Legends of the Mistheart

The events of Solinum and Sufar marked the end of Ringo’s prosperity. Since then, a drought of epithet bounties had left him scavenging for scraps—petty marks that drained his reserves without truly feeding his hunger. For the first time in centuries, desperation gnawed at him. A year and a half had passed since he and Arjun buried the Ember Forge and slayed Valeria, but no new opportunities arose. Now, both mentor and protégé were restless, hungry, and eager for work—any havoc they could mend for senecs.

The Soulchaser drifted above the endless mist for days, combing the Empire in search of distress signals. Ringo’s personal channel, 42.615 AM, remained static, the hiss of white noise mocking him. In the cockpit, Ringo sat slouched at the navigation console, staring out the viewport, his pale fingers drumming against the armrest.

Behind him, Arjun busied himself, maintaining the ship and keeping up with his training. After a grueling workout, he headed to the engine room to check the fuel reserves. What he found wasn’t surprising—just more bad news. He sighed and made his way to the cockpit, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Hey, Ringo?” Arjun called.

Ringo didn’t respond, his mind buried under the weight of failure and hunger. The static of the radio was his only company, and he wasn’t about to let it go.

Arjun stepped closer, tapping his shoulder. “Ringo.”

The soul vampire blinked as if waking from a long dream. “What?”

“We’re low on fuel. A few hundred kilometers, tops, before we’re stuck drifting.”

Ringo’s expression darkened. Souls weren’t the only thing they were short on—money, too. He slammed his fist against the console, startling Arjun. “Damn it!” He exhaled sharply, then forced his voice to steady. “Fine. We’re near Noreia. The Central Minor Markets’ll have somethin’ for us.”

He turned the Soulchaser southwest toward Noreia, home of the Empire’s infamous trade hub. Built atop the ruins of New Neron, the Central Minor Markets were a chaotic sprawl of merchants, travelers, and smugglers. The city had risen from the ashes of the Neron civilization, which the Aeneans annihilated centuries ago in the South Sea Wars. Now, the markets were a crossroads of the Empire, teeming with opportunity—and danger.

“There ain’t a thing yuh can’t find at the Markets,” Ringo muttered as the ship sped toward the horizon. “Even work.”

Within a few hours, the sprawling chaos of the Central Minor Markets came into view. From a distance, the city looked quaint, with its modest buildings and winding streets. But the air above told a different story. Airships of every make and size filled the sky, circling like vultures over the crowded docks.

“Looks like Riothamalia packed into a matchbox,” Arjun said, peering out the viewport.

Ringo grunted, scanning for an open docking pad. Finding one, he reached for the transmitter. “Soulchaser tuh CMM docks. Need a pad fer a helium submistial explorer. Over.”

After a brief crackle of static, a bored voice replied, “Soulchaser, SD II XIX is ready for landing. Over.”

Ringo brought the ship down smoothly, locking into place as the docking bridge extended. He stretched for the first time in days, groaning as his joints popped. Grabbing his ritual glass of whiskey, he motioned for Arjun to gear up.

“Listen,” Ringo said, taking a long sip. “The folks here ain’t kind tuh Coloni. Even Tarkhanian and Scuran citizens get shit, and they ain’t even Coloni. Keep close, and don’t run that mouth of yers.”

Arjun rolled his eyes. “We’ve traveled the whole Empire, Ringo. I’ve heard worse than whatever slurs these people can come up with.”

“This ain’t just names, boy,” Ringo snapped. “Some of these folks are lookin’ fer more than words. Just stay sharp.”

Arjun sighed but nodded, following Ringo as they stepped off the ship.

After leaving the Soulchaser, Ringo moved fast to head into the markets, Arjun matching his pace. They neared the end of the docks, but before they could leave, a sharp voice called out. “Excuse me! Did you just dock at SD II XIX?”

Ringo turned to see an older Novan man, the dockmaster, striding toward them with a clipboard in hand. “Reckon I did,” Ringo said. “Was just about tuh find yuh.”

“Right,” the dockmaster replied, unimpressed. “Eighty senecs a day, plus two senecs per liter if you need a refuel. How long are you staying?”

Ringo grimaced. “Look, I ain’t got yer money right now. Let me keep ‘er there fer now, and I’ll pay yuh when I get back.”

The dockmaster rolled his eyes. “You’ve got sixteen days. After that, I’m confiscating the ship. Today is 24 Juno, 1032 AE. You’ve got until 2 Neptunus to cough up 1,400 senecs, or we confiscate your ship.”

“Fine,” Ringo growled, turning away. “I’ll get yer damn money.”

As they walked into the city, Arjun smirked. “He really got under your skin, huh?”

“Asshole’s lucky I’m desperate,” Ringo muttered as they disappeared into the crowded streets.

While Ad Alsium might claim the title of the Empire’s melting pot, Noreia was a strong contender. The diversity here stretched across every region of the Empire, its streets a tapestry of cultures. The inhabitants lived on the outskirts of the bustling town, while its beating heart—the Central Minor Markets—drew merchants and travelers from every corner of the world.

Brick-and-mortar shops stood shoulder to shoulder with makeshift stalls, their awnings patched together with cloth and ambition. Exotic goods spilled across counters and crates: rare spices from the South Seas, vibrant Tarkhanian dyes, glinting metal trinkets from Entellan forges. The air was thick with competing scents of roasted meats, brine, and the faint acrid tang of black-market wares.

Merchants shouted over one another, each desperate to outdo their rivals. Buyers shuffled through the chaos, their voices drowned out by the relentless calls of salesmen hawking everything from exotic fruits to weapons.

Ringo and Arjun moved through the throng, sticking to the inner part of the crowd, hoping to blend in. The effort proved futile.

“You with the fancy hat!” a greasy Aenean barked, spotting Ringo. Before Arjun could react, the man darted from behind his wooden fruit stand, seizing Arjun’s arm. “Come, come! You’re hungry, yes? I have the finest oranges in all of Noreia!” His smile was as sharp as it was insincere.

Ringo was on him in an instant, prying the merchant’s fingers off Arjun with a vice-like grip. “We ain’t interested,” Ringo growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The merchant’s grin didn’t waver. “Perhaps not oranges, then? Maybe something… more invigorating?” He reached into his cart and half-revealed a small pouch of gaigo leaves, the notorious stimulant practically glowing under the dim canopy.

Ringo didn’t bother to reply this time, dragging Arjun back into the crowd. But they’d barely gone ten paces before another merchant—a broad-shouldered Aenean with a glint of avarice in his eyes—stepped into their path.

“You have a fine boy there, sir,” the man said with a smarmy smile. “How much for him?”

The crowd seemed to hush for a moment, the weight of the words hanging in the air.

Ringo froze, his expression a storm. “He ain’t Coloni,” he said coldly.

The merchant’s smile faltered, but he pressed on. “Apologies, sir. Perhaps you’d like one? Tarkha—”

Ringo cut him off, stepping forward until the merchant could feel the heat of his breath. “Finish that thought, and I reckon yuh don’t make it home tonight.” His revolvers glinted as he shifted his coat just enough for the merchant to get the message.

The man stumbled back, his hands raised in apology. Ringo turned without another word, grabbing Arjun’s shoulder to push him forward.

They pressed deeper into the market, leaving the chaos of the open stalls behind for the sturdier structures of the district’s core. Here, stone buildings housed permanent shops with well-crafted signs advertising blacksmiths, bakeries, and antiques. Taverns spilled the smell of roasted meat and spiced ale into the narrow streets, enticing weary travelers inside.

Despite the more structured setting, the relentless energy of the Central Minor Markets followed them. Vendors called out from doorways, waving brightly colored fabrics or trays of sweets, their voices desperate to rise above the cacophony.

Ringo kept moving, his hand resting on the butt of his revolver, his eyes scanning the crowd. Arjun walked silently beside him, his face tight with frustration but his steps carefully measured.

“Relax,” Ringo muttered, not looking at him. “This place ain’t no different than the rest of the Empire. Everyone’s sellin’ somethin’, even if it’s someone’s freedom.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Arjun replied under his breath.

Ringo didn’t answer. He simply kept walking, his pace steady, his shoulders tense.

They stopped in front of a small shop with windows cluttered by curios and antiques. A Tarkhanian man inside was unsuccessfully trying to sell a blouse of Calen silk to a wealthy Aenean woman. She left with a dismissive wave, and the shopkeeper’s sharp eyes darted to Ringo, who stood studying a massive, taxidermied alligator displayed in the corner.

“Ah, you’re a man of taste, I see,” the shopkeeper said, stepping forward with a salesman’s grin. “This one’s from Vanaia. Heard he put up a hell of a fight before they got him.”

Ringo didn’t take his eyes off the stuffed creature. “Reckon they all do. But I ain’t here fer dead animals, partner.” He finally turned to meet the man’s gaze. “Yuh work with anything… magical?”

The Tarkhanian’s grin widened, his eyes lighting up with interest. “A special kind of customer, I see. You’re in luck—got a few things tucked away for the more discerning buyer. Follow me.”

He led them into a dimly lit backroom, where shelves groaned under the weight of artifacts. Weapons, jewelry, and unassuming trinkets gleamed under the amber glow of oil lamps. Each item practically hummed with the promise of hidden power.

“Anything in particular you’re after?” the shopkeeper asked.

Ringo stepped forward, scanning the shelves with deliberate ease. “Actually, there might be somethin’ I can do fer you. Man sellin’ goods like these is bound tuh have his share of trouble.”

The man’s cheerful demeanor flickered. His eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you getting at?”

Ringo raised both hands, palms outward. “Easy there, partner. What’s yer name?”

The man hesitated, then said, “Amun.”

“Well, Amun, me and the boy here are a special kinda bounty hunter. We handle the types of folks others can’t… usually the kind with epithets or a taste fer chaos. If someone’s givin’ yuh grief over yer artifact business, we might be able tuh help.”

Amun leaned back slightly, arms crossed, studying Ringo with suspicion. “Who sent you?”

“No one,” Ringo replied evenly. “We’re just in town lookin’ fer work.”

Amun frowned, weighing his options, then spoke. “There’s a group of pirates aboard a ship known as the Mistheart. They’ve been hitting my shipments hard—three last month alone. Each ship carried priceless artifacts I’ll never get back. The Empire? Useless. And no matter how much security I add, those bastards take down every ship I send.”

Ringo’s lips curved into a sly grin. “Sounds like a job fer us. How’s 50,000 senecs sound tuh fix yer little problem?”

Amun’s brows furrowed. “Fifty thousand? That’s steep. What’s your name again?”

“Ringo.”

A flicker of recognition crossed Amun’s face. “The infamous Ringo?” His cautious demeanor melted into faint excitement. “I’ve heard stories about you.” He paused, then added, “All right, Ringo, how about this? I’ll give you 10,000 now, but I can’t afford to lose another shipment. Here’s what I need—tomorrow, a ship’s coming in from Ekso. It’ll take this route.” He grabbed a rolled-up map from a nearby shelf and pointed to a stretch of trade lanes just north of Noreia. “That’s right where the pirates hit the others. Escort the ship here safely, and I’ll give you another 10,000. Sink their damned ship, and I’ll throw in another 50,000 on top.”

Ringo tipped his hat with a smirk. “Well, partner, looks like I’ll be 70,000 senecs richer, and yuh’ll get yer shipments from now on.”

Amun’s grin returned. “Good. Let me get your money.” He disappeared into a small office and returned moments later with a wad of senecs. “Count it, if you’d like.”

Ringo counted quickly. Satisfied, he put it in his pocket and tipped his hat again. “Much obliged. We’ll see yuh soon.”

As Ringo and Arjun left the shop, the latter glanced up at his mentor. “Ships from Ekso?”

Ringo shrugged. “That’s what ‘ee said.”

Arjun frowned, his voice low. “Isn’t that an old slave colony?”

“Was. Ain’t no more. Why?” Ringo asked, eyes scanning the crowded streets ahead.

“Slavery was legal, but someone just tried to buy me back there. I’m just saying… what kind of artifacts are coming out of Ekso?”

Ringo paused for a moment but kept his expression neutral. “We’ll find out.”

Leaving the Central Minor Markets was far easier than entering. The merchants had little interest in those walking out with lighter wallets. Ringo and Arjun made their way back to the docks with ease, where the same old Novan dockmaster stood watch, his sharp eyes fixed on the Soulchaser.

Ringo sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yuh plannin’ tuh stand here ‘til Neptunus?”

The Novan looked up with a scowl. “Had to make sure you weren’t gonna skip out on me.”

Ringo handed over the senecs. “It’s all there. Fill ‘er up, and I’ll make it worth yer while.”

The dockmaster meticulously counted every senec, his fingers moving with maddening slowness. “Fine,” he grumbled, finally waving over a Scuran worker. The Scuran man hauled a hose over to the Soulchaser and connected it to the ship’s fuel intake. A deep hum reverberated as Mistian oil began pumping into the tank.

It was a slow process, and Ringo’s patience wore thinner with each passing minute. When the tank was finally full, the Scuran unhooked the hose and whispered something into the dockmaster’s ear.

The Novan turned back to Ringo. “That’ll be 8,234 senecs for the fuel.”

Ringo scowled but reached into his pocket, counting out almost all of the money they’d just earned. He handed it over begrudgingly. “There. Am I free tuh go?”

The dockmaster counted the money again, smirking as he finished. “No tip?”

Ringo tipped his hat sarcastically. “Ain’t done nothin’ tuh earn it.” Without waiting for a reply, he strode back toward the Soulchaser.

Inside, Ringo immediately headed for the navigation console. “Fire up the engines! We got pirates tuh hunt.”

Arjun sighed but set to work prepping for takeoff. Despite his weariness, the thought of stopping pirates—and how much they needed this bounty—kept him moving.

Moments later, the Soulchaser lifted off, heading north through the pale, swirling mist. As the ship hummed with activity, Arjun prepared a quick comfort meal before retreating to his bunk. Meanwhile, Ringo stayed at the viewport, his gaze fixed and unyielding, hungry for the promise of souls.

By the time Arjun awoke, the Soulchaser was gliding low through the mist, trailing Amun’s merchant ship in eerie silence. The boy stumbled into the main area, still groggy. “Why’re we under the mist?”

“Don’t want the pirates tuh see us comin’,” Ringo replied, his voice steady, his eyes locked ahead. “Catch ‘em by surprise.”

The tension in the cabin was palpable as Ringo waited for the inevitable attack. “Soon as they show up, I’ll take us above the mist. You man the gatlin’. Aim fer their balloon—mist’ll do the rest.”

Before Arjun could respond, a screech cut through the silence. A swarm of harpies ascended from below, diving straight for the merchant ship. Gunfire erupted as the merchant crew scrambled to fend off the creatures, but the swarm was massive—larger than anything Ringo had ever seen.

The harpies moved with brutal efficiency. They picked off crew members one by one, dragging their screaming victims into the swirling mist below. Others clawed and tore at the merchant ship’s balloon, ripping holes in the fabric. The ship groaned under the strain, sinking lower as its buoyancy failed.

Then, the mist beneath them churned violently, causing the harpies to retreat. A submistial galleon burst from the gas sea, its hulking frame sending ripples through the mist. The massive ship glided upward, its hull bristling with harpoons that fired in unison, tethering the merchant ship like a snared beast.

The galleon rose high, towing its prey along with it. Pirates descended along the harpoon tethers, gunfire erupted on the merchant ship’s deck as chaos ensued.

Ringo’s jaw tightened. “Time tuh move.” He threw the Soulchaser into a sharp climb, bringing it above the merchant ship. With a precise maneuver, he lowered the Soulchaser’s explorer landing gear, locking onto the battered deck below.

“Grab yer gear!” Ringo shouted.

Arjun scrambled to arm himself as Ringo leapt from the Soulchaser, his boots landing with a solid thud on the merchant ship’s deck. Arjun followed close behind, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Ringo cracked his neck, his revolvers gleaming in the light. “Time tuh teach these pirates a lesson they won’t live tuh forget.”

The surviving crew fought desperately, their rifles and pistols blazing as pirates slid down the harpoon tethers. The sharp cracks of gunfire echoed through the mist, punctuated by the cries of the injured. Smoke curled around the deck as bullets ricocheted off railings and crates. Some struck true, sending pirates plunging into the swirling mist below, but more kept coming, their war cries growing louder as they descended.

Ringo leapt into action, his revolvers barking in quick succession. Each shot was precise, felling a pirate with uncanny accuracy. He moved with the ease of someone who had lived through countless battles, reloading as fast as he fired. One pirate managed to land on the deck, only to collapse seconds later as Ringo put a bullet through his chest without breaking stride.

Meanwhile, Arjun crouched behind a stack of cargo, gripping his gamas tightly. His fingers tensed around the hilts as he watched the attackers swarm closer. He waited, his heart pounding, as the first wave of pirates made it through the hail of bullets, landing on the deck with feral grins and weapons drawn.

The pirates charged, swords flashing and pistols cracking. The surviving crew met them head-on, bayonets clashing against cutlasses.

Arjun sprang into action as a Tarkhanian pirate lunged toward him, the man’s cutlass slashing downward. Arjun blocked the strike with his gama, the blade sparking against his tyran. With a swift counter, he drove his second gama into the pirate’s side, the force knocking the man to the ground.

“Keep it together, boy!” Ringo barked as he dropped another attacker with a shot to the chest. “We ain’t dyin’ on this ship!”

The deck became a chaotic melee, steel clanging and bodies colliding. A burly Scuran pirate broke through the line of defenders, roaring as he swung a massive warhammer. Arjun ducked beneath the swing, the hammer smashing into a crate behind him and sending splinters flying. Rolling to his feet, he lashed out with his gamas, slashing the pirate’s legs. The Scuran dropped to one knee with a howl of pain, but before he could retaliate, Ringo’s revolver fired, and the pirate fell silent.

“Watch yer back!” Ringo called as two more pirates charged Arjun from opposite sides.

Arjun spun on his heel, swinging his gamas in a fluid arc. The first attacker hesitated, giving him just enough time to close the gap and strike. His blade caught the pirate across the arm, forcing her to drop her sword. The second lunged with a dagger, but Arjun parried the thrust, following up with a swift kick that sent the man sprawling. He swung with a clean strike using both gamas to end the fight.

A sudden hush fell over the battlefield as heavy boots landed on the deck.

“Enough!”

The pirate captain, Kazem, strode forward, flanked by two of his crew. His presence was commanding, his tall frame clad in an old, weathered naval uniform. His cutlass, an artifact known as the Fang of the Abyss, pulsed with an eerie black light, and his pistol, Mistmaker, gleamed at his hip. His voice was a low growl that carried above the din.

Kazem’s one sharp eye scanned the deck, narrowing on Ringo. “Which one of you is in charge here?”

Ringo holstered one revolver but kept the other ready. “That’d be me. Yuh got a problem?”

Kazem sneered. “I don’t know who you are, old man, but you’re in my way. Step aside, and I’ll let you live.”

Ringo’s grin was feral. “Step aside? Not a chance. I’m puttin’ yuh down.”

Kazem’s lips curled into a snarl. “Big words for a bounty hunter.”

With a roar, Kazem lunged, his cutlass trailing dark mist as it slashed toward Ringo. The bounty hunter dodged to the side, firing a shot at point-blank range, but Kazem’s blade deflected the bullet, its tyran-hardened edge humming with unnatural power.

“Arjun!” Ringo shouted. “Handle the others!”

Arjun nodded, turning his attention to Kazem’s two bodyguards. One was a lean Scuran wielding twin daggers that shimmered with a faint red glow, while the other was a hulking Tarkhanian woman gripping a spear crackling with arcs of lightning.

The Scuran moved first, disappearing in a blur of motion that made Arjun’s heart lurch. He barely had time to raise his gamas before the first dagger slashed toward his chest. Steel rang against tyran as he parried, the impact reverberating through his arms. The Scuran’s speed was unnatural, his attacks coming from every direction in a dizzying flurry.

“Damn it,” Arjun muttered, backing up toward the cover of a crate. Each strike tested his reflexes, his gamas ringing as they narrowly blocked the blows. His opponent’s daggers left faint, red-glowing trails in the air, and it wasn’t until one nicked his sleeve that he felt it: a flash of numbness spreading down his arm.

Paralysis, Arjun realized, gritting his teeth as he sidestepped another attack. He thought to himself, if I let those daggers land, I’m done.

The Tarkhanian woman advanced behind the Scuran, her approach deliberate. Sparks danced along her spear. “Keep him busy,” she growled, slamming the butt of her spear into the deck. A bolt of lightning arced outward, striking dangerously close to Arjun and searing the wood beneath his feet.

Arjun pivoted away, trying to put more distance between himself and the pair. The Tarkhanian grinned, gripping her spear tightly as electricity coursed along its length and into her body. Her muscles tensed, swelling with newfound strength. Her epithet let her absorb the energy, turning damage into raw power even as burns spread across her arms.

The Scuran took advantage of Arjun’s brief distraction, surging forward again. This time, Arjun anticipated his speed. He spun to the side, using one gama to deflect a dagger while slashing upward with the other. The blade grazed the Scuran’s shoulder, tearing his coat but drawing no blood.

“You’re quick,” the Scuran hissed, his voice a low snarl. “But not quick enough.”

Before Arjun could reply, the Tarkhanian let out a bellowing laugh and thrust her spear forward, lightning exploding from the tip. The bolt struck the metal railings of the deck, sending sparks flying in all directions. Arjun stumbled, the residual shock numbing his legs for a moment.

Arjun barely had time to react as the Scuran closed in again, his daggers flashing in the dim light.

He ducked and twisted, his movements growing more desperate. He swung his gamas in wide arcs, aiming to keep the Scuran at bay, but the man was relentless. Every dodge cost Arjun precious ground, backing him closer to the edge of the deck.

The Tarkhanian seized the opportunity, raising her spear and slamming it into her own chest. Electricity surged through her body, her veins glowing faintly as her muscles bulged further. She roared, charging at Arjun with unnatural ferocity.

Arjun feinted left, causing the Scuran to lunge forward prematurely. In that split second, Arjun spun and brought one of his gamas down hard on the Scuran’s wrist. The man hissed in pain, one of his daggers clattering to the deck.

But before Arjun could press the advantage, the Tarkhanian was upon him. She swung her spear in a wide arc, the weapon crackling with lethal energy. Arjun barely ducked in time, the spearhead whistling past his ear and slamming into a crate behind him. The impact sent a shockwave of lightning through the wood, reducing it to splinters.

The force of the blast knocked Arjun to the ground, his gamas slipping from his grip. The Tarkhanian loomed over him, grinning as she raised her spear for a killing blow.

“Too slow,” she growled.

But Arjun wasn’t out yet. Grabbing one of the discarded planks from the shattered crate, he thrust it upward as the spear came down. The wood caught the tip of the weapon, splintering on impact but redirecting the lightning strike to the side. A burst of sparks erupted, and the Tarkhanian stumbled as the current surged back into her.

Arjun rolled to the side, retrieving one of his gamas as he rose. His body was exhausted, but he forced himself to keep moving. The Scuran had recovered his dagger and was circling again, his eyes sharp and calculating.

Arjun narrowed his gaze, adjusting his stance. He couldn’t take them both head-on—not like this. He needed to outthink them.

A spark of inspiration struck. Arjun shifted his footing, deliberately exposing his back to the Tarkhanian while keeping the Scuran in his peripheral vision. The woman charged, her spear arcing toward him, but Arjun sidestepped at the last second. The momentum of her swing carried her forward, straight into the path of the Scuran.

The collision was brief but enough. The Scuran growled as he dodged the blow, but the distraction gave Arjun the opening he needed. He surged forward, driving his gama into the Tarkhanian’s shoulder. The tyran-infused blade bit deep, drawing a roar of pain.

Before she could retaliate, Arjun spun and delivered a second strike to the Scuran’s leg, his blade cutting across the man’s thigh. The Scuran staggered, his speed faltering as the wound split open.

Breathing hard, Arjun backed away, keeping both enemies in view. They were wounded but far from defeated—and he was running out of stamina.

Meanwhile, Ringo and Kazem circled each other in a deadly dance. Kazem’s cutlass slashed and stabbed, its movements fluid and relentless. Ringo evaded with practiced precision, his revolvers firing in measured bursts. Each shot was deflected, but Ringo’s aim forced Kazem to expend precious energy.

“Yer good,” Ringo admitted, sidestepping another strike. “But not good enough.”

Kazem growled, his epithet flaring to life. He performed his ultimate move, summoning the Abyss.

The deck beneath Ringo’s feet warped, black tendrils of fog surging up to ensnare him. He dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the writhing shadows, but they moved with unnatural speed, lashing out again. One tendril wrapped around his ankle, yanking him off balance.

Kazem’s grin widened. “You’re in my domain now.”

Ringo grunted, twisting mid-fall to fire another shot. The bullet clipped Kazem’s shoulder, forcing him to release the tendril. Ringo rolled to his feet, panting.

Kazem laughed. “You’re tougher than you look, but we got what we came for. Let’s see how you handle this.”

Kazem raised his cutlass high, the blade gleaming with an eerie, otherworldly light. He looked up to his ship as he channeled the power of the Mistheart. The air grew frigid, a biting chill cutting through the chaos. The mist thickened, swirling in unnatural patterns around the ships. From the depths below, a guttural, bone-shaking growl echoed, growing louder with each passing second.

Then it appeared.

A leviathan broke through the mist like a rising mountain, its shimmering, iridescent body dwarfing all three ships. It glistened with a slick sheen, the sun reflecting off its smooth, blubbery surface. Massive jaws split open in a deafening roar, revealing rows of large dull teeth that could crush steel with ease. The creature’s black eyes locked onto the merchant ship with a terrifying, predatory focus.

Ringo’s expression twisted into a snarl. “Yuh callin’ the whole damn sea?!” he barked, unloading a volley of bullets at Kazem.

Kazem didn’t even flinch. The bullets ricocheted off the swirling barrier of the Abyss that now surrounded him, his lips curling into a cruel smile.

“Retreat, boy!” Ringo’s voice rang out, sharp and urgent.

Arjun hesitated, his gamas poised mid-strike against the bloodied Tarkhanian speedster. But the growing rumble of the leviathan’s approach, combined with Ringo’s shout, snapped him into action. He leapt backward, disengaging from the fight, and bounded toward the Soulchaser.

Ringo followed close behind, firing a final volley at Kazem and the other pirates to cover their retreat. As he dashed across the deck, his sharp eyes caught the mistians swarming above—the harpies, drawn by the Mistheart’s summons, were descending like vultures.

“Get on the gun!” Ringo barked as he vaulted onto the Soulchaser.

Arjun wasted no time. Grappling to the upper deck with his gamas, he sprinted to the mounted ARR gun—a heavy, rapid-fire turret designed for moments like this. He swung into position, gripping the controls tightly as the wave of harpies closed in.

The mistians screeched as they dived, their twisted, winged forms slicing through the air. Arjun pressed down on the trigger, unleashing a storm of bullets. The ARR gun roared to life, its barrels spinning as it spat a relentless hail of rounds. Mistians dropped from the sky like stones, their screeches turning to guttural cries before their corpses disappeared into the mist below.

Meanwhile, the leviathan surged forward, its massive tail whipping through the mist and causing shockwaves that rocked the ships. The merchant ship groaned under the strain, splintering as the leviathan’s jaws snapped shut around its hull.

The pirates released the tethers, leaving the merchant ship to its doom. It plummeted into the mist with a final, anguished creak before vanishing entirely.

Onboard the Soulchaser, Ringo fired up the engines, the vessel roaring as it sped above the mist. The harpies pursued relentlessly, clawing and slamming into the airship’s frame. Arjun’s ARR gun thundered, but their sheer numbers overwhelmed his efforts.

He quickly ran to the hatch to open it. “Ringo! We’ve got damage—rear turbine’s hit!” Arjun shouted down into the ship, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

“I see it!” Ringo growled, his hands gripping the controls. The Soulchaser lurched as the damaged turbine sputtered, trailing thick black smoke. “Hold ’em off as long as yuh can!”

Arjun didn’t stop firing, his arms aching from the constant recoil. The harpies pressed closer, their talons tearing into the airship’s balloon. With every tear, helium hissed out into the atmosphere, the Soulchaser slowly losing altitude.

“Hang on!” Ringo yelled. He yanked hard on the controls, steering the ship toward the nearest landmass—a small, forested island with a shimmering lake to the south.

Ringo yanked the lever hard, and the Soulchaser’s emergency systems groaned to life. Parachutes burst from the top of the deflating balloon, billowing out to slow their descent. The landing gear extended with a metallic shriek, barely holding as the airship hurtled toward the forested island below.

“Brace yerself!” Ringo bellowed, gripping the controls as the Soulchaser shuddered violently.

The airship slammed into the ground, skidding across dirt and grass in a cacophony of grinding metal and splintering wood. It plowed through the underbrush, carving a path of destruction before finally lurching to a jarring halt beside the lake. Smoke and steam hissed from the battered vessel, its proud silhouette now sagging with gashes, scorch marks, and shredded rigging.

Arjun wasted no time. Scrambling to get back on the mounted ARR gun, he targeted the few harpies that had followed them down. The sharp crack of his shots echoed across the clearing, each round finding its mark. The harpies screeched and fell, some retreating back into the mist. Arjun’s final volley ensured none remained to harass them further.

He slumped against the turret, chest heaving as the tension bled out of him. “That… was close,” he muttered, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

Ringo climbed down from the controls, his expression dark and thunderous. He stomped across the deck, his boots clanging against the damaged hull. His gaze turned toward the distant mist, where the faint silhouette of the leviathan lingered like a haunting specter.

“This ain’t over, Kazem,” Ringo growled, his voice low and filled with venom. His fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles whitening. “Not by a damn long shot.”

Arjun climbed down to join him, his legs trembling from exhaustion. “So… what now?”

Ringo exhaled sharply, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “We patch up, regroup, an’ figure out how tuh take that bastard down.”

Arjun nodded, but doubts churned in his mind. Kazem and the Mistheart were unlike anything they’d faced before—and now, they were stranded on an unfamiliar island with a ship barely holding together. The Soulchaser had survived its encounter with the Mistheart and its crew—but barely. And the fight ahead would only be harder.

Together, they walked the perimeter of the Soulchaser, assessing the damage. The balloon was riddled with gaping tears, helium hissing out causing the ship’s frame to sink slowly into the dirt. One of the rear turbines was completely shot, its charred remains still smoldering. The engine had given up entirely after that rough landing, and the hull was dented and scarred in more places than they could count.

Ringo stopped, staring at the wreckage with a taut jaw. His shoulders heaved as he fought to contain his frustration, but it boiled over. “Son of a bitch!” he roared, kicking the battered hull with enough force to rattle the entire frame.

Arjun flinched but said nothing, watching as Ringo paced back and forth, cursing under his breath. His usual cool demeanor was gone, replaced by a man teetering on the edge. His fists clenched and unclenched as he ranted, his voice dripping with bitterness.

“Rat bastard,” Ringo snarled, his accent thickening with his anger. “Hidin’ behind mistians like a coward. Could’ve had ‘im, too! Three epithet souls, boy! Would’ve kept me goin’ fer months—and the cash, too. Damn it!” He lashed out again, his boot striking the Soulchaser with a hollow clang.

“Ringo, stop!” Arjun said sharply, stepping forward. He hesitated for a moment, but seeing Ringo spiraling further, he pressed on. “Look, you got some souls from the fight, right? You’re not running low.”

Ringo stopped mid-step, his breaths heavy. “Reckon I did, yeah,” he admitted, though his tone was still laced with frustration. “Just a bunch of mortals, though. Could’ve had somethin’ better.”

“Who cares?!” Arjun’s voice rose, surprising even himself. He jabbed a finger at the ship. “This thing is falling apart, and you’re stuck on revenge? You’re fucking Ringo! You think about the next step, not the last one. The ship’s trashed, yeah—but you’re the only one who can fix it. So quit kicking the damn thing and figure something out!”

Ringo turned to Arjun, his sharp gaze narrowing. For a moment, the fury still simmered in his eyes, but it softened into something steadier. He exhaled through clenched teeth, running a hand down his face as he let the anger bleed out. His gaze shifted between the wrecked ship and the mist swirling far below.

“The Mistheart’s been hittin’ ships round these parts, yeah?” His voice was calm now, but the undertone of urgency lingered.

Arjun frowned, brushing ash from his sleeves. “Yeah…”

“Then there’s bound tuh be a ship graveyard down there.” Ringo’s lips curled into a faint, determined smirk. “We suit up, use yer gamas tuh lower down, and salvage what we need.”

Arjun blinked, the weight of exhaustion lifting just a little. He couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. “Now that’s the Ringo I know!”

“I’ll figure out what we need fer repairs.” Ringo turned toward the Soulchaser’s damaged frame. “Get some rest. Reckon we’ll be down there a while.”

Arjun didn’t argue. Dragging himself back inside the battered ship, he stepped over scattered tools, spilled crates, and his own belongings strewn across the floor. In the barracks, he shoved debris off his bunk and collapsed onto the mattress, falling asleep almost immediately, the nightmare of the day finally fading.

When he awoke, it was dark. The cabin lights barely flickered, and the night was silent except for the occasional creak of the damaged ship. Ringo shook him awake, already packed and ready, his face grim but focused.

“Wake up, kid,” Ringo muttered, nudging him harder. “We got parts tuh hunt.”

Arjun rubbed his eyes and sat up, groaning as the enormity of their task settled over him. With stiff movements, he hauled himself out of bed and began donning his submistial gear.

The suit was heavy, its thick, airtight layers designed to protect him from the toxic mist. Leather armor reinforced with chainmail weighed him down even more, while the gas mask sealed over his face with a series of metallic clicks. Finally, he attached the oxygen tank to his back, its faint hiss a constant reminder of how little air stood between him and suffocation.

As he stepped out of the Soulchaser, he wondered how submistial hunters managed this every day. The weight of the gear was oppressive, and the thought of descending into the mist—where creatures far deadlier than harpies lurked—set his nerves on edge.

Outside, Ringo crouched by a small fire he’d built, double-checking their equipment in the flickering light. He glanced up as Arjun approached, his expression unreadable. “Yuh ready?”

Arjun nodded, his breath loud in the mask. He looked Ringo up and down, noting the lack of protective gear. “You’re not suiting up?”

“Might burn extra soul energy, but I can regulate muhself,” Ringo replied, shrugging it off. He grabbed one of Arjun’s gamas and began tying the chain securely around the Soulchaser’s chassis.

Once the weapon was anchored, Ringo handed it back to Arjun and gestured toward the edge of the island. The mist churned below, thick and endless, swallowing the horizon in a grey abyss. “You go first. I’ll climb down after yuh.”

Arjun took the gama and let out a shaky breath as he peered over the edge of the island, into the endless depths below. The mist stretched beneath them like an ocean of muted hues, its color an unsettling, ethereal beige, swirling with faint pink and brown undertones. It moved like something alive, the soft colors shifting in hypnotic patterns that seemed to pull at his nerves the longer he stared.

Without a second thought, he jumped, gripping the gama tightly as its chain seemingly unspooled with a faint metallic whir. The descent felt endless. The kilometers-deep dive through the mist consumed him, wrapping around his suit like a shroud. Its muted tones seemed to glow faintly in the absence of sunlight, creating an otherworldly, diffused haze that distorted his sense of distance and direction. The deeper he went, the thicker it became, clinging to him like it sought to pull him into its depths.

When he finally reached the bottom, Arjun landed with a soft thud on the cold, solid ground. The mist here was suffocating, pressing against his helmet with an almost tangible weight. The swirling hues of beige and pale pink seemed darker now, tinged with a strange, sickly luminescence. Visibility was near zero—anything beyond a meter disappeared into a dense, swirling void.

Ahead, dim, flickering light emerged from the darkness—the eternal flames of the ambrogs. The fires burned with a strange vitality, their faint orange glow fighting against the oppressive mist. The bones and scraps from above piled around the flames, which casted long, jagged shadows that flickered and danced in the haze. Screeches, guttural moans, and the low growls of unseen creatures reverberated through the mist, muffled but still unnervingly close.

Ringo descended moments later, sliding down the chain with practiced ease. His boots struck the ground beside Arjun, and he straightened, his eyes scanning their surroundings with calm intensity. Even Ringo, who’d seen the depths of the mist before, seemed momentarily unsettled by the strange horrors of it.

The two stood in silence, Arjun’s breath loud in his helmet. Ringo’s faintly glowing eyes reflected the muted tones of their surroundings. The swirling mist seemed alive here, a churning sea of muted beige and pale brown that refused to let them forget they were intruders in its domain.

“Stay sharp,” Ringo muttered, his voice low but steady. His eyes scanned their surroundings, taking in the faint glow of the flames and the oppressive fog pressing in around them.

Arjun nodded, gripping his gama tightly as it continued to leave a trail of chains everywhere they walked. It was the only thing letting them get back to the surface.

The bottom of the mist was alive with movement and sound—an unseen, teeming world full of predators and scavengers. For a moment, neither of them spoke, both feeling the same creeping sense of dread as the eerie ambiance settled over them.

“Let’s find those parts,” Ringo said finally, breaking the tension. His tone was calm but firm, a quiet determination cutting through the oppressive silence.

And with that, they moved into the depths, the eternal flames flickering like ghostly beacons in the haze. Luckily it wasn’t long until Ringo’s hunch was proven. Within a kilometer of the island laid a large trading ship, its ghostly silhouette shown eerily in the mist.

The pair rushed toward the wreckage, every sense on high alert. The mist was thick with life, each shadow promising danger. A battle in the mist was inevitable, and both knew how quickly it could turn lethal. As they neared the ruined merchant ship, Arjun suddenly felt the taut pull of his gama’s chain.

Before he could react, a deafening roar shook the mist. A massive force yanked the chain, sending him hurtling backward. He crashed to the ground, tumbling over himself as his weapon clattered beside him.

Ringo spun around, his revolvers instantly raised. “Get up!” he barked. “We got company!”

The ground trembled with each approaching footstep, sending vibrations through their boots. Arjun scrambled to his feet, grabbing his gama as Ringo pulled a metal stick from his coat, twisting it until it emitted a pale blue glow. He stabbed it into the ground, the faint light illuminating the swirling mist around them.

“Stay back,” Ringo commanded, stepping forward with steady resolve, his revolvers locked and ready. “I’ll handle this.”

The footsteps grew louder, each quake shaking the very ground beneath them. Then, from the mist, two massive red eyes burned like beacons, locking onto them.

The beast roared again, its guttural cry sending waves of mist billowing outward, forcing Ringo and Arjun to brace themselves against the acoustic pressure. Emerging from the fog, the drasura stood revealed—a monstrous titan standing ten meters tall on four trunk-like legs. Its thick, armored hide glistened against the blue light, its back adorned with four massive tentacles, each lined with glowing sacs of acidic venom. Its snout bristled with rows of serrated teeth, and its pointed ears swiveled sharply, tracking every sound.

“A drasura,” Arjun muttered, gripping his weapons tighter. “Shit.”

Ringo didn’t hesitate. He fired the first shot, the crack of his revolver cutting through the mist. The bullet struck the drasura’s hide and flattened uselessly against its armored flesh. The beast barely flinched, but the noise stirred something far worse in the distance. The snarls and growls of other predators echoed back, a chorus of danger closing in.

“C’mon, yuh big bastard,” Ringo snarled, firing another shot. This time, the bullet grazed its snout, drawing a thin line of blood but doing little else.

The drasura roared in fury, raising its tentacles. They flexed and aimed, launching streams of acid toward Ringo. He dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the bubbling, smoking puddle where he stood seconds before.

“Arjun, move yer ass!” Ringo shouted, dodging another volley of acid as he rolled to his feet.

Arjun repositioned himself, keeping his distance. Ringo unloaded another pair of shots, one ricocheting off the beast’s cheek, the other hitting its left eye dead-on. The drasura reared back, screeching in agony as it stomped violently, shaking the ground like a quake.

“Run tuh the ship!” Ringo yelled, breaking into a sprint toward the wreckage.

Arjun didn’t hesitate, following close behind. The drasura lashed out blindly, its remaining eye wild with rage, but it was too focused on its pain to track them effectively.

The pair’s retreat, however, didn’t go unnoticed. A horde of ambrogs—drawn by the chaos—emerged from the mist, their spindly forms skittering across the ground. They let out guttural snarls as they closed in, cutting off Ringo and Arjun just meters from the safety of the merchant ship.

Ringo slid to a halt, raising his revolvers. “Figures,” he muttered, gritting his teeth.

Arjun spun his one free gama, its chain humming as it sliced through the mist. “Guess we’re fighting through.”

The ambrogs charged, their razor-sharp claws gleaming. Ringo opened fire, felling the first two in a spray of blood and ichor. Arjun leapt forward, his gama spinning in wide arcs, cleaving through the attackers with deadly precision.

“Keep close!” Ringo shouted, backing toward the ship as he reloaded.

“We need a plan!” Arjun called out, driving his blade through another ambrog before kicking it aside.

“We don’t die. That’s the plan!” Ringo growled, firing again, each shot lighting up the mist in brief flashes.

The drasura, regaining its focus, roared in the distance, its lumbering form stomping toward the battle.

“Shit,” Arjun muttered. “Make that plan faster!”

Ringo’s eyes darted to the wreckage. “Follow muh lead!” he barked, sprinting toward the ship. “We use it as cover and finish this!”

They made haste to reach the shipwreck, its jagged metal edges and broken hull offering some semblance of cover. Ringo slid behind a twisted beam, his revolvers clicking as he reloaded. Arjun vaulted over a crumpled section of the deck, positioning himself on higher ground.

“Stay sharp, kid!” Ringo shouted as an ambrog lunged from the mist, its gnarled claws swiping through the air.

Ringo sidestepped, firing a round directly into the creature’s head. The ambrog fell with a guttural screech, but two more replaced it, crawling over the wreckage with terrifying speed.

Arjun swung his gama, the chain slicing through the mist like a deadly whip. It wrapped around an ambrog’s leg, pulling it off balance. With a flick of his wrist, Arjun sent the beast crashing into a jagged piece of metal, impaling it.

“Ringo, it’s getting closer!” Arjun shouted, glancing at the drasura. The titan lumbered toward them, its roar shaking the very air.

“I see it!” Ringo called back, firing at another ambrog as it lunged for him. He ducked beneath its swipe, delivering a close-range shot that sent the creature tumbling back into the mist.

The drasura’s tentacles lashed out, spraying acid that sizzled against the ship’s hull. One tentacle struck the wreckage near Arjun, causing a section of the deck to crumble beneath him. He jumped back, barely catching himself as the floor gave way.

“Dammit!” Arjun growled, gripping his gamas tightly. “We can’t take that thing head-on!”

“We ain’t got a choice!” Ringo shouted. “But we can use its size against it. Get ready tuh move!”

The drasura loomed over the ship, its massive jaws snapping as it tried to reach them. One tentacle wrapped around a piece of the wreckage, ripping it free and tossing it aside like it weighed nothing.

Ringo’s mind raced. He glanced at a broken cargo crane near the ship’s bow, its rusted arm hanging precariously over the drasura. An idea sparked.

“Arjun, distract it!”

“What?! Are you insane?”

“Just do it! Make it look up!”

Arjun hesitated but nodded. He sprinted across the wreckage, leaping between the broken sections as the drasura tracked him. He spun his gama, its chain glinting in the faint light as he hurled it at the beast. The blade clanged off its armored hide, but the noise caught its attention.

The drasura reared back, roaring in frustration as its tentacles flailed wildly. Arjun kept moving, dodging acid sprays and snapping jaws, his every step calculated to keep the monster’s gaze locked on him.

Meanwhile, Ringo climbed the twisted remnants of the crane, his revolvers tucked into his holsters as he scaled the rusted frame. Reaching the top, he steadied himself, aiming his revolver at the rusted bolts holding the crane arm in place.

“Come on, come on,” Ringo muttered, lining up his shot.

Below, the drasura’s roar grew deafening as it lunged at Arjun, its massive jaws snapping inches from him.

“Ringo!” Arjun shouted, narrowly avoiding another swipe.

Ringo fired. The shot rang out, hitting the bolts dead-on. The crane arm groaned and snapped free, falling in a thunderous crash.

The massive steel beam slammed onto the drasura’s head, forcing it to the ground with a deafening roar. The creature thrashed, its tentacles writhing in agony as it struggled to free itself.

“Now’s our chance!” Ringo called, sliding down from the crane.

Arjun didn’t need to be told twice. He charged forward, his gama spinning, and plunged the blade deep into the beast’s exposed underbelly, slicing open its underside as its organs spilled out. The drasura let out one final, ear-splitting screech before its body went still.

Breathing heavily, Arjun pulled his gama free, wiping the mistian blood from the blade. “That… was insane.”

Ringo holstered his revolvers, surveying the wreckage and the fallen titan. “That’s the mist for yuh. Keeps things interestin’.”

Before they could catch their breath, the distant snarls of more mistians echoed through the fog.

“Sounds like we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Ringo said, his voice low but sharp, his eyes scanning the mist beyond the wreckage. “Grab what we came for, and let’s get the hell outta here.”

Arjun nodded, his jaw tight. He felt the weight of the mist pressing down on them, the ever-present hum of danger in the distance.

They moved quickly through the ruins of the merchant ship, the metallic groans of the crumpled hull echoing eerily in the oppressive stillness. Every step kicked up ash and rust, the air thick with the stench of oil and burnt metal.

Ringo motioned toward a shattered control panel half-buried beneath a collapsed wall. “See if any wirin’s intact,” he ordered, prying open a scorched toolbox nearby.

Arjun knelt by the panel, his fingers working swiftly to untangle usable cables. “This one’s fried,” he muttered, tossing a charred bundle aside. He dug deeper, pulling out a few lengths of relatively intact wiring. “Got some here, though.”

“Good. Keep movin’,” Ringo said, tossing a handful of bolts and screws into his bag.

They worked methodically, scavenging through the wreckage. Arjun found a set of intact pressure gauges near the engine room, while Ringo unearthed a dented but functional stabilizer rod.

Arjun climbed onto the ship’s tilted deck, his gama sparking as he cut through the fabric of the torn balloon. He worked quickly, slicing large squares and bundling them together before tossing them down to Ringo.

“Hope this holds,” Arjun said, jumping back down.

“It’ll have to,” Ringo replied, his focus shifting to the final piece on his list. “Just need a turbine.”

They reached the engine compartment, the massive turbine resting in the wreckage. It was battered but intact, its casing scorched but the internal mechanisms untouched.

“This thing’s a beast,” Arjun said, wiping sweat from his brow.

Ringo smirked. “A beast we need. Wrap it up.”

Arjun unspooled the chain from his gama, looping it securely around the turbine. With a grunt, he pulled the chain taut, testing its hold.

“Good enough,” Ringo said, giving it a solid tug.

As they finished securing their haul, a distant, guttural roar echoed through the mist, followed by the unmistakable sound of claws scraping against flesh.

The shadows beyond the ship flickered with movement, snarls and hisses growing louder. The scent of blood and oil mixed with the sharp tang of acid in the air, drawing a deadly congregation of ambrogs, mirelings, and harpies.

“Busy out there,” Arjun muttered, tightening his grip on the gama’s handle.

“Let’s keep it that way,” Ringo said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Stay sharp. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

They hurried through the wreckage, every step calculated, their breaths steady but tense. The horde outside grew restless, their growls and screeches clashing in a cacophony of territorial rage.

At the ship’s stern, the turbine loomed like a lifeline. “No sudden moves,” Ringo muttered, his revolvers steady, their barrels gleaming faintly in the mist. 

Arjun reeled in his chain, the turbine scraping closer to the edge. “We’re just gonna ride this thing out? That’s your plan?”

Ringo gave him a wry grin. “Best plan I’ve got. Hop on.”

Arjun hesitated, his eyes flicking to the writhing mass of ambrogs and mirelings tearing into the drasura’s corpse. The mistians’ heads jerked up, sniffing the air, their glowing eyes narrowing on the pair.

“Shit,” Arjun muttered, climbing onto the turbine with his gama in hand.

“Hold on tight, kid,” Ringo said, crouching low and bracing himself.

Arjun gave the chain a sharp tug, and the turbine lurched forward, the sound of metal grinding against stone reverberating through the mist. They shot out of the wreckage, a sudden blur cutting through the battleground, drawing the attention of every predator.

The horde reacted instantly. Ambrogs and mirelings snapped to attention, charging after the speeding turbine on all fours, their guttural growls rising to deafening levels. Harpies shrieked from above, diving like bolts of shadowy lightning.

Ringo’s revolvers barked, each shot lighting up the gloom as harpies dropped from the sky. “Eyes up, Arjun! They’re coming in hot!”

“I see ‘em!” Arjun shouted, his gama’s blade flashing as he severed the grasping limbs of an ambrog trying to claw its way onto the turbine. Sparks erupted from beneath them as the turbine scraped and ground its way through the uneven terrain, their speed barely keeping them ahead of the tide of monsters.

A mireling lunged, its jagged claws reaching for Ringo. He leaned away, firing point-blank into its chest. The beast tumbled off, screeching as it disappeared into the mist.

“Behind you!” Arjun yelled, slashing his gama at another ambrog clinging to the turbine’s edge. The creature’s arm fell away, its body following with a guttural wail.

The mist grew thicker as they raced toward the edge of the floating island. The tension in Arjun’s chain tightened as it began to pull them upward, the turbine creaking under the strain.

“Here we go!” Ringo shouted, gripping the turbine as it jerked upward, dragging them to the surface.

The ground fell away, the mist swirling below like a hungry ocean. The horde of ambrogs and mirelings screeched in frustration, unable to follow. But the harpies were relentless.

They swarmed in droves, talons outstretched, their shrieks piercing the air. Ringo fired into the chaos, each shot dropping another winged predator. “Keep those bastards off us!”

“I’m trying!” Arjun snapped, swinging his gama in wide arcs, slicing through harpies as they dived for the turbine.

The ascent was grueling, every moment a battle for survival. Glimmers of sunlight began breaking through the mist above, their salvation drawing closer.

“We’re almost there!” Ringo called out, reloading his revolvers with practiced speed.

A harpy managed to latch onto the turbine, its needle-like teeth gnashing inches from Arjun’s leg. He kicked it off, sending it plummeting into the depths below.

The mist thinned, the golden light of the sun pouring over them as they broke through the cloud layer. The sight of the island’s edge above sent a wave of relief through them both.

“Just a little farther!” Ringo shouted, his voice hoarse but determined.

With one final burst of speed, the turbine surged upward, pulling them toward safety. The harpies screeched in frustration, retreating into the mist as sunlight pierced through, driving them back into the shadows of the mist.

The turbine clanged loudly against the hull of the Soulchaser, the chain holding firm as it anchored them to the floating island. Arjun and Ringo scrambled off, collapsing onto the ground, their chests heaving with exertion. For a moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant, eerie cries of mistians fading into the depths below.

Ringo glanced over at Arjun, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “Hell of a ride, huh?”

Arjun let out a breathless laugh, his hands still trembling. “Next time, maybe we just call for help.”

Ringo chuckled, giving the turbine a firm pat. “We got what we came fer. Let’s get this bird flyin’.”

Arjun sat up, wiping sweat from his brow as the adrenaline began to fade. “You think it’ll even hold together?”

“It’ll hold,” Ringo said confidently, standing and stretching his back. “Think yuh can handle the repairs on yer own?”

Arjun nodded, already taking stock of their haul. “Hard part’s over. I’ll make it work.”

“Good. I’ll check the radio, see if I can figure out where the pirates went. Soon as we’re ready, we’re takin’ off.”

With that, Ringo disappeared into the ship, leaving Arjun to the task at hand. He started by unloading the scavenged parts, laying them out methodically on the deck. The balloon fabric was frayed and scorched in places, but with the pieces they salvaged from the wreck, he could patch it up.

Arjun worked tirelessly, stitching the new material onto the torn sections of the balloon. The thick mistian oil residue on the fabric made his hands slick, and the heavy, acrid smell clung to him, but he pressed on. After patching parts of the balloon, he turned to the turbine.

The scavenged engine was heavy and uncooperative, but with sheer determination and a bit of improvisation, Arjun managed to fit it into place. His fingers worked deftly as he tightened bolts, spliced wires, and carefully connected the Soulchaser’s power systems to the new turbine.

Hours passed, the sun slowly creeping across the sky above the mist. Sweat poured down Arjun’s face, his muscles aching, but the sound of a faint hum as the turbine came to life was all the motivation he needed to keep going.

Ringo appeared on deck, his sharp eyes scanning the work. “Yuh almost done?”

“Just a couple more holes in the balloon to patch,” Arjun replied, his voice strained but determined.

“Make it quick,” Ringo said, glancing toward the horizon where the mist churned ominously. “Sounds like the Mistheart’s got some company. Don’t wanna miss our chance tuh get ‘em first.”

With renewed urgency, Arjun climbed up to the balloon, sewing the final patches with precise, practiced movements. As he tied off the last thread, he slid back down to the deck, wiping his hands on his trousers.

“It’s done!” Arjun called out, firing up the engines. The Soulchaser roared to life, its repaired turbine humming steadily.

Ringo grinned. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

The ship rose steadily, its balloon inflating with a soft hiss. As they ascended above the mist, sunlight bathed the deck, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the oppressive weight of the mist seemed to lift.

Below, the swirling mist churned and roared, its muted colors shifting like a living sea, but the Soulchaser was beyond its reach now. They were airborne again, free and ready for whatever lay ahead..

The vessel sliced through the sky, the patched balloon holding firm as Arjun retired to his bunk. Meanwhile, Ringo crouched over the ship’s radio, tuning into an encrypted channel. His sharp eyes narrowed as he listened intently, deciphering the crackling voices.

The channel belonged to the Phantom Brotherhood, one of the last remnants of the infamous Rose Syndicate, the Empire’s first and most powerful criminal organization. After a brutal civil war that shattered the Syndicate, the Phantom Brotherhood emerged as rulers of the Empire’s western territories. They operated in shadows, ruthless and efficient, with a network that rivaled even the Aenean Empire.

Ringo’s expression darkened as the chatter revealed vital information: the Mistheart carried a critical artifact, one the Brotherhood wanted desperately. They had already dispatched two warships to intercept it, and their target was close—barely fifty kilometers from the Soulchaser’s crash site.

“Perfect,” Ringo muttered, his grip tightening on the controls. He blasted the turbines, pushing the ship to its limits as they raced toward the coordinates. His mind raced just as fast. Bounty or not, whatever artifact the Brotherhood was after couldn’t fall into their hands—or anyone else’s.

The coordinates came into view, and the scene was chaos. Two massive Brotherhood battleships loomed over the Mistheart, their cannons thundering as they battered the pirate vessel. The Mistheart fought back fiercely, its artifact-enhanced weaponry lighting up the sky with bursts from their cannons as mistians swarmed the Brotherhood’s ships. The battle was a violent ballet, airships circling and firing with deadly precision.

“Arjun!” Ringo barked, his voice cutting through the hum of the engines. When no reply came, he called again, louder this time. “Arjun! Get yer ass up! We’re comin’ in hot!”

Moments later, Arjun stumbled into the main cabin, his hair disheveled and his eyes heavy with sleep. “What’s going on?”

“The Phantom Brotherhood’s after these Mistheart bastards too,” Ringo explained, his tone urgent. “They got somethin’ real important onboard, somethin’ we can’t let fall intuh the wrong hands.”

Arjun squinted, his grogginess fading. “This isn’t just about the epithet souls, is it?”

Ringo shook his head. “I could take their souls if I just wait right here. But that artifact? I got a bad feelin’ about it. Now, get on the mounted gun. I reckon we’ll be takin’ fire from both sides. Focus on the Brotherhood for now; we’ll deal with the Mistheart once the dust settles.”

Arjun nodded, strapping on his gear and scrambling up the ladder to the upper deck. He settled into the gunner’s seat, gripping the mounted ARR with steady hands as he adjusted his aim.

With Arjun in position, Ringo pushed the Soulchaser’s new turbine to its breaking point. The engine roared as they surged forward, weaving through the battlefield with reckless speed. The sky around them lit up with cannon fire, and the cries of harpies echoed throughout the sky.

The Soulchaser dove into the fray, a small but deadly predator amidst the titans. Ringo’s voice cut through the crackle of gunfire. “Hold on tight, kid! This ain’t gonna be pretty!”

Arjun’s knuckles whitened as his finger hovered over the trigger of the mounted ARR. His eyes darted between the Brotherhood’s battleships and the Mistheart, calculating his next move. With a deep breath, he squeezed the trigger.

The Soulchaser’s ARR gun roared to life, spitting a stream of lead at the closest Brotherhood ship. Bullets tore through mounted artillery, sending splinters of wood, steel, and men flying. Arjun’s relentless assault ripped through the enemy’s defenses, forcing the Reaper X to redirect its fire toward them.

“They’ve got eyes on us!” Arjun shouted over the din.

“Good,” Ringo growled, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He yanked the controls hard, sending the Soulchaser into a sharp dive to avoid a barrage of cannon fire.

The Brotherhood ship’s gunners adjusted quickly, their shots streaking just above the Soulchaser’s balloon. Ringo used the souls he’d absorbed during Arjun’s barrage to conjure a shimmering force field around the vessel. The translucent barrier flared as cannonballs and bullets ricocheted off it harmlessly.

“Shield’s holdin’, but it won’t last long!” Ringo barked, his hands steady on the controls.

Arjun adjusted his aim, targeting the Reaper X’s rear engine. He fired off a concentrated burst, and seconds later, one of the engines erupted in a fiery explosion. The Brotherhood battleship lurched, its port side dipping as smoke poured from the wrecked machinery.

The Mistheart, now free of one attacker’s barrage, returned fire on the second Brotherhood ship. Its cannons boomed, sending a barrage of cannon balls that slammed into the Reaper V, carving deep gashes into its hull.

Suddenly, the Brotherhood’s radio crackled to life in the Soulchaser’s cockpit. A harsh voice barked over the channel. “An unknown aircraft has entered the conflict. Reaper X, focusing fire on it. Reaper V, continue assault on the Mistheart. Over.”

Ringo smirked, picking up the transmitter. “Soulchaser tuh Reaper X. Reckon yer in fer the fight of yer life.”

A brief silence. Then the voice returned, colder now. “Soulchaser, you’re outmatched. Stand down. This isn’t your fight. Over.”

“Oh, but it is,” Ringo muttered, cutting the transmission. “Arjun, time tuh show ‘em what we got!”

The Soulchaser swooped low, weaving between the mist and the towering ships. Arjun swung the turret toward an exposed cluster of crewmen on the Reaper X’s deck and let loose another deadly volley. Explosions rocked the ship, sending Brotherhood soldiers scrambling for cover.

“Ringo, we’ve got harpies!” Arjun shouted, spotting the winged creatures diving out of the mist, their talons aimed at the Soulchaser’s balloon.

“Not today!” Ringo growled, twisting the controls to bring the Soulchaser into a sharp ascent. The sudden maneuver sent the harpies colliding into each other, screeching in frustration.

The battlefield was utter pandemonium—a symphony of destruction where cannon fire thundered, harpies shrieked, and the groaning of straining hulls filled the air. The Soulchaser darted and weaved through the chaos, holding its own against the far more powerful airships.

“Brace yerself!” Ringo shouted, yanking the controls hard to avoid a volley of cannonballs. They screamed past, missing the ship by mere meters. 

The Reaper X loomed ahead, its cannons firing relentlessly. Arjun gritted his teeth, his hands steady on the turret’s controls. He took aim at the Brotherhood ship’s upper deck, unleashing a hail of bullets that shredded through crew and weaponry alike. Splinters of wood and metal rained down as explosions rippled across the Reaper X’s deck once more.

“We’re holdin’ our own,” Arjun called down. “But the Mistheart’s in bad shape!”

Ringo spared a glance at the Mistheart. Its balloon sagged, riddled with tears and leaking helium, sending the ship into a slow, inevitable descent toward the mist. Above deck, its crew scrambled inside, fleeing the deadly fumes that rose like grasping hands.

And then the Mistheart unleashed its artifact.

The mist churned violently, swirling into a vortex beneath the battlefield. A deep, guttural roar echoed from the abyss as the mist split apart, revealing the monstrous form of a leviathan. Its massive head breached the surface, its glistening skin reflecting the dim, eerie light of the mist.

The leviathan surged upward with terrifying speed, its colossal maw colliding with the underbelly of the Reaper V. The impact was catastrophic. The Brotherhood battleship tilted violently, debris and crew spilling overboard as the leviathan’s roar drowned out all other sounds.

“Dear Crux,” Arjun breathed, his eyes wide.

“Focus!” Ringo barked, jerking the controls to avoid a stray chunk of debris hurtling their way. “That thing’s only gonna make this worse!”

The Reaper V fired desperately at the leviathan, its cannons blasting holes into the creature’s hide. The leviathan retaliated, clamping its massive jaws around the ship, crushing it slowly like a predator savoring its kill.

Meanwhile, the Reaper X seized its moment, hammering the Soulchaser with unrelenting cannon fire. Explosions rocked the airship as shells screamed past, close enough to make the hull shudder.

“Arjun! Take out their damn guns!” Ringo bellowed, steering the Soulchaser into a tight spiral to evade the onslaught.

Arjun gritted his teeth, adjusting the turret’s aim. His hands were steady despite the chaos around him. He fired a precise volley, tearing through the Reaper X’s starboard side. Explosions erupted along its deck as several cannons were obliterated in a chain reaction, sending flaming debris spiraling into the mist.

“Good hit!” Ringo called out, his voice barely audible over the din of battle.

But victory was fleeting. One moment of miscalculation changed everything. A cannonball struck the Soulchaser’s stern, the impact jolting the entire ship. Metal groaned and buckled as the vessel spun wildly, smoke billowing from the damaged section.

“Shit!” Ringo cursed, wrestling the controls. “Hang on!”

Arjun clung to the railing as the Soulchaser careened through the air. Sparks flew from the turbines as they strained against the sudden loss of stability. He crawled toward the hatch, gripping tightly to avoid being flung overboard.

Ringo’s jaw clenched as he worked the controls. He flicked a switch, disabling the port turbine. The starboard turbine roared as it took over, slowing their chaotic spin. The ship began to steady, but not before the balloon’s helium gauge dipped alarmingly.

“We’re losin’ gas!” Ringo growled, eyeing the dial as the Soulchaser started a slow descent into the mist.

Arjun stumbled into the engine room, coughing as thick smoke choked the air. His eyes scanned the damage: the portside wall was dented but holding, yet the helium pump hissed furiously. A split pipe gushed precious helium, and the pump strained, its motor threatening to burn out.

“Shut off the helium!” Arjun yelled, grabbing a toolbox.

Ringo turned the valve, cutting the flow. The hissing stopped, replaced by an eerie silence broken only by the creak of the ship’s frame as it descended.

Arjun grabbed an oxy-fuel blowtorch and hurried back to the engine room. Sparks flew as he welded the fractured pipe, his hands moving with practiced precision despite the pressure. Sweat dripped from his brow as the glow of the mist outside deepened, its brownish-pink hues engulfing the ship.

The Soulchaser sank deeper, the haunting atmosphere of the mist pressing against its hull. 

Above, the battle raged on. The Mistheart fought desperately against the Reapers, Kazem’s only goal: survival. The leviathan, its massive form thrashing against the Reaper V, seemed like the only hope for the Mistheart’s escape.

The ship surged forward, its engines roaring as it tried to use the chaos to slip away before descending too low into the mist. But the Reaper X wasn’t fooled. Rejoining its fleetmate, it turned its deadly focus back on the Mistheart.

Meanwhile, the leviathan clenched its massive jaws tighter around the Reaper V’s hull, its powerful tail whipping through the mist. The Reaper V strained against the beast’s relentless pull, engines pushed to their limits to stay afloat.

A barrage of cannon fire erupted from the Reaper X, its shots slamming into the leviathan’s exposed flank. The creature roared, a haunting, guttural sound that reverberated through the mist. Gravely wounded, it released its grip on the Reaper V and sank back into the mist’s depths, leaving behind a trail of dark ichor.

With the leviathan gone, the Reaper V steadied itself, groaning under the strain of battle, while the Reaper X surged forward, determined to finish the fight. 

They picked up speed, catching up to the Mistheart rather quickly. Harpoons shot from the Reapers, their serrated tips burying deep into the Mistheart’s hull. The Reapers’ battered hulls still held strong, and with their harpoons buried deep into the Mistheart, escape was all but impossible.

“They’re not gettin’ away,” Captain Heron of the Reaper X growled into the Phantom Brotherhood’s comms. “Reel ‘em in.”

The Mistheart faltered, its desperate retreat grinding to a halt. The Brotherhood’s airships pulled tight, their engines roaring as they worked in perfect sync, hauling the crippled ship higher into the sky. 

They dragged the Mistheart toward a nearby island. The captured vessel lurched, its crew desperately hacking at the thick steel harpoon lines, but the Brotherhood’s grip was ironclad.

Just when it seemed inevitable, a thunderous roar echoed through the mist below.

From the swirling brownish-pink haze, the Soulchaser exploded back into the fray, scorched and battered but still airborne.

Ringo grinned wildly as he gripped the controls, pushing the throttles forward. “Ain’t that easy tuh take down the Soulchaser!” he barked into the Brotherhood’s channel, his voice crackling with defiance.

Arjun climbed back onto the deck, mounting the ARR gun. He had little ammunition left, but he knew he had to make every shot count.

The Reaper X adjusted its cannons, locking onto the Soulchaser, but Arjun was faster. His bullets tore through their remaining turbines, each burst of shots striking with deadly precision. A chain of explosions rocked the ship’s stern, sending flaming debris spiraling into the sky. The Reaper X let out a metallic groan as its structure buckled, its aft section engulfed in smoke and fire.

Ringo seized the moment. The collection of souls from the explosions surged into him, fueling his next move. He turned his sights on the Reaper V, channeling the stolen energy into a shimmering soul barrier that wrapped around the Soulchaser’s bow.

“Hang on, kid!” Ringo shouted, gritting his teeth.

Arjun barely had time to brace himself before Ringo slammed the Soulchaser into the Reaper V’s stern. The impact was cataclysmic. The Brotherhood ship crumpled under the force, its entire aft section shearing away in a cascade of metal and splintered wood. Explosions ripped through its exposed interior, tearing through its engine compartments.

The Soulchaser burst out the other side, trailing smoke but intact.

The Reaper V, however, was finished. Between the Soulchaser’s devastating blow and the damage it had already suffered from the leviathan, its structure collapsed. With its engines torn away and at least one helium pump destroyed, it began its slow, inevitable descent toward the mist below.

The Reaper X fared a little better, its turbines disabled and hull barely holding together. Both Brotherhood ships were now dead in the sky, their crews scrambling to cut the harpoon tethers before they were dragged down with the Mistheart.

Steel cables snapped as the Mistheart broke free, its engines sputtering as it fought to stay aloft. Captain Kazem wasted no time—he knew they couldn’t last much longer in the air. He steered the Mistheart toward the island they had been dragged toward, aiming for a controlled crash landing before they lost all power.

The Soulchaser followed, its frame rattling with every gust of wind, but it was still in better shape than anything else in the sky.

The Mistheart scraped against the rocky terrain, throwing up a plume of dirt and shattered stone as it skidded to a halt. The Soulchaser followed closely, engines sputtering as Ringo guided it into a rough but controlled landing. The moment the airships touched down, silence swallowed the battlefield, save for the dying hisses of leaking helium and the distant howls of mistians beneath the island’s edge.

Smoke curled from the wreckage, drifting like ghosts through the air. The Phantom Brotherhood’s ships hung in the sky above them, wounded but still menacing, their battered forms silhouetted against the dim horizon.

Ringo exhaled slowly and pushed himself up from the navigation console just as Arjun climbed down from the deck, wiping sweat and soot from his forehead.

Arjun let out a breath, trying to steady himself after the relentless fight. “What now?”

Ringo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he poured himself a glass of whiskey, downing it in one gulp before lighting a cigarette. He grinned through the smoke curling from his lips. “I’m drunk off souls now,” he said, voice thick with adrenaline. “I reckon we go over there and I show ‘em I ain’t some pansy tuh be fucked with.”

Arjun sighed, shaking his head, but followed without protest. They stepped off the Soulchaser, boots crunching against loose gravel as they made their way toward the Mistheart’s crew.

Kazem stood in the midst of his men, tending to the wounded as the survivors gathered around him. He looked up as Ringo and Arjun approached, his grip tightening on the cutlass strapped to his belt.

Ringo drew his pistols, stepping forward with the easy confidence of a man who’d been in more shootouts than he could count. He barely made it three paces before the two epithet users of Kazem’s crew stepped in front of him.

“Outta muh way!” Ringo barked, fire burning in his eyes. “Yer captain’s a goddamn coward! Couldn’t even handle a real fight without muh help!”

Kazem exhaled sharply and stood, waving his crew aside. He strode toward Ringo, his expression unreadable. “We fought them with as much ferocity as you did,” he said calmly. “And I thank you for your help—but I assume you only did it because you want my head for yourself?”

Ringo smirked. “Yer damn right. Got a hefty price on it.” He tilted his head. “Also heard yuh got an artifact the Brotherhood wants real bad. Must be important if yuh got the mob breathin’ down yer neck.”

Kazem’s expression darkened, his hand settling on the hilt of his cutlass. “You must be a heartless son of a bitch to come after me.”

Ringo’s grin widened as he lifted his guns, itching for a fight. “Yuh got no idea, partner.”

But before either of them could make a move, Arjun stepped between them, arms outstretched. “Wait! What the hell does he mean?” he demanded, looking from Ringo to Kazem.

Kazem’s eye flickered with irritation. “Your employer didn’t brief you?”

“Said yuh stole a haul of priceless artifacts from ‘im,” Ringo replied.

Kazem scoffed. “Artifacts were just a bonus. I target ships carrying illegal slaves—Coloni, stolen and trafficked on the black market. My entire crew is made up of the people I saved from indentured servitude.”

Arjun turned and smacked Ringo’s arm. “I told you!”

Ringo hesitated, lowering his pistols slightly. “And the artifact the Brotherhood’s after?”

Kazem’s grip on his cutlass tightened. “A piece of the Staff of Crux. We found it raiding one of their ships while freeing Coloni. The Brotherhood can’t be allowed to have it.”

Ringo’s grin faded. “Yuh got a piece of the Staff?”

Kazem drew his cutlass. “And I’ll fight to the death before I let anyone take it.”

Ringo’s fingers twitched over his triggers, but Arjun shoved himself between them again. “Stop it! Both of you!” He jabbed a finger toward the sky, his voice sharp. “They’re still after the damn thing, and you both know they shouldn’t have it. So maybe instead of killing each other, we deal with the real problem first?”

As if on cue, a series of dark silhouettes emerged on the horizon. Four more airships cut through the sky, engines howling as they sped toward the island.

“Shit,” Arjun breathed. “They’re already sending reinforcements. Are you two really gonna stand here killin’ each other while they swoop in and take it for themselves?”

Kazem and Ringo both looked at the approaching fleet, their momentary rivalry drowned beneath the looming threat.

Ringo exhaled smoke through his nose and spun his revolvers back into their holsters. “Fine. We handle ‘em first.”

Kazem sheathed his cutlass, his expression still wary. “Then let’s move.”

The Phantom Brotherhood’s ships loomed in the distance, their silhouettes growing sharper against the horizon. The air crackled with tension as Ringo, Arjun, Kazem, and his crew worked frantically to prepare for the inevitable clash.

The wounded were ushered into the Soulchaser, their groans and whispered prayers barely audible over the furious preparations. Every able-bodied fighter stripped the Mistheart’s armory bare, loading rifles, sharpening blades, and distributing ammunition. Cannons were repositioned, their barrels angled toward the sky, ready to tear through the oncoming fleet. The once-majestic ship had become a fortress, its broken hull reinforced with crates, metal plating, and anything they could scavenge.

Arjun tightened a belt of ammunition across his chest. “This ship’s barely holdin’ together. We won’t last in a siege.”

Kazem looked off at the approaching ships. “Then we don’t let it become one.”

Ringo climbed aboard the Soulchaser, firing up its engines. The vessel hummed to life, dust and loose debris swirling in its wake. With careful maneuvering, he piloted the ship inland, putting about a kilometer between them and the battlefield. The Soulchaser touched down in a clearing, nestled between thick trees where it would be hidden—an escape route if the battle turned dire.

As soon as he powered down the turbines, the radio crackled to life. A cool, measured voice came through.

“Soulchaser? I know you’re listening. We just want Kazem and the Shaft of Crux. No one else has to die today.”

Ringo picked up the transmitter, his fingers tapping lazily against the metal. “What’s yer name, partner?”

“Heron. Yours?”

Ringo smirked. “Name’s Ringo. And I mean that Ringo. If yuh think I’m handin’ over any piece of the Staff, yer sorely mistaken. Do what yuh gotta do, but I’ll do the same.”

He flipped the switch, cutting off the transmission, leaving only the hum of static before turning the radio off completely.

With that, he made his way back to the Mistheart, where final preparations were underway. Makeshift barricades lined the deck, and fighters crouched behind them, muskets and rifles at the ready. A handful of Kazem’s men mounted the cannons, their hands steady despite the battle brewing on the horizon.

The sky darkened as the Phantom Brotherhood’s fleet closed in. The four incoming Reapers had tethered the crippled Reaper X and Reaper V, hauling them toward the island like wounded beasts licking their wounds.

Then, the first shot rang out.

The Mistheart’s cannons roared, fire and smoke erupting from the battered ship as iron balls hurtled toward the enemy. One shot smashed into a Brotherhood ship’s bow, sending metal chunks spiraling into the air. Another ripped through a lower deck, tearing through the hull like paper.

But the Brotherhood did not hesitate.

The sky burned with flashes and explosions as the Phantom Brotherhood’s fleet unleashed hell upon the island. The Mistheart’s defenses fired back with desperate ferocity, but the sheer firepower of the Brotherhood’s ships was overwhelming. The Mistheart’s deck exploded in bursts of fire and shattered metal and wood, the air thick with smoke and the acrid stench of gunpowder. The air trembled with each cannon blast, and the ground shook as debris rained down upon them.

Then, Kazem made his move.

A deafening screech echoed from the mist below. Like a tide of death, a massive swarm of harpies erupted from the abyss, their talons gleaming, their eyes filled with hunger. They soared toward the Brotherhood’s ships, clawing at sails, ripping through rigging, and dragging unfortunate soldiers screaming into the mist. The enemy’s barrage faltered, their cannons swiveling upward to deal with the airborne onslaught.

Kazem’s crew seized the moment, working with frantic precision. Barrels of mistian oil were upturned, coating cannonballs in the slick, flammable substance before they were loaded into the Mistheart’s cannons. The next volley was fire incarnate—explosive rounds streaking through the sky, striking enemy hulls and igniting in devastating bursts of flame.

The Reapers adjusted, their massive bulk turning as the four operational ships detached the crippled Reaper X and Reaper V, sending the two burning wrecks into a catastrophic downward plunge—straight toward the Mistheart.

Kazem’s eye widened. “Abandon ship!”

His crew needed no further urging. They leapt from the doomed vessel, boots slamming onto the rocky terrain as they sprinted for their lives.

The Reaper X and Reaper V struck like falling mountains, colliding in midair before slamming into the Mistheart in a violent cascade of fire and steel. The explosion was deafening, a shockwave tearing through the battlefield, throwing men to the ground.

Before the dust had even settled, the Phantom Brotherhood poured from the wreckage like a flood of shadows. They were relentless, firing into the chaos, cutting down anyone in their path.

Kazem’s crew met them with steel and fury. Guns fired, blades clashed, and the scent of blood and gunpowder filled the air. Arjun charged into the fray, his gamas flashing as they carved through soldiers like scythes through wheat. Ringo’s revolvers cracked like thunder, dropping enemy after enemy with pinpoint precision. Kazem’s own weapon, Mistmaker, let out its eerie hiss, transforming men into howling ambrogs that thrashed wildly, attacking anything within reach before their bodies withered without the mist’s support.

Yet, despite their ferocity, the tide of battle turned against them. The Brotherhood was well-trained, disciplined, and had numbers on their side. The Mistheart’s crew, outmatched and dwindling, found themselves forced back toward the treeline.

Ringo fired another round, then slid behind a boulder next to Kazem. “Yuh got anything under yer sleeve?”

Kazem’s expression was grim. He fired Mistmaker again, another Phantom Brotherhood soldier twisting into an ambrog with an agonized shriek. “We can’t hold them off much longer.”

He turned suddenly. “Artair!”

A blur zipped across the battlefield—Artair, the Scuran speedster, moving like a specter through the chaos, cutting down Brotherhood soldiers before they even knew he was there. He came to a halt before Kazem. “What do you need, boss?”

Kazem reached into his coat and pulled out a long, compacted, metal rod. The Shaft of Crux. He pressed it into Artair’s hands. “Take this and guard it with your life. No one can get their hands on it. No one.”

Artair blinked in shock. “Why me?”

Kazem’s gaze was resolute. “You all need to get out of here. We can’t beat them, but I can hold them off.”

He turned to Ringo. “Can you get my people to safety?”

Ringo hesitated. He saw the truth in Kazem’s eyes. The captain of the Mistheart had already accepted his fate.

Ringo exhaled sharply. “Reckon I can, but…”

“That’s all I needed to know.” Kazem clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Round up the survivors. Get them to the Soulchaser and get as far away from here as you can.”

Ringo’s grip tightened. “Yuh take care, partner. If yuh make it out, I still want that rematch.”

Kazem smirked. “You’ll have to wait a long damn time for that.”

Ringo nodded, then turned. He and Artair moved swiftly, gathering the remnants of Kazem’s crew, guiding them into the forest, toward their only chance at escape.

Kazem, now alone, exhaled deeply. His breath came slow and steady, but his heart thundered like a war drum. The wreckage of the Mistheart smoldered in front of him—the Phantom Brotherhood’s descending ships loomed ahead, their dark silhouettes framed by the burning sky.

He rolled his shoulders, gripping Mistmaker tightly before holstering it. Then, with deliberate precision, he knelt and pressed his hands to the earth.

The ground beneath the Brotherhood’s fleet darkened, the very fabric of reality twisting unnaturally. A pulse of black energy radiated outward, spreading like an ink stain across the battlefield. The very air thickened, charged with an eerie weight, as the abyss clawed its way into the world.

Kazem closed his eye, his body trembling with the strain. The Phantom Brotherhood’s fleet was about to learn the true power of the abyss.

A suffocating darkness engulfed the ships. Shadows congealed into an unnatural void, swallowing all light. The crew inside the abyss could barely see a centimeter in front of them before the blackness devoured their sight. Then came the tendrils.

They erupted from the abyss like living nightmares, writhing and lashing out with unnatural force. Phantom Brotherhood soldiers screamed as they were snatched from the decks, their bodies hurled into the consuming dark. The ships’ cannons fired wildly, their volleys vanishing into the void, detonating uselessly within the abyss.

Kazem’s nose bled, his muscles locked in agony as he held the abyss open, forcing it to devour his enemies. He could feel the weight of it crushing his body, threatening to take him with it. But he didn’t let up.

While Kazem waged his war alone, Ringo and Artair worked swiftly to gather the last survivors of the Mistheart. Ringo stood at the edge of the woods, eyes scanning the battlefield as Artair darted between bodies and debris.

When Artair finally returned, he was breathless, his coat stained with smoke and blood. “That’s everyone,” he said. “We should get outta here while we still can.”

Ringo nodded, his face grim. Then, in one smooth motion, he drew his revolver and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot shattered the night.

Artair didn’t even have time to react. A single bullet punched through his skull, snapping his head back before he crumpled to the ground.

Ringo sighed, holstering his weapon as he knelt down and pried the Shaft of Crux from Artair’s grip. “Sorry, partner,” he muttered. “But I ain’t lettin’ this go so easy.”

He turned on his heel and made his way back to the Soulchaser, where Arjun was busy herding the last of the survivors inside. The small airship was packed tight, bodies crammed into the main room like sardines, but there was no time for comfort.

Arjun looked up as Ringo approached. “That everyone?”

Ringo dusted the blood off his coat with a sigh. “Everyone who’s left.”

They climbed aboard the Soulchaser, slamming the doors shut as Ringo fired up the engines. The ship rumbled to life, its battered frame groaning under the strain, but it still had enough fight left to carry them away.

Below, Kazem stood alone on the battlefield, his body trembling, his breath ragged. The abyss swirled violently around him, a storm of black tendrils thrashing like a living nightmare. The Phantom Brotherhood’s forces, once so sure of their victory, now scrambled in blind desperation, their screams swallowed by the consuming void.

Kazem risked a glance upward. Through the smoke and chaos, he spotted the Soulchaser breaking free from the conflict, vanishing into the sky. A faint smile tugged at his lips. They were safe. That was enough.

With one final push, Kazem poured every last ounce of his strength into the abyss. The ground cracked beneath him. His muscles locked, his vision blurred, and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. The Phantom Brotherhood fought to escape, but Kazem had sealed their fate.

And then—he let go.

The abyss collapsed in an instant, snapping shut like the jaws of some unseen beast. The battlefield fell silent. The Brotherhood’s fleet was torn apart, destroyed by the tendrils of the abyss.

Kazem crumpled to the ground, his strength spent. Darkness took him.

Far from the wreckage, the Soulchaser soared north, carrying the survivors toward sanctuary. Ringo steered them toward Cyrilla, home of the Cyrillian Library and its legendary Keepers. A city of scholars, scribes, and historians who prided themselves on neutrality, Cyrilla was one of the few places left in the Empire where politics, war, and prejudice held no power.

The Mistheart’s crew—exhausted, wounded, but alive—found refuge there. The Keepers took them in without question, offering shelter and aid. Coloni, pirates, it didn’t matter. For now, they had a place to rest.

As the last of the survivors were led inside, Ringo exhaled, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. “That’s that,” he muttered.

But he wasn’t done.

The Soulchaser touched down in the Central Minor Markets under the glow of the setting sun. The air buzzed with its usual energy—the shift from day to night bringing new faces to the streets. Merchants packed up their stalls while others emerged from the shadows, their goods less than legal.

Ringo walked alone, his boots clicking against the stone roads, his hands tucked into his coat. His presence alone kept most from approaching—there was something in the way he moved, in the weight of his gaze, that warned people to stay the hell away.

He stopped outside Amun’s antique shop. The windows were dark, the door locked. He banged on the glass.

“Open up.”

A few seconds later, footsteps shuffled inside. The lock clicked, and Amun appeared behind the door, his face twisted in irritation. He barely had time to speak before Ringo stepped inside, shoving past him.

“What happened to my shipment?” Amun snapped. “I find out—”

Ringo’s fist crashed into his face.

Amun stumbled back, clutching his mouth as blood trickled from his split lip. “The fuck was that for?!”

Ringo loomed over him, eyes dark as the night sky. “So yuh thought we wouldn’t find out yer dealin’ in slaves or did yuh think a devil like me wouldn’t care?”

Amun stiffened. “I—I didn’t know—”

Ringo’s fist buried itself into his gut. Amun keeled over, gasping.

“Oh, I think yuh did.” Ringo began pacing, shaking his head. “The boy was right about yuh. Said it was suspicious yuh had cargo comin’ in from Ekso. I told ‘im tuh keep an open mind.” He stopped in front of Amun, towering over him. “But yuh weren’t losin’  priceless artifacts tuh the Mistheart, were yuh?”

Amun coughed, wincing. “Look, I—I can make it right, I—”

Ringo drew his revolver and pressed the barrel against Amun’s throat. The Tarkhanian froze.

“That ship’s at the bottom of the sea and the Coloni were saved,” Ringo said, voice low and steady. “But the Mistheart’s gone, which means yuh owe me some money.”

Amun swallowed hard. “Fifty thousand. That was the deal, right?”

“Hundred thousand.”

Amun’s jaw dropped. “A hundred thousand?!”

Ringo cocked the hammer.

Amun’s hands shot up. “Okay! Okay! A hundred thousand senecs. Right now.”

Ringo smirked as he lifted his gun away. “Why thank yuh.”

Amun scurried into the back, returning moments later with a heavy bag of cash. Ringo sifted through the stacks, doing a quick count before holstering his gun.

He turned toward the door but paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “One more thing.”

Amun stiffened.

“Show yer people some damn respect.” Ringo’s voice was laced with disgust. “Sell yer antiques, trade yer artifacts, but if I hear yer orderin’ another shipment of Coloni, I’ll put a bullet between yer eyes.”

Amun nodded quickly, his face pale.

Ringo shook his head. Without another word, he stepped out into the cool night air.

The door shut behind him, and he vanished into the streets, leaving Amun to nurse his wounds—and his regrets.

Back on the Soulchaser, Arjun sat at the navigation console, arms crossed, his gaze distant. As Ringo climbed aboard, the weight of everything that had happened hung in the air between them.

“You see Amun?” Arjun muttered.

Ringo strode past him and tossed the heavy leather bag onto the table with a thud. “Got paid,” he said simply, lighting a cigarette.

Arjun eyed the money, but his focus lingered on Ringo. He had seen enough to know that wasn’t all Ringo had walked away with.

“So… what now?” Arjun finally asked.

Ringo exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching it twist and curl into the air. He stepped toward the viewport, looking out over the vast, endless mist. The sky stretched before him, painted in warm hues of brown and pink. Somewhere beyond that horizon, the Phantom Brotherhood was licking its wounds. Kazem was either dead or worse. And the Shaft of Crux—the artifact that had set this entire bloody mess in motion—was now in Ringo’s hands.

“Now?” Ringo let out a dry chuckle. “Now we patch this old bird up and find another job.”

Arjun’s eyes narrowed. “Really? That’s it? What about the Shaft?” His voice dropped, as if even speaking of it might summon trouble. “I know you didn’t leave it back there with Captain Kazem.”

Ringo turned, smirking. From inside his coat, he pulled out the compacted Shaft of Crux and flicked his wrist. The artifact expanded, revealing its full, imposing length. The staff was made of an eerie, black metal that seemed to drink in the light. The headpiece gleamed gold, but its sockets remained empty—two vacant slots, meant to hold the Gems of Life and Death, artifacts of unfathomable power.

Arjun’s breath hitched. He had only ever heard of it in legend. To see it now, real and in Ringo’s grip, made his stomach churn with equal parts awe and dread.

“How did you get it?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Ringo’s fingers tightened around the Shaft of Crux. “Kazem gave it tuh me ‘fore he sacrificed himself.”

Arjun’s shoulders tensed. “Then the Brotherhood’s gonna be all over our asses.”

Ringo’s grin widened. “Oh, there’ll be worse people than them after it, kid.” He clapped Arjun on the back. “So we best get ready.”

With that, he strode to the helm while Arjun fired up the ship. The Soulchaser rumbled beneath them, its engines roaring as they took to the sky once more.

As they vanished into the clouds, the mist churned below, restless, hiding the secrets of what had transpired—and the chaos that was still yet to come.