Tycondrius quietly observed High-Captain Lang Hai's physical transformation.
The boy's eyes had darkened to a deep ocean black. His teeth had lengthened into needle-like points. The muscles on his arms and back bulged and his skin began to turn to a rubbery-looking dark blue. His hair began to stand, silvery bone protrusions made his hair resemble fins.
Hai rotated his body, using the kinetic force to spin and throw the black-and-blue faced Rico against a nearby wall. Winding up a punch, he dashed over and struck the blood-covered woman in the chest, breaking in the outer shop wall in a loud, fantastic fashion.
Tycon grimaced. That was not an Iron-Rank level of strength. The boy, despite his size, was stronger than Dragan.
Sea Witch Eilean slowly turned to Tycon, her mouth twitching.
"Does... this happen often?" Tycon inquired.
"Aye, more 'an you might thaink," she smiled weakly.
Lone stood, petrified, "Boss. I'd like to run away now."
Tycon rolled his eyes, "I am stunned by your display of chivalry. Permission granted."
Lone valiantly ducked back into the pub from whence he came.
Finally, Lang Hai was able to calm himself. His skin and hair returned to their normal colors, and his misshapen muscles reduced in size, reverting back to a normal 14-year-old boy.
He turned to scoff at Eilean, "Problem's taken care of Lieutenant! No more drunken displays that Chantal could possibly execute me for!"
Eilean held her face in her hands, "I was TRYIN' ta stop ye bafore ye made a mess 'at Capitaine Chantal cannae ignore!"
Lang Hai lowered his head and raised his shoulders, slowly turning back to what he had done.
The wall of a cartographer's shop had been broken through and the dust was clearing, revealing the destruction that lay beyond. A broken table and chairs, countless cracked counters with compasses and measuring devices displayed, and dozens of carefully reproduced maps worth countless silver-- everything was ruined.
At the center of the devastation laid a blood-stained, broken brunette with both arms impossibly twisted, "It… hurts, Boss…"
Eilean placed her hands on her hips, looming over the boy-Captain, "I'll have ye know that waer in the coumpany of Monsieur le Baron Tycon--"
Hai crossed his arms, turning up his head, "W-why do I care about a noble?"
The Sea Witch stomped over and flicked the boy's forehead with her middle finger. The boy immediately crouched in pain, both hands on his head.
"Wael ya LET ME FINISH? --The Baron's been invited by none uvver 'an Grand-Capitaine Chantal, HAERSELF!!"
Tycon's mouth twitched. Why the hells was he being dragged into this?
"Wael?" Eilean scowled at Tycon, "Say sumfin, yer laerdship!"
Tycon dropped his shoulders, sighing. He should have escaped when Lone did.
Reaching into his hooded cloak, Tycon activated his spatial ring and pulled out one of his pistols. Keeping his finger straight and off the trigger, he pointed it forward and unclicked the safety.
"Villain," Tycon stated lazily, "Cease thy villainry."
...
Lang Hai swore a dozen curses in his mind, scanning the broken wreckage, (while purposefully ignoring the agonized whining of Private First Class Rico.)
Sweat dripped down his back as he thought of Chantal. The hammer that was the wrath of Grand-Capitaine Chantal De la Croix would crush him to red, unrecognizable squishy bits. And then he would be taken out and shot.
The familiar sound of a pistol safety clicking off, suddenly sharpened Lang Hai's senses.
The young green-haired man in a dark cloak was calmly pointing a pistol in his general direction. How dare he! Though Hai looked younger, he was confident he was older than the youth...
Hai's senses analyzed his surroundings, enhanced by the most powerful motivator in the realm: fear of a woman.
Pale pristine skin and neat hair: Definitely nobility. Yellow eyes: possible inhuman blood. Outline of a blade beneath his cloak: Combat skills likely. Dark, hooded cloak: Knows how to keep his head down-- probably a tiny bit of intelligence. Pistol: definitely has money, what a prick!
Worse still, Hai couldn't smell an onze of fear from the youth-- the Tycon person. The man's relaxed state wasn't out of laziness, it was out of certainty!
The beady-yellow-eyed noble cunt was definitely a threat! If Hai didn't do something immediately, he'd be reported straight to Chantal and his LIFE WOULD BE OVER!
...It was pretty late in the sun. Hai considered throwing Rico's broken body at the noble as a distraction. Then he could run and hide in a garbage heap until it got dark out.
Tycon sighed, "If you tell me what's going on, I'll at least be able to explain it to the Grand-Capitaine."
Lang Hai's innocent, fragile heart shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces. The noble would rat him out at first opportunity.
The gods looked upon Lang Hai and judged him to be unworthy of their grace. Deep inside his soul, he wept, forsaken by mercy, loathed by kindness, a stranger to hope.
He could feel his soul trying to leave his body. He wore his Captain rank upon his coat's epaulets. He wore the Officer's cutlass on his hip-- so expensive and so flimsy, its only real use was to commit ritual suicide... and best try out of three, at that.
The formal dress attire of the Beaurte Marines was recognizable throughout the Kingdom. All this was on top of the fact that he had no less than four of his ships in port, fully rigged for raiding, flying Beaurte's colors arrogantly.
Hai's brain operated at maximum capacity. He refused to be executed without a fight!
Option A: Beg for forgiveness. Throw away all of his pride as an Officer of Marines, much less the High-Captain of the fleet or the Leader of a sect... Rejected! Rico was still alive, and he wasn't willing to kill her unless absolutely necessary. The entire debacle has been her fault. Hai swore he'd make her hate her life if she managed to survive.
"Caaaaaptainnn…. I wish I were dead," Rico quietly sobbed. Blood flowed from her eyes, ears, and mouth, "I need… I need seawater."
"Shut up, Rico. I'm thinking," Lang Hai glared.
Option B: Kill every last Marine, Sailor, and Civilian in the area. Immediately in the area was Rico, a hiding store owner, an old hag, and a nobleman pistoleer. Rejected. Too many variables. At least twenty Marines were in the tavern next door, each of them at least half as hardy as Rico. And one of Chantal's goons could absolutely not be simple, even if he looked dumber than a sack of starfish.
Option C. Lang Hai did not want to use Option C. He hated himself for even thinking of an Option C. He sucked in a deep breath to prepare. His life depended on the ability he prided himself upon most: theatre acting.
"Would you look at that!! In my foolish drunkenness, damage of public property and violence has occurred!! But this happens all the time!! Every sun!! Very violence!! Such common!! Not worth a reporting!!"