Chapter 2: A plea of dying lips, once living love remains eternal part 3

The ship’s deck transformed into a slick arena of chaos and clashing metal. Amid the relentless drumming of rain and the intermittent glare of lightning, the drakonian surged forward. Its enormous, scaled form was a study in grotesque beauty—the creature bled profusely from every gash and puncture, bright rivulets of crimson streaking over its mottled hide. Each droplet, illuminated by the flash of distant explosions, told a tale of imminent decay, as if the very life of the beast was being siphoned away by the fury of the storm.

Michael, his eyes narrowed against the driving rain, advanced without hesitation. With a determined roar, he drove forward, slamming his shield into the charging monster. The impact was brutal—a resounding clang echoed across the deck as the cold, heavy metal of his shield met the raw, unyielding force of the drakonian. The collision sent tremors through his arms, yet Michael’s grip was unwavering. In a single, well-timed maneuver, his momentum forced the creature’s head off the boat, a savage separation punctuated by a sickening crunch of shattering bone and twisting metal that reverberated into the stormy night.

Even as the head was wrenched away, the beast clung desperately to the ship. Its formidable claws, honed for rending flesh and steel alike, dug into the metallic hull. Each swipe was a violent ballet of sparks—fiery cascades leaping off the surface in brief, brilliant bursts that lit up the darkened deck like fleeting constellations. The acrid tang of burnt metal mingled with the coppery scent of blood, painting the air with the essence of raw, unfiltered carnage.

In a desperate bid to subdue his foe, Michael braced himself as the drakonian snapped its maw in a vicious attempt to bite him. The creature’s gaping jaws, lined with jagged teeth that glinted in the sporadic light, aimed for a fatal strike. With barely a moment to react, Michael drove his shield into the monstrous mouth. The shield’s cold, hard surface wedged open the beast’s jaws, halting its savage bite. Michael’s arms trembled with the force of the impact as he fought to keep the creature’s head immobilized. The drakonian thrashed wildly, its head flailing like a crazed crocodile tearing into its prey, each jerk of its massive neck splintering the cacophony of violence into a discordant symphony of pain.

Clutching his shield with a mixture of raw determination and sheer willpower, Michael held on for dear life. Every sinew in his body burned with exertion as he sought to channel the drakonian’s overwhelming momentum against itself. With a series of fluid, almost balletic movements, he redirected the force of the beast. In one seamless, decisive maneuver, Michael twisted his grip and slammed the creature’s head forcefully into the side of the boat. The violent collision sent shudders through the hull, the impact echoing like a death knell across the rain-soaked deck.

For a brief, surreal moment, the beast’s predatory instinct faltered. Confusion clouded its wild eyes—eyes that had until now burned with a feral, unyielding hunger. The drakonian, despite its titanic strength, appeared paralyzed by an inner dissonance. It knew its own power, yet found itself inexplicably anchored in place, unable to muster the strength to overcome Michael’s relentless assault.

In a final desperate bid to regain control, the creature lashed out. Its front legs, massive and clawed, flailed in all directions. Each savage swipe against the slick deck sent showers of incandescent sparks flying, brief bursts of light that danced wildly across the surface. The sound of its furious, anguished screeches mingled with the howling wind and Michael’s own guttural groans, creating a visceral auditory tapestry of struggle and despair.

Rain mixed with blood to form rivulets that trailed along the deck, catching the sporadic illumination of lightning and the erratic bursts of sparks. The dark, glistening metal of the ship was momentarily transformed into a canvas painted in shades of red and gold, each flash of light revealing a frozen tableau of raw, unfiltered conflict. The curling smoke rose from the impact points, the splintering wood and buckled metal of the ship groaned under the relentless assault, and the pummeling rain blurred the boundaries between man and monster.

“Curse of binding!” Michael screamed as he slammed his shield deep into the drakonian’s throat, making it choke.

In that instant, the storm seemed to hold its breath. The rain hammered the deck in a relentless torrent, the ship’s metal surface slick and glistening with moisture. Michael’s shield—now an extension of his will—punctured the creature’s thick hide with a resounding clang that echoed over the tumultuous sea of sound. The drakonian’s throat convulsed, gurgling as it struggled against the magical force of the curse, its eyes widening in a mix of pain and disbelief.

Suddenly, the beast began slipping down from the hull of the ship, its once menacing form losing traction on the slick surface. With a final, desperate lurch, it tumbled into the churning water below. In a last-ditch act of defiance, the drakonian bit down on Michael’s shield, its powerful jaws clamping around the metal. The sudden, violent bite flung both Michael and the beast into a chaotic ballet of motion—a collision of fate and fury that sent them spiraling through the air.

Michael flipped through the rain, suspended for a fleeting moment as if caught in slow motion. He managed to find his balance atop the shield, which was now lodged firmly in the drakonian’s gaping maw. The surreal juxtaposition of his precarious perch against the backdrop of a raging storm created a scene both harrowing and visually arresting. The air was filled with the tang of salt and the acrid scent of iron—the unmistakable odor of blood mixed with the brine of the sea.

The smell of fish and rot came from its mouth. The stench was overwhelming—a putrid mix of decomposing flesh and the sea’s natural rot.

“Vince! Now,” Michael screamed as he looked toward the distant rooftop where Vince stood, poised against the raging elements.

His voice cut through the roar of the wind and the clatter of rain, a desperate command directed at his ally. The urgency in his tone left no room for hesitation.

“As you wish, Young master,” Vince’s eyes gleamed, lighting up in a green hue. “I invoke,” he muttered with a slight smile.

From his vantage point on the rooftop, Vince seemed almost otherworldly. His eyes betrayed the latent power within him. As his whispered incantation faded into the night, the air around him shimmered with anticipation.

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Immediately, a cocoon wrapped itself around his body, pulsing several times like a living heartbeat before it burst open. The transformation that followed was nothing short of awe-inspiring. Emerging from the remnants of the cocoon was a monstrous, bestial creature—resembling a colossal, six-meter-tall mantis. Its exoskeleton was a mosaic of jagged, overlapping scales, each one reflecting the intermittent lightning in a fractured, eerie glow. The creature’s head was elongated and menacing, crowned with four sharp horns that jutted forward like the blades of a sinister crown.

Vince leaped forth with explosive force, his massive frame moving in a blur that defied the eye. He crashed into the drakonian with the raw power of a collapsing star. The impact reverberated through the ship, sending shudders across the deck as metal groaned under the strain. With a swift, practiced motion, Vince gripped the creature’s throat, his arms tightening in an iron embrace. His strength forced the drakonian to relent its vice-like grip, compelling it to spit out Michael’s shield in a spray of rain and splintered scale.

Meanwhile, Michael, still adrift from his airborne maneuver, managed to leap to the side of the ship. He clung desperately to a jagged gash in the ship’s hull—a wound inflicted earlier by the drakonian’s brutal claws. The battered surface around him was slick with rain and streaked with the dark stains of blood, a silent testament to the ferocity of the ongoing battle.

Then, as if the very elements were conspiring to escalate the conflict, the drakonian’s scales began to rattle and shimmer, glowing with an otherworldly blue hue. Overhead, the storm intensified; the dark clouds roiled as if in anger, and bolts of lightning slashed across the sky. One such bolt struck the creature, and to the astonishment of all, it absorbed the electrical energy. In that moment, the drakonian glowed even brighter, its claws now sheathed in a sizzling coat of plasma that danced along its edges in a wild, unpredictable pattern.

Without warning, the drakonian sprang forward with renewed ferocity. Its plasma-charged claws slashed toward Vince’s head in a vicious, calculated arc. The attack was brutal and precise—a savage swipe that split through the air and, in an instant, fragmented Vince’s head. Yet the unthinkable happened: as if defying the very laws of nature, Vince’s head reformed, the shattered pieces seamlessly remolding into their original form. He leaped back, bouncing onto the roof of a nearby building, his expression one of grim determination mixed with a trace of wry amusement at his own resilience.

“A lightning caller,” Micheal frowned. “Vince! I’ll give you an opening. Kill it in one shot.”

The ship’s deck was a tempest of chaos—a slick, rain-soaked arena where every surface shimmered with salt and blood under the unyielding downpour. The air vibrated with raw energy as lightning fractured the dark sky, illuminating the savage dance between man and beast. Amid the cacophony of thunder and clashing metal, Micheal’s voice cut through like a blade, his tone equal parts command and urgency.

“Fine,” Vince growled. “Soul,” he called forth. Two blades formed in his claws, jagged and curved.

In that moment, as Vince’s incantation echoed over the storm, his hands transformed with otherworldly precision. From his outstretched claws, two vicious, serrated blades materialized—each edge gleaming with lethal intent. The charged atmosphere around him crackled, as if nature itself bent to his will. The relentless storm painted the scene with fleeting flashes of brilliance that made every droplet of rain glisten like shards of shattered glass.

The beast’s glow intensified, as it opened it’s maw ready to release a powerful lightning breath attack. Its surroundings crackled sparks of lighting flailing in every direction.

The drakonian’s body radiated an eerie, pulsating light, its monstrous form casting distorted shadows that danced wildly across the drenched deck. Its cavernous mouth yawned open in anticipation, preparing to unleash a torrent of lightning that would rival the fury of the storm. Jagged bolts of electricity flickered about its form, and every spark that flew off its body added to the surreal, almost apocalyptic spectacle unfolding before them.

Immediately, Micheal extended his hand, once again looking through his fingers.

In a gesture that seemed both instinctual and deliberate, Micheal thrust his hand forward, squinting through his fingers as he gauged the precise moment of the enemy’s onslaught. His eyes, narrowed against the pelting rain, were fixed on the looming threat, every nerve tuned to the rhythm of the storm and the promise of impending violence.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Vince propelled himself forward. His figure blurred as he vaulted low over the slick deck, every muscle taut with focus. The dynamic interplay between his agile movement and the surging energy of the battlefield was like a carefully choreographed dance—a defiant surge against the chaos.

“Curse of blindness!” Micheal screamed out as his vision faded.

The spell erupted from Micheal’s lips, the words slicing through the din as his vision darkened. A shroud of magical blindness enveloped him, momentarily robbing him of sight as the curse took hold. Yet even in that disorienting darkness, his resolve burned fiercely.

The drakonian responded with a searing beam of energy—a deadly lance of lightning hurtling straight toward Vince. In that split second, as the lethal light cut through the rain, Vince’s form blurred with preternatural agility. The sudden onset of blindness, gave him an opening, as he vaulted gracefully over the attack. With one fluid, decisive motion, his serrated blades arced through the air and met their mark. In a single, explosive slash, the beast’s neck was cleaved, its head severed in a burst of raw, incandescent fury.

Struggling to maintain his tenuous hold on a deep gash that marred his side, Michael’s strength ebbed away with every heartbeat. His body, already battered and blinded by the curse, began to succumb to the relentless pull of gravity. In that heart-stopping moment, when his grip finally faltered, fate intervened—Vince, swiftly reverting to his human form, caught him just before he fell. With a powerful, almost tender grasp, Vince cradled Michael against his shoulder, anchoring him amid the storm’s fury.

“Are you okay, young master?” Vince wondered with a worried expression.

“I’m fine,” Michael opened his eyes, as his vision slowly returned.

Shakily, Michael wiped the blood from his face, each crimson streak merging with the rain that cascaded down. Their brief exchange was a lifeline amid the chaos, a silent promise of survival despite the devastation around them.

“Hello?!” Michael shouted. “Jonathan, where are you?!”

“I’m here, come right now!” A voice replied, coming deep from within the ship.

Their call cut through the oppressive darkness of the ship’s interior—a place transformed into a grim labyrinth of ruin. Vince and Michael exchanged a resolute glance, a wordless understanding passing between them. Without delay, they charged into the depths of the vessel.

Inside, the corridors were a macabre image of decay. The once-proud quarters of the crew lay ravaged and desolate, strewn with half-eaten corpses that testified to a brutality unbound. Every step echoed on the scarred metal floor as they followed Jonathan’s urgent calls, the oppressive silence punctuated only by the distant, desperate plea for salvation.

At last, they arrived before a massive, armored door, its surface brutally slashed open—a silent witness to the violence that had unfolded beyond. There, in the threshold of despair, Jonathan knelt. He extended his hand toward a small, dark-skinned girl wrapped in an oversized jacket, her wide eyes shimmering with both fear and a fragile hope.

“Don't worry, you’re safe now, everything will be okay.”