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The Shanty Codex I, by Saint Morgan LeFay.
Francis was a fraction of a second away from a decisive win.
He did it.
He actually did it.
He was about to put an end to a man who tormented many and spared none.
A man who was a Pirate Warlord.
Not long after Francis pulled the hammer, however, the wave of Disintegration hit a distant wall.
Read then turned to him, as an ugly grin covered his face. “Fancy artifact you got there.”
Spare me the theatrics already.
The wave of annoyance was only overshadowed by confusion.
How did he dodge a shot to the head?
A shot fired mere centimeters away.
The Shanty of Demise. What power would fit that context?
It didn’t take Francis long to figure it out.
Read’s reaction didn’t lag. “Aren’t you clever? It seems like you connected the dots already.”
Connect them, he did.
Pirate Warlord Read was a Venerable.
A Venerable of the Demise Shanty.
“Truth be told,” Read explained, seemingly reading his thoughts. “It only happened recently. That blonde lass packed quite the punch.”
While the Pirate Warlord was busy performing in a play, Francis observed the outdoors for any objects worth using.
“Blonde lass?” Francis stalled.
“Trying to buy time, are we?”
Blast it.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Francis focused on a mundane rock before swapping positions with it.
The advantage lasted but a fleeting moment, however, as Read burst out of the burning building shortly after.
Francis, naturally, made a run for it.
Fighting a predictable Reverend while being armed to the teeth was one thing.
Someone who was one Depth away from Sainthood, on the other hand? He wanted no part in it.
I’m not suicidal just yet.
The Pirate Warlord didn’t appear to care for that sentiment, however, as he launched yet another barrage of icicles.
This time, one of them landed true.
Francis looked down right after swapping positions and saw a jagged icy shard protruding from his abdomen.
Panic nearly led him to extract it, but he refrained. His trusty books put much emphasis on not attempting such a thing.
Rejuvenation served as a solace in such times. But here, there was nothing to do.
Remove it and die. Keep it and stay in pain.
As much as the latter hurt, it was far more predictable, leading him to persevere.
Francis slid across the streets of Orange Town using his Evasion artifact, yet it somehow still fell short against Read’s monstrous accuracy.
That’s a Pirate Warlord for you.
Thankfully, none of the ice shards hit his vitals, enabling him to continue fleeing at a steady pace.
“Come on, Yves!” Read shouted from behind. “Don’t you want to become a legend?”
Francis had no desire to humor the man’s taunts. In that moment, he cared little for pride, as it was synonymous with certain doom.
He will survive.
He will recover.
And Read will taste his own medicine.
Sadly, his lucky streak didn’t persist forever, as an icicle ripped through half his right leg.
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The pain didn’t shy away, and neither did Rejuvenation.
I need to find another approach.
If running away in perfect condition using Evasion granted borrowed time, his current condition offered a grave.
Assuming Read had enough decency.
Suddenly, an idea dawned on him.
Saint Agnes might not have been the most selfless, but she was reliable.
And this was the perfect opportunity to seek her help.
“Oh, Saint of Dominion
Venerated are thee
And revered is thy might
Aid me in my tribulation
And shade me from harm.”
Francis expected no miracle, however, and so he continued moving.
The ease at which Read impaled him left the bleeding bounty hunter with only one choice. But it was a gamble.
Still better than falling here.
Francis surveyed the building nearby before swapping locations with the first piece of furniture that met his gaze.
The occupants naturally panicked, but he intended to make his intrusion brief. He rushed the nearest window as fast as he could before substituting another object.
Then another.
Then another.
He vaguely heard Read destroying a few buildings in his wake, but that was an issue for another day.
Why is she not answering?
The answer came as quickly as the question that preceded it.
Saint Agnes couldn’t see Orange Town.
“Guess I’m all alone,” Francis mumbled bitterly as he replaced yet another chair.
He reused the Stanza with unwavering focus, even when his side throbbed, even when his leg limped.
He had to survive his predicament.
He had to avenge the nameless that were but a footnote within a footnote.
And just when the bounty hunter began losing consciousness, he heard a familiar voice.
“Yves? What are you doing here?” the old man said.
Francis attempted to focus on the person, but his vision betrayed him.
Even so, that ridiculous half-toothless grin was unmistakable.
“Xavier,” he managed weakly.
“Hush now,” the fisherman said. “You’re okay. I got this.”
Francis didn’t fully trust the man, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Especially when they were on the verge of fainting.
***
One would’ve expected it to be an eternity ago. Yet the last time Francis found himself in the cold, dark expanse of blue was no more than weeks ago.
This time, however, he was prepared. The Shanties might have been terrifying, but they meant no harm.
At least in the meantime.
What Francis wasn’t prepared for were the new lines.
Claim what is rightfully yours.
My blessings shall aid in opening those doors.
Ignite.
Give him who stands in your way terrible fright.
A Shanty of Dominion you shall hear.
Shielding you from both cold and fear.
Your surroundings you shall observe.
Easing fear and calming nerve.
Unwanted gazes must recoil.
Letting one choose when to toil.
What?
According to his understanding, Submerged would only hear one part when they were on the verge of Descension. So why did he hear two?
More importantly, what did observing have to do with Dominion?
Unless it had nothing to do with his Shanty.
Right. The Fragment. I forgot.
The inclusion of that part into the full Shanty made it feel… wrong. It was akin to a drum interrupting a piano piece.
Alas, he consumed the Fragment already, and so he had to live with the consequences whether he liked it or not.
At least I didn’t combust, so there is that.
As always, the dream grew more unsettling until it gave way to wakefulness.
***
By the time Francis was fully awake, he was in far better shape.
His leg was still missing, and his abdomen was a sight to behold.
But he was alive.
More alive than he had ever been.
He was half tempted to use Rejuvenation to heal the rest before cursing his idiocy. Such an act was essentially an invitation for Read to paint the wall with his brain matter.
Thankfully, the impulse couldn’t even be humored, as all his artifacts were neatly arranged on the nightstand to his right.
“Right. Xavier came to the rescue.”
The terribly convenient timing wasn’t lost on the bounty hunter, but it wasn’t far-fetched either.
Not when he asked Saint Agnes for assistance.
Is Xavier one of her subordinates?
Regardless, he had to focus on his next step, and fast. Orange Town was no London, and Read had the Observation of a Venerable.
“Still,” he said with a sigh. “I can’t stay here forever. I have to skip town.”
The impulse to regret abandoning the ship heading to Havana was ever tempting, but there was no place for regret.
The plan had always been to put down Read like the rabid animal he was. He simply didn’t expect him to be a Venerable.
Francis wished to play strategist forever in that moment, but a sharp burning smell assaulted his nostrils.
At first, he assumed that he had used Ignition by mistake, but nothing inside the cramped but cozy room looked abnormal.
The outside, on the other hand, left plenty to the imagination.
Slowly but surely, Francis limped to the window. Luckily, Xavier spared him the trouble of shielding the room using its curtains, leaving him peeping as he saw fit.
He didn’t know whether it was him or the Pirate Warlord, but a few buildings were ablaze. The residents tried to put an end to it, but the roaring fire proved too persistent.
Francis starting a fire. Where did I hear that before?
He genuinely felt bad about the mess he dragged them into, but the behavior of the feral hog ruling Orange Town wasn’t his responsibility.
“Being under Blackbeard must be nice, huh?”
A town was as stable as its governor, but that appeared to be irrelevant in the face of Saints serving alien deities.
“Blast it all,” Francis said as he crashed onto the unfamiliar bed.