Amelia Buccaneer Dyson. A proud Doubhain citizen born under the protection of ocean swells. In the far south of the monotone land blue seas were a dream. Tides were rough since forever forcing people away from the ever-shrinking coasts. Seawall nor steel was good enough to prevent an ocean of anger. While most packed their bags and fled before they became one with the swell, others weren't as fortunate with opportunity. Some were flat-out maniacs.
Instead of fleeing from an ocean of devil's, they took standing upon it as their ancestors once did. Wooden homes along the waters that never moved despite pressure, carried by seafaring vessels strong enough to brave any weather due to their drivers. The Buccaneers. In later years they became known for being a stain upon Doubhain's history.
Theives and pillagers leaving smolders wherever they went with a trail of bottles. Daimon in human shape. Scourges from the depths of the sea. Mor's huntsmen with locks of gold and fiery hair. Those were only a few names for the criminals.
Amelia Buccaneer, an old member of one of the Buccaneer's ragtag lots. She was the brawn of the operation, a pretty face to distract swayed men from her almost iron body and even bigger steel warhammer. Robbing, stealings, and beating. Their crimes became bigger and badder the older that trio of tykes got. So much so that the ruling Astarama sent his top soldiers after them. Other buccaneers even called them crazy, but Amelia cared not. Her eyes were set on a prize bigger than any were willing to comprehend.
On the night of Helion Vanta's most celebrated anniversary; Flammender Tag von Vulcan. In his temple of gold, she climbed leaving a trail of bodies in her wake for the most treasured item. Within Neo-Shambala's grand temple to their god was a pair of golden doors. Larger than mechs and thicker than their forearms only one person could ever hope to open it. Amelia, however, was up for a challenge. Slashed and bruised she went on and at the end of the winding gold sanctuary what awaited her was the god himself. Helion Vanta in his thousand armed glory set a challenge for the woman. Nobody other than both individuals truly knows what occurred within those walls. Yet a verse was once written.
Amelia the Buccaneer, sinner of the soil
Amelia the foolhardy, her stories made any recoil
She hungered for power and treasure galore
Beyond the golden gates where none went before
At the end of the hall in the dead of night
The god she met gave her a fright
Skies of white and a flash of pain
Amelia was never the same again
Though afterward the streak of the woman didn't change for a few years. Reaching as far as Gottenfall with disaster on her mind. What was assured, Helion allowed her life that night. She walked out of that temple touched by nobody else with his light escaping every inch of her body. The same light that has guided her for years to come. Now it continues to take form.
Under Skylandria where light was unheard of a solar apocalypse seared the land even more. Flash after flash and hisses of heat. Pinned to the floor with a dozen spears through their frame Sitri remained defeated. Amelia didn't break a sweat. Her foot crushed the machine upon the mound while her eyes remained on her boy. "You're lucky he still breathes, head."
The thirteenth spear was wrapped around her fingers, inserted into the unit's neck. Sitri couldn't move. Though he appeared whole, his connections were completely melted. He could barely remain operational and that thirteenth spear pierced right through his voice box. Looks like his backup plan was the way to go, "Don't waste words on some prayer or cryptic words," the woman dominated. Upon seeing Zenith's mark Amelia knew their trump card. Sitri's body began to head up.
A red hue spread across his frame. This only irritated the woman once more, "So be it," her other hand plunged down with the spear. Swift cuts slashed the unit's head from their body. A prize for her collection and good information for the national security team. She picked up the head with the end of her weapon. Sitri's body continued to heat while their head cooled. An unstable reaction as witnessed before; beyond saving. Amelia kicked the corpse away from her boy. They were still in the range.
Heat like this could only make her sweat. The fires overcame in a second inches from her face and the child behind her; the force mostly directed skywards. Radiation was something the family was attuned to, aftereffects were on par with a cold. "Hmmm, I see."
Amelia recognized that the head was inactive, "Grant, can you stand as yet?" she whispered, "I need you to deliver this to Draglion's son in the national security team," at her request the man who was seemingly out cold stood. He bled from the wounds on his back and hole in his stomach, but discipline kept him undeterred.
"At once," he caught his attacker's head. Finger over neuragear for orders to be delivered. "Have the mine replaced and send a recovery drone for both myself and mother."
"Secure the area. Weapon restrictions at a zero, you are to kill any suspicious figure you deem a threat until I give the word against it. If they aren't in the database, go wild."