[ To the surprise of probably no one, it gets worse.
The pirates have been gathered on deck. Many of them are worse for wear, but all are alive, even if John had to provide a friendly reminder of "I said chat, let's not be too rough with them" along the way. It's a crew of about a dozen, some armed with enhanced weapons— coldblood cutlasses, a few vileblood daggers, nasty stuff— and they put up a solid fight. It could've gone worse.
God walks the deck and rewards his children with an approving touch to the shoulder, a clap on the back. Wounds knit shut in his presence as though they were never there. Everything has gone very quiet and still, now: the loudest sound is the slapping of waves against the ship, the snarling of a few gagged pirates, and the creak of their abandoned vessel. ]
Well! Fantastic job all around, I love to see it. We can finally get back to the point, here... And these fellows will help us with it.
[ He turns to survey his crew— Anna playing captain, Augustine dogging his steps like a wary shadow; Palamedes owlish and Ortus grave; Kaworu looks back at him with trust, Willow with the air of someone expecting a trainwreck. It's his combatants he really turns to, in this moment: Gideon, Paul, Harrow, Faith, Chara, Midoriya. ]
For a year now— can you believe it?— I've been trying to puzzle out this ocean. Some of you kids have seen the River... the place where all our dead go. The River is mine. [ This he says very easily, the same way you'd claim a house or a room or a name. ] This place, though? Total mystery. I can almost see to the currents in the depths... I can almost see where it joins the River, and the rest of everything out beyond. I am constantly a hair away from getting it.
This is the frontier that really matters, here. This is the brink. I can steal us a glimpse of our place in this universe... the people we've left behind... [ And so what if there's something familiar in the way he says it: a wistful note that Augustine must know down to his tired bones, that might make Harrow recall an old poem. ] But, like most things, it'll take sacrifice.
[ Not one of those pirates looks human, anymore. Nothing of value is being lost. ]
Apologies to the squeamish, but death has always been our power. Go ahead and do the honors.
The Kill Order.
The pirates have been gathered on deck. Many of them are worse for wear, but all are alive, even if John had to provide a friendly reminder of "I said chat, let's not be too rough with them" along the way. It's a crew of about a dozen, some armed with enhanced weapons— coldblood cutlasses, a few vileblood daggers, nasty stuff— and they put up a solid fight. It could've gone worse.
God walks the deck and rewards his children with an approving touch to the shoulder, a clap on the back. Wounds knit shut in his presence as though they were never there. Everything has gone very quiet and still, now: the loudest sound is the slapping of waves against the ship, the snarling of a few gagged pirates, and the creak of their abandoned vessel. ]
Well! Fantastic job all around, I love to see it. We can finally get back to the point, here... And these fellows will help us with it.
[ He turns to survey his crew— Anna playing captain, Augustine dogging his steps like a wary shadow; Palamedes owlish and Ortus grave; Kaworu looks back at him with trust, Willow with the air of someone expecting a trainwreck. It's his combatants he really turns to, in this moment: Gideon, Paul, Harrow, Faith, Chara, Midoriya. ]
For a year now— can you believe it?— I've been trying to puzzle out this ocean. Some of you kids have seen the River... the place where all our dead go. The River is mine. [ This he says very easily, the same way you'd claim a house or a room or a name. ] This place, though? Total mystery. I can almost see to the currents in the depths... I can almost see where it joins the River, and the rest of everything out beyond. I am constantly a hair away from getting it.
This is the frontier that really matters, here. This is the brink. I can steal us a glimpse of our place in this universe... the people we've left behind... [ And so what if there's something familiar in the way he says it: a wistful note that Augustine must know down to his tired bones, that might make Harrow recall an old poem. ] But, like most things, it'll take sacrifice.
[ Not one of those pirates looks human, anymore. Nothing of value is being lost. ]
Apologies to the squeamish, but death has always been our power. Go ahead and do the honors.