It was no small thing for a lone ship to sail towards a Pirate Lord’s fleet head-on.

  Dozens, if not hundreds, of war-scarred naval crafts filled the water around the dreadnought capital ship. Each was a heavily armed vessel crewed by bloodthirsty Chosens and chained slaves, ready for battle at the first sound of cannon fire. Black sails and crude flags choked the horizon, and as one came closer to the hostile fleet, other horrors could be borne witness to.

  The armadas of the Pirate Lords were known to each bear distinct features that reflected their allegiance to their masters. Lord Baroque’s corsairs armoured their vessels with enchanted steel and volcanic engines, churning the skies and seas with thick shades of oil and smoke. Lord Drake’s most trusted retainers were prone to hull massive bronze ramming heads into the prow of their frigates, each shaped like horned dragons to better venerate the matriarch of the Wild Hunt. Lord Augustus’s men adorned their ships in gold and silver, revering the true creed that commanded all corsairs of the West: wealth, and wealth alone.

  And as for Oleander’s fleet… To honour the infamous fleshmonger, feared within the Slavers’ Isles as the Necromancer Lord, the corsairs stapled the flayed skin of monsters and men alike onto their ships’ masts and hulls.

  Perhaps that sordid nature shared among the fleet was why the pirate vessels at the perimeter of the armada did not fire upon the biovore corvette as it crept closer to their formation. Though the flags of Eri’s warship now carried the colours of House Halsworn rather than House Elathion, the heir had known there was always a good chance the ill-disciplined corsairs of the West would immediately fire upon the strange, alien-looking vessel approaching them, especially since they were not notified of any foreign envoy to be gracing the Despoiled Canticle’s waters that day.

  It was fortunate for Eri and his expedition, then, that the pirates of Lord Oleander were less suspicious of the likes of esoteric flesh ships. The frequency of their Lord’s dealings with the enigmatic Duskcrowns far exceeded that of the other Pirate Lords. As such, a greater tolerance for unnatural visitors was ingrained into the Necromancer’s band of corsairs.

  The pirate ships of the outer perimeter gave way to the biovore corvette, allowing it to sail closer to the mountainous dreadnought looming in the distance. Eri gave the signal for success, and the crew breathed a sigh of relief, tensions lowering as the armed expeditioners beneath the deck lowered their weapons and reengaged the ship’s artillery safety triggers.

  Had the pirates’ suspicion won over, and a battle came to pass, destruction almost certainly awaited Eri’s expedition. The Biovore corvette was likely the most formidable warship of its weight class within those waters, but outnumbered as it was — and by larger vessels no less — its power would have been sorely lacking.

  No shots were fired, and the shadow of the Leviathan dreadnought grew closer. Though pirate ships now surrounded it in every direction, the first hurdle was passed.

  That didn’t mean, however, that Eri and his crew were lucky enough to reach the flagship unhindered.

  ~~~

  “Hm… House Halsworn, eh? Heard of you folks before. You nobles live on a volcanic island or something, right? What’s that like?”

  At the pirate’s query, Eri discreetly looked over to his two other hooded ‘companions’ on the deck. The first was Deyara, whose lips sneered in irritation at the constant line of inane questioning by Oleander’s corsairs.

  The second was the giant, robed, and disguised corpse-puppet possessing the head of Maelric Halsworn, who was currently acting as the supposed captain of their ‘Duskcrown’ vessel.

  “Tiresome. Much like this inspection,” Maelric said dully, his eyes glazed and body unmoving.

  Deyara stood close to the corpse, a hidden tendril of flesh connecting her hand to the reanimated meat beneath the robes. The meat puppet’s mouth moved obediently under her silent command. “Must we suffer this tedium? This is not the first time House Halsworn has made dealings with Lord Oleander. Surely a degree of allowance can be made.”

  The giant ghoul prepared by the half-Elven twins and Kalisa could reasonably pass as a living human. The thick robes obscured most of the hastily-grown and malformed anatomy that made up Maleric’s new torso. The head had been restored to a semblance of vitality, with its orifices reopened and thin wisps of greying hair grown upon its scalp and chin.

  There were still several problems. The skin was deadly pale, and its eyes were dull, dead-looking things. Moreover, there was a noticeable delay in its movements and responses, as Deyara had to prepare and stimulate the actions of the corpse manually.

  Still, the large meat-puppet initially served its function well enough. The corsairs used a blood spell to verify the authenticity of Maelric’s noble lineage beforehand, as Amber suspected they would. The confirmation gave an additional layer of credibility to the biovore corvette’s guise as a Duskcrown vessel.

  Unfortunately, it was not enough to earn them a free pass straight to the dreadnought. And problems with the corpse’s performance soon arose.

  “It’s standard procedure,” the corsair intendant shrugged. Two pirate schooners were now secured alongside the biovore corvette, with a third approaching not far behind. Eri watched nervously as several more pirates boarded the ship, intent on heading below deck to check on the cargo and crew under orders from the intendant superior. “After Lord Baroque’s death at a sudden boarding action, Lord Oleander is understandably cautious of newcomers. No ship is allowed to approach the Despoiled Canticle until it has passed thorough inspection. Speaking of which, I have to ask about the nature of your cargo. What gifts do our Duskcrown allies bring for the Dread Lord this afternoon?”

  A length of silence followed. The corsair superior looked up from their inspection sheet and curiously glanced at Maelric, who stood pale and unmoving. The question was beyond the puppet’s ability to answer, for none of the pre-made phrases crammed into Maelric’s head beforehand could formulate the proper response.

  Eri felt a stab of panic.

  Thinking quickly, Deyara quietly stepped closer to the corpse. She rapidly weaved a more complex thread of biomancy before grabbing Maleric’s hand and injecting it into him.

  The corpse jolted to life and responded awkwardly, “Materials, of course. Bodies. What other gifts would we possibly bring to a necromancer of your Lord’s perversions?”

  The corsair sighed. “With all due respect, honourable friends, I need you to be more specific. What type of material? Living slaves? Exotic corpses? Demons? How much cargo are you delivering? Are any of them dangerous?”

  The puppet took several seconds to respond, with Deyara working hard to weave the proper brainwave pattern. “The s-specifics… are… for Oleander’s eyes and ears alone.”

  “That's not how this works,” the corsair’s eyes narrowed at the awkward reply. “Come now, we’ve been through this song and dance enough times already. Are you sure you came here before? I’ve dealt with House Halsworn before, but this is the first time I’ve seen your stuttering, pale mug around here.”

  Eri was close enough to hear Deyara cursing under her breath as she quickly drafted threads after threads of bio-infused instructions for her puppet to follow. On the deck, the group of inspecting corsairs attempted to open the hatches, only to find them all tightly sealed shut.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  A slow but noticeable tension was beginning to build. Deyara adjusted her approach.

  “We… must have missed each other,” Maelric responded after yet another delay, the haste in Deyara’s work causing his speech to slow. The body stood up a little straighter. “Enough of this. The delivery is an urgent matter. This is a waste of time, both mine and your Lord’s. Rather than indulging your inane curiosity, I should have you crucified for this insult of suspicion. Or perhaps I should request your Lord to make an example of you instead.”

  The intendant looked unimpressed by Maelric’s threats. “Lord Oleander knows well the need for precautions. These are dangerous times, after all. The enemy from the North is not to be underestimated. You, as the scion of a Noble House — one revered in the West and with ties to the Duskcrowns, no less — should be well aware of this. Especially if you had regular dealings with our side, as you so claim.”

  “What are you i-i-insinuating?” Maelric garbled awkwardly, causing the half-elf to flinch. Deyara was likely trying to simulate an intimidating tone, but the corpse’s unresponsive sluggishness was making subtle aggression hard to replicate.

  Eri glanced at the half-elf, who sensed his judgmental gaze and shot back a look.

  The body was a rushed job, she mouthed irritatedly, her lips concealed from the corsair beneath the shadow of her hood.

  “I insinuate nothing. After all, we are all friends here, are we not?” the intendant smiled grimly. “And as your friend, I highly suggest you tell your crew to open up the deck hatches.”

  “You dare make demands from a noble of House Halsworn?” Maelric twitched, muscles spasming lightly as the bluish veins on its forehead bulged from nerve stress.

  “Demand?” The inspector chuckled. “You mistake the strength of your position. With all due respect to your enigmatic organisation, the Duskcrowns' authority does not extend over a Pirate Lord, merely parallel to it. We are equals in this partnership, and so we must ask you to respect the necessity of this inspection. And if you refuse, well… I would tell you to take a good look around you, friend. These waters are not kind to those we deem dangerous.”

  Maelric fell silent, the puppeteer behind grimacing. Seeing Deyara’s frustration, Eri shrugged subtly, rolling his arms as he signalled to her. Tell Peythra to get ready to rush.

  The Biovore corvette was now within sight of the dreadnought. Though dozens of war vessels still stood between them and the Despoiled Canticle, they were now deep enough within the fleet that the odds were not impossible to overcome. With the element of surprise on their side and Peythra’s expert piloting, it was possible to close the distance and forcefully board the dreadnought before the enemy’s firepower overwhelmed them.

  But it was a slim chance. They were as equally likely to perish before touching the hull of the leviathan.

  Too risky, Deyara mouthed, her gaze determined. We still have cards to play.

  “It saddens me to see such suspicions between our groups.” Maelric hummed. The tone was less sluggish now, the words more confident. “Lord Oleander knows the Duskcrowns well, as do we to him. Ask your Lord, and no doubt he would tell you to let us through without delay.”

  The inspector stiffened. “I see no need to bother the Lord.”

  “And neither do I,” Maleric nodded, to the corsair’s surprise. Eri’s confusion grew, but he suppressed his tension as he saw Deyara furiously weaving additional thought-strands into her puppet. “As I said, the trust between my superiors and your Lord is not the issue. It is the trust between you and me — we, lowly servants of higher powers — that must be resolved. And as such… I believe gifts are in order.”

  Eri blinked in unison with the pirate. The inspector then barked out a laugh. “Resorting to bribes now, are we? Alright, I’ll play. What do you offer? Gold, food, or rum? Lord Oleander provides plenty, so I hope you can match.”

  Except that the expedition had none to give. The corvette wasn’t exactly flush with supplies. They had left most of their goods behind on the island outpost when they left, carrying only the bare necessities so that the ship could be loaded with more weapons and ammunition.

  It mattered little to Deyara. Zombie Maelric cocked his head, the movements now smoother under the half-elf’s practised hands. “Why would I offer such crude gifts? No, I am well aware of how the Necromancer deals with the practical needs of his men. What I offer… is the satiation of more pleasurable demands.”

  Maelric stepped back, gently pulling the hood off Deyara’s head.

  A flush of red beauty graced the deck. At once, the exotic half-elf had the corsair’s attention. Unlike her sneers and grimaces earlier, Deyara’s expression was now demure, eyes half-lidded and gaze directed obediently downwards — the very picture of a willing slave.

  The inspector’s expression instantly lit up. “Oh! Is… Is this—!”

  “A mere token of my gratitude,” Zombie Maelric said. Eri watched on in disbelief and shocked revulsion. “I understand that certain satisfactions are forbidden among Oleander’s fleet. You may have her until my business with your Lord is concluded. Share her with your men, or keep her for yourself for the duration. I care not. Simply grant my ship passage, and she is yours.”

  Unlike the confidence displayed earlier, the corsair intendant looked unsteady. His gaze hungrily roamed Deyara’s features — her blood-red hair, her lips, and her emerald eyes — utterly captivated. Though his lust was evident, a flicker of hesitation remained. “This is… Well… I sense that she is a Ruby Core. Is she… obedient?”

  “Rest assured, she defers to any requests, and her skills are unmatched. She has no choice in the matter,” Maelric sneered. Even though Eri knew the expression was fake, the sight of it set his blood aflame. “I tested her myself.”

  The corsair laughed excitedly. His response was immediate. “A Jewelled Core slave! Very well, I will call my men off. Have her delivered to—”

  “Stop.”

  The corsair paused. He looked towards Eri, irritated. “Excuse me?”

  Eri wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at Deyara. “You don’t have to go that far.”

  Deyara looked equal parts furious and panicked at Eri’s interruption. She sent a quick command to Maelric, causing the giant ghoul to jolt. “Ignore my helmsman’s rudeness. Our earlier deal stands. We can—”

  “Deyara, I’m not letting you whore yourself so that we can get on the ship,” Eri said matter-of-factly, completely ignoring the lovely elf’s enraged expression, as well as the darkening look on the corsair intendant. “I’d sooner murder my way to Lord Oleander’s neck than let any of these vermin touch you.”

  “You stupid— Fucking male!” Deyara hissed. “What are you doing?!”

  “... I see,” the corsair said, annoyed. “Should I take this as a confession of hostilities? If you are under the impression you will make it out alive—”

  “I would be right. See, normally, I would either try to manipulate, manoeuvre, or murder my way to my goal, but this time, the choice is out of my hands,” Eri calmly said, pointing behind the pirate.

  The corsair turned around. He froze.

  The enormous, malformed flesh-leviathan that was slumped over the deck of Lord Oleander’s flagship was facing directly at them.

  Despite the distance and the eerie fog between them, the sight of a giant, rotten-yellow eye could be seen, leaking pus and looking wetly at them from the prow of the giant dreadnought.

  The Despoiled Canticle shivered. A hollowing voice rumbled across the waves, sundering all in its path: “All ships. Clear the way. Allow our new friends through.”

  The nearby ships scrambled to move as the mountainous dreadnought started to turn. A nearby trio of brigs were crushed under giant fleshy flaps as the decaying, whale-like caress vessel ponderously turned and rolled in the water, expelling waves of putrid gas as it did so.

  The Despoiled Canticle turned to face the biovore corvette. A terrible shiver wracked its way across the giant corpse, dead nerves shuddering to unholy life.

  The undead creature opened its mouth.

  At the sight of the yawning entrance — its roof dripping vast sludges of toxic clumps that crashed into the purpling water below — Eri turned to face the pale and horrified corsair.

  “Still want to stop us from meeting your Boss?” Eri asked casually.

  “L-let them through!” The corsair shouted hoarsely.

  While the sight of the scrambling corsairs brought some satisfaction, Eri’s mind was occupied by far more foreboding thoughts.

  The giant yellow eye of the Despoiled Canticle had not left him this entire time. It blinked at him, slow and intentful.

  Eri grimaced. Things have just become a lot more complicated.