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A Letter from Edward Teach to Bartholomew Roberts.
The relentless chase persisted for minutes. Something that was made more grueling by the constant lightning Francis had to evade.
When he was lucky.
The Inquisitor displayed neither artifacts nor Fragments, hinting at either not having them or simply not needing them.
And why would he? Francis ran for his life due to a singular Shanty. Additionally, the Inquisitors seldom fight individually, making interference a matter of time.
Left without much of a choice, Francis threw a rock inside someone’s house before using Substitution once more. He had no illusions about his opponent, however, making the move a simple delaying tactic.
Much like Warlord Read, the Inquisitor followed inside shortly after.
“Not going to make my job easier, are you?” the man said, tone bordering on boredom. “You’re the third Deacon I’ve fought this month already.”
“Then what?” Francis retorted. “You’re going to offer me a job?”
“No, you will die,” the Inquisitor replied. “It beats the alternative any day, though.”
“Such a shame,” Francis replied mockingly. “Not that I was considering the offer, anyway.”
The fugitive then released a column of flames, forcing the Inquisitor to dodge. He was too slow, however, as Francis swiftly used Substitution on a chair. Then shot him with his revolver.
Sadly, the shot didn’t strike true, leading his enemy to merely miss a hand.
“You vermin!” the Inquisitor shouted before slamming him against the wall telekinetically.
Francis anticipated the force this time. He substituted before the pressure could crush his ribs.
The earlier column of flames proved volatile, igniting half the room in the process. The predicament left Francis with no choice but to flee once more.
“Enough!” the Inquisitor exclaimed.
Suddenly, Francis could not move.
It was for naught, however. A vase shattered somewhere outside. And Francis was no longer in the room.
The triumph didn’t last, however, as another robed figure appeared in the distance. Francis had mere seconds to process the scene before an icicle impaled his leg.
Of course, they wouldn’t play fair.
The attack was quickly followed by a bolt of lightning from behind. A bolt he barely dodged, as it sent a jolt down his spine.
Left without much of a choice, Francis removed the projectile from his leg and ran once more using Liquidation.
The Dominion Acolyte maneuvered around tight alleys and narrow streets like it was second nature to him. A fear only outmatched by the two Inquisitors following closely behind.
How on earth?
Unexpectedly, a few officers appeared at the end of an alley, flintlocks raised.
“Halt!” one of them shouted, seemingly ready to shoot at any moment.
An uncomfortable thought followed suit.
He had to kill them.
Fast.
Blast it all!
Francis released a column of flames at the lot before walking past their charred corpses. Corpses that weren’t even offered the dignity of screaming.
Francis continued his hopeless run, hoping to find a feature he could exploit. What met him instead was a dead end.
“The guzzler is really fast,” the second Inquisitor said as they caught up. “Evasion users are truly the worst.”
“Eh,” the first one said. “New artifact, at least.”
The pair mercifully approached cautiously, allowing him a rare moment of introspection.
Had it not been for his Deacon-level healing, he would’ve died a dozen times over. More importantly, the first Inquisitor appeared to have already healed, making minor blows futile. And judging by the icicles, the second one must have had Rejuvenation as well.
The situation was too overwhelming for Francis to form coherent thoughts, but he still attempted to find an exit.
The dead end rendered Substitution unusable, and the existence of a pair made outflanking him a breeze. A fact that forced him to cling close to the wall.
Wait. They’re a pair!
The inclusion of a second adversary introduced a factor he seldom considered. If he couldn’t substitute objects, he might as well substitute people.
The Demise Inquisitor extended a hand.
Francis didn’t hesitate.
The moment icicles left her palm, he swapped positions with her partner.
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The new application made his head throb, but he had to power through it, as every second counted.
Every single second.
Francis then extended his palm and engulfed the Demise Inquisitor in flames. The Untether one, on the other hand, was impaled multiple times by his own partner’s icicles, letting out a bewildered grunt.
The woman, on the other hand, screamed faintly as flames consumed her.
It wasn’t enough, however, and Francis knew it.
The fugitive reached for his flintlock, but it was cut short by the first Inquisitor recovering.
Mutual destruction it is.
Francis aimed the artifact at the woman’s head. Then pulled the trigger.
A second later, a bolt of lightning hit him square in the chest, immobilizing him instantly.
Francis dropped to the floor alongside the woman. But at least she had no head.
“I can’t believe we lost an operative because of a pest,” the first Inquisitor said, clearly troubled. “Your kind are truly the worst.”
Francis hoped that his healing would render him mobile enough in a few seconds, yet he remained paralyzed. The worst of the pain passed, rendering him lucid once more. But lucidity wasn’t enough.
He had to run.
Fast.
The moment he regained some movement, however, the Inquisitor pinned him to a wall.
Then Francis’ heart dropped.
At first, he assumed it was fear. But there was no pulse to be heard.
The Inquisitor had crushed his heart.
This is it, huh?
For a moment, Francis accepted the inevitable. After all of his skirmishes, this one was going to be his last. And it was as glorious as they came. One Inquisitor was dead, while the other was pushed to his limit.
Or at least, that’s what he wanted to believe.
Suddenly, the Inquisitor dropped him to the floor, perhaps assuming the job was done. Yet Francis was lucid all the same.
His Rejuvenation healed his heart.
The paralysis persisted, however, making an evasive escape impossible. Rejuvenation prioritized his heart.
What can I do now?
Francis tried his best to remain calm and think of a solution. But his adversary’s ever-closer footsteps made it difficult.
Since he couldn’t move, could he use his words to escape his predicament? What words would even convince an Inquisitor from the Apostolic See?
The lot practically worshipped a supposedly immortal matriarch. Francis’ words meant nothing.
Unless he invoked a far stronger being.
A being able to pulverize Warlords without lifting a finger.
Francis wanted to move his head, but that would’ve exposed that he was still alive. And so he refrained.
Suddenly, the Inquisitor kicked him with the force of a rhino, undoubtedly testing if he was still alive. The hit caused Francis immense pain, perhaps even injured him.
But he couldn’t look.
Fearing a second strike, Francis put his desperate plan into motion. “Xavier is Rumpelstiltskin.”
Francis expected Xavier’s retaliation to be swift.
Instead, the Inquisitor began convulsing violently.
The pain made the man utter a scream Francis hadn’t heard the entire fight. The guttural scream was only made more harrowing as the man began scratching his head violently. Not long after, blood began oozing.
The act did nothing to stop the pain, however, as he fell to his knees.
Francis expected the scene to draw a few onlookers, yet there were none to be seen. Why would they? When such cries of anguish were enough to make an apex predator shudder.
The Inquisitor, evidently deciding that it was enough, punched himself in the head, spreading its contents all over the narrow alley.
To think that I tried to intimidate Xavier at some point.
Moments later, the fugitive was on his feet, making a run for it.
The scene was enough to make a veteran wet himself. But the Read incident didn’t leave much to the imagination, as far as gore went. Two headless Inquisitors were down. And staying around them was a fate worse than death.
***
Francis didn’t know how long he slept, and he didn’t care.
The fight left him with… quite a lot to process.
As much as he hated Rhys for his betrayal, he was eternally grateful to him for providing the Rejuvenation Fragment. Otherwise, his corpse would’ve ended up in a church morgue, dissected for all of its worth.
Still. How did I manage to outmaneuver them?
The answer came as quickly as the question preceding it.
He was no normal Acolyte. He was a borderline Deacon with one Deacon-grade artifact, one Deacon-grade Fragment, and a flintlock that pulverized anything on contact.
He still didn’t flatter himself, however. The altercation was nothing more than a chase. A chase that almost left him dead.
Truth be told, he wasn’t even sure invoking Rumpelstiltskin’s name was going to yield much fruit, as the “man” could’ve simply ignored him.
Still. A debt is a debt, and Francis couldn’t die until Rumpelstiltskin collects.
He was glad the police officer from weeks ago attempted to pry into his secrets, as that gave him the idea that none who heard the name escaped intact. Except for those bearing his mark, of course.
The prospect of invoking his name during every altercation was terribly charming to Francis. But he had to show temperance, as there was no telling how patient the eldritch being was. Or if he would charge him interest for getting his help indirectly.
I should become a Deacon as soon as possible.
Easier said than done, that was.
From his understanding, Submerged were at their most vulnerable during Descension.
“Even a regular human could kill me if I’m not careful,” Francis mumbled, still lying down.
Additionally, the length of the process only rendered him more exposed, as anything could happen in the span of a few hours.
But realistically speaking, was it even necessary?
The ultimate objective was returning home, was it not? Thus, why would he need to become a Deacon?
To protect said home, obviously.
As “kind” as Valeria was, he knew for a fact that she was but an exception. An exception that chose to be merciful.
Had it been any other Deacon? They would’ve enslaved the lot of them and sold them weeks ago.
And so might made right. Whether he wanted to sail further or call it quits.
Or rather retire, as sailors say.
Suddenly, there was a knock.
A slow, deliberate one.
Francis instinctively reached for his revolver before replying, “Yes?”
“Edmond?” a feminine voice said. “It’s me, Amber.”
What is she doing here?
“Can I help you with something?” Francis said, still in bed.
“Can we talk?” Amber replied.
Francis had no reason to refuse, and so he rushed to the door and opened it for her.
The woman Francis laid eyes on when he opened the door looked nothing like the Amber who caused a scene not too long ago.
With loose-fitting pants, a tunic, and a messy bun, Amber looked less like an entertainer and more like the average outlander.
Well, as average as it gets.
“Are you going to let me in or what?” Amber asked, seemingly impatient.
It wasn’t until then that Francis realized that he had stared for far too long. “Sorry. You can come in.”
The blonde woman simply nodded before finding her way inside.
“I’d like to apologize,” Amber said as she met his gaze.
“About what?” Francis asked, already knowing the answer.
“You know,” Amber replied, a hint of a blush covering her face. “For causing a scene a few days ago.”
A few days ago? For how long did I sleep?
Francis didn’t know if it was mere exhaustion or a side effect of his constant Rejuvenation. But he swore that henceforth, he would drink seawater daily, as combusting while recovering was no pleasant thought.
“Don’t worry about it,” Francis replied to the surprisingly appealing woman.
“I’m also sorry for calling you bald,” Amber added.
“To be fair, I am,” Francis replied with a chuckle.
Seeing his casual demeanor, Amber visibly relaxed. “Your words, not mine.”
Francis hesitated before asking at last, “Mind telling me what it was about?”
“Before I do,” Amber said as she sat on his bed, “have you heard about what happened recently?”
Here it comes.
“What?”
“A random assailant killed two Inquisitors three days ago,” Amber replied. “Have you heard anything about it?”
Ha! Random assailant.
“More or less,” he replied. “Who do you think it could be?”
Amber shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest clue. But I’m sure the Church will find a way.”
Francis wanted to burst out laughing. The Apostolic See, with its might, couldn’t locate a sewer rat. One who wasn’t even a Deacon.
But then again, the sewer rat didn’t act alone. He invoked a being from myth.
A being that would come back to collect.