery grave courtesy of the Siren King himself.

Morwen’s laughter was a cold, sharp rasp. “Then let the waves claim you!”

He lunged again, a whirlwind of dark energy and slashing steel. It was like fighting a bloody storm given human form. Every parry sent a shock wave up my arms, my muscles screaming in protest. His cutlass wasn’t just sharp – it was hungry, every strike aimed not just to cut but to drown, to drag me down into those dark depths it seemed to command.

I threw myself back as a wave of seawater, obeying its master’s will, exploded across the deck where I’d stood a moment before. Splintered wood whipped past, razors in the air. I scrambled back to my feet, putting a capstan between us. No time to think, just react. Ducking under another slash that would’ve taken my head clean off, I whipped out my pistol and fired – a loud, satisfying bang.

The shot hit him in the shoulder, a spray of blood against that stormy backdrop. He staggered, surprised, the first flicker of doubt I’d seen.

“You call that fighting?” I snarled, pressing the advantage. “Those parlor tricks?”

He roared, a sound that ripped through the air, the fury of the storm given voice. A wave, larger than any before, surged across the deck, not a spray of seawater this time, but a wall of it, a thundering avalanche with me as its target. I was trapped between it and the capstan. Nowhere to go but over.

Leaping onto the railing as the wave crashed down, I threw myself over the side, dropping down as the deluge hammered against the wood where I’d stood seconds before. My shoulder slammed against something hard – the railing of the deck below. Forcing myself up, I drew myself onto the lower level, lungs burning, clothes soaked through.

Morwen was there in a blink, that damned cutlass still glowing with an unholy light. But he was breathing hard, a sheen of sweat on his brow, the cut on his shoulder bleeding freely. It’s subtle, but in the language of combat, it’s as loud as a cannon blast.

The sword might have granted him power over the waves, but it was taking its due.

“Still want to dance?” I spat, drawing my blade once more. “Or has your partner gotten too heavy?”

He snarled, but I saw the truth flicker in his eyes. The toll those borrowed waves took. “Ye know nothin’,” he rasped.

“More than you think, Siren King,” I said, keeping my voice light, conversational even. Letting him underestimate me was half the battle. “You wield that trinket like a crutch. A man with true strength ... he doesn’t need favors from the deep.”

That struck a nerve. His nostrils flared, eyes narrowing to slits. “Be silent!” He attacked with renewed fury, the air around him crackling with energy as if the very storm obeyed his will. More seawater lashed out, tendrils this time, seeking to ensnare my arms and legs. I was faster, nimbler, darting around the larger man, finding openings in his wild swings.

“She whispers to you, doesn’t she?” I said, ducking under a slash that would’ve split me in two. “That blade ... it demands a steep price. What will you offer her next, Morwen? Your heart? Your soul?”

“Enough!” He roared. “Y’now n’thing cretin.”

“Is that all you have left to offer – empty threats?” I taunted, pushing him further. I could practically taste his desperation. The more the water churned, the more his lifeblood I could practically feel being sapped away.

We were locked in a deadly waltz now, our blades ringing against each other in the cramped space. I pressed my advantage, using the close quarters to my benefit – a quick sidestep here, a twist around a support beam there.

The sea, Morwen’s supposed ally, was more hindrance than help here, a few stray tendrils lashing in through the reinforced windows that were more like arrow slits in these depths.

I wasn’t above playing dirty.

I took a shot when I saw an opening, the pistol spitting fire, aiming for his good leg. Missed by a hair – damned rocking of the ship.

Each clash, though, I could feel Morwen’s strength waning, the power he commanded draining away like sand through his fingers. Those borrowed waves were losing their ferocity, slapping feebly at my boots, more annoyance than threat. His swings got wilder, sloppier, more desperate.

“You’re awfully quiet, Captain,” I taunted, dodging another vicious strike. “Is your sword stealing your words along with your strength?”

Silence. Just the clanging steel, our panting breaths. He wasn’t stupid enough to waste energy on a retort anymore. Morwen gripped that damned sword tighter, knuckles whiter than bleached bone, but it didn’t matter. He’d made a bargain with a power he couldn’t control, and it was eating him alive. I almost pitied him.

“You know,” I said, feinting to the left as he stumbled right, “I had you pegged wrong, Morwen. Thought you were a king, at least. Turns out you’re just a fucking nobody clinging—”

“I’ll see you drown in the blackest depths, boy,” he growled angrily. “You’ll beg me for death -”

“But without your little trinket...?” I interrupted, disappointment edging into my voice, “You’re just another salty dog with an ego bigger than his—”

That did it. He charged- a bull to my matador. But a weary bull, all rage, and no finesse. And that was all it took. One swift move, blade deflecting his with a shower of sparks, then the pistol slamming hard into his jaw. As he reeled back, stunned, I kicked out at his good hand.

The cutlass clattered to the deck, its light gone - looking dull and lifeless.

“This ain’t’ over,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Oh, I’m counting on it. But next time, you might want to bring a weapon that doesn’t eat you alive, idiot.”

With a grunt of satisfaction – well, more relief, if I was being honest – I cracked Morwen hard across the head with the butt of my pistol. And with that, I let the Siren King have a long overdue nap.

“Honestly,” I muttered, mostly to myself, “it’s just not sporting, is it? Bringing ocean-devouring cutlery to a sword fight.”