"Justice will you come for you, you bastard. Turning against your own people—" the man condemned him, but that condemnation was cut short, but a sudden blow to his lower jaw. It cut it through his throat, and tore at his vocal cords, reducing his sound to a spluttering groan. He looked down to see one of Vol's throwing axes embedded in his throat.
"There's your justice," Vol said, already walking away from him. He thought it to be a shame to lose his axe, but he would far rather lose an axe than a kill. The man fell, and Vol liked to think that the man died cursing him. The thought of it made him smile a grim smile.
He barged his way through the fleeing men, and leapt over the last of the gaps onto his own ship, just in time before the deck tilted violently once more, and a dozen men were thrown into the water, and the ships sinking was accelerated.
"…You were far too reckless there, Vol," Harland admonished.
