Stickyfingers took a deep breath of annoyance.
He'd experienced something... almost inexplicable.
Looking down, his left arm was securely wrapped around Bistol's head.
His right hand tightly gripped a crossbow bolt.
Its point was buried in the bulge of the dark elf's neck.
He had no idea when any of that had happened.
There was some kind of magic in the air... something Stickyfingers found familiar.
All the crewmembers that served under the Bosun would find it familiar...
"Cat-f*cking-shit!" Stickyfingers raised his voice... "what... the f*ck... was 'at?"
Confused... and a little bit pissed off, he snapped Bistol's neck and threw his corpse to the dirt.
...Then he threw his knife down so it stuck in the elf's spine, "Stupid f*ck..."
"Ah... hah..." Catshit rubbed the back of his neck, "Sumfin' da Bosun taught me, I s'pose."
That... confirmed the only sense Stickyfingers could make of it.
He heard it. He saw it.
And as strange as it was... the green-skinned Coral Boy hadn't done anything wrong.
Stickyfingers let out another sigh, "It just... it's-- weird as 'ells if YOU'RE da wun to do it. Did you do it proper?"
He snapped his fingers. It sounded different. No one could snap like the Bosun.
Their *skins* were made different.
"Oy. It got da job done, dinnit?" Catshit groaned in a rough voice, "'At's proper 'nuff."
The battlefield had grown quieter. All that was left was groans of pain and the sounds of chopping axes finding out where the groans came from.
That made it easy to hear the one elf still standing.
"Warriors!" He yelled, "Nay... Marines!"
The knife-ear who called himself King stood as tall as he could at the center of the battlefield.
He had his two swords crossed in front of his chest.
It was a weird elfy salute that only he did.
"I... remain," He said.
Stickyfingers looked to Catshit. Catshit looked to Bob. Doc looked at his left forearm. It looked like a bullet had gone clean through.
"So YOUUU'Z STILL HEEEERE??!?" Bob approached the elf, glowering down.
...That meant he had no bloody clue what to do.
It was... frustrating.
Stickyfingers hated being the focus of anything... and there were plenty of words to be said for the time.
But, at least... with the current situation, the most important thing to do... was what he did best.
He knelt down next to Bistol's still-warm corpse... and he looted him.
"Ihihi..." Doc snickered, "We fink-- maybe we fink Leeeads h's found sumfin."
"Well LET'S 'EAR it!" Bob snarled.
Stickyfingers held up a looted vial. He hadn't worked a lot with poison-- not really... but if poison had a specific look, he was holding it in his fingers.
"Poison... Dis was da knife-eared cunt 'at needed murderin'."
Petty Officer Bob snorted deep, phlegm and chunks sounding like stones rattling down a pipe, "We'z done 'ere, den. Time to execute phase 'free o' da plan..."
pαndα noνɐ1,сoМ "And what of me, Petty Officer?" The elf frowned.
"What about you?" Bob scoffed, "You'z can stay an' help... but if woz up to me, you'z can f*ck right off."
"...Very well." The elf sheathed his blades... It was real quick, like he was never holding them in the first place. "Go with honor... Marines of the Neptune's Revenge."
...
⟬ Moon Crescent Isle, Inner Sanctum, present time. ⟭
Tycondrius steeled his will as he crossed over to the Realm of the living.
Out of his company, he worried that he would be the only one strongly affected by the high-level magic.
Then, he remembered that he was traveling with a second non-god.
"BWEEEHHHHHHGHHHRRRGGgggggghhh."
Sol Invictus member Tarquin Wroe began to vomit all over the white tile.
"HRRRGGHHKKKKKhhrrrrrrgggglll... W-why? Hhhh..."
...It made Tycon deeply regret having fed him only recently.
The Inner Sanctum was a mess, damaged in the fight against the Hidden Lake Sect's final defense, their Divine Guardian Beast.
The cracks in the walls betrayed light from above. Dawn had broken.
"Whew," Hades whistled. "You guys did some WORK here!"
"Brother-Hades," Tycon turned to the gentle-orc. "How much time has elapsed?"
"Feels like the killing start-ehhhd... last night?"
Only a few bells? Tycon sighed in relief. It felt like he'd lived two lifetimes, first being trapped in Jiang Ying Yue's Reality Marble and then traveling through the depths of Letherna.
As various corpses of the Martialists slain by him and Krysaos had not yet begun to decompose, Hades' judgment seemed trustworthy.
"Yo, Hades," Krysaos raised his hand. "Did you use some sort of... god-sense, just now? --and can you teach me how to use it?"
"Please do not do that," Tycon sighed as he massaged the back of Tarquin Wroe, Iron-Rank Vomit-Blade. "The Captain's divine powers have been sealed to prevent self-combustion capable of wiping out both the mortal and deific populations of this island."
"Yeah, sorry, bud," Hades scratched his cheek. "I don't think you can learn much about god-things from me. I've been able to sense dead folks since I was just a regular Abyssal Warlock."
Tycon furrowed his brows, "None of that is 'regular', Brother-Hades."
"Fear not, Friend-Sea-God," A tall, shirtless blonde interrupted, "I, too, grew into my abilities over several decades."
It was... the Thunder God.
"Why are you still here, guy?" Krysaos asked.
"Y-you have my javelin," He muttered. "I'm only lending it to you."
It was odd, trading the former sea god's trident for only borrowing the Thunder God's javelin. It was, however, an equivalent exchange.
Krysaos returned a generic "huh" before twirling the borrowed throwing weapon around a finger.
Before Tycon could chase the shirtless degenerate away, a loud booming resonated throughout the sanctum.
"WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE?!??!"
Tycon slowly turned to the Thunder God, Krysaos and Hades doing the same.
The blonde man had crossed his arms, "That was not my voice."
Though his steps were light and quiet, all present (minus one distressed warlock) turned to observe the voice's owner.
It was the elf who called himself--
"This KING senses the presence of the SEA GOD yet sees NOT HIS VESSEL!!"
...And that fellow looked and sounded very, very upset.
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