GOD GAMES

“Boriss, where are we going?” Clay asks with a whisper. He follows Boriss and mimics the larger man's gait with knees bent and steps soft. It was difficult to walk as he did at first, but Clay quickly got the hang of it. For the last half hour, they stalked through the relatively silent port until they arrived at another, even larger port. This one is far better lit with five ships docked and connected to one-another.

“We go punish. Is only right.”

“Punish?”

“Da. They send weak men to kill comrades. Now I need give Russian vengeance.”

“They came to kill us?” Clay asks. “You killed them all?”

“Da. I stab four and use KGB interrogation technique on last one. It work fast. He squeal like pig on fire.”

“S-should I be here?” Clay asks nervously.

“Is fine.” Boriss grins, “I show you how KGB fight, then we start training tomorrow. Now, extra sneaky time. Follow.”

Though there is light, much of that light is dispersed in a sea of darkness. And in that sea, Boriss is a master of the environment. He leads Clay from shadow to shadow and past lazy [Sailors] who are doing everything but keeping watch. They have grown complacent, and that complacency is making it far too easy.

As the duo nears the central ship, they are forced to stop behind several crates. Past the crates is a lit lamp and a [Sailor] guarding the entrance. Boriss reads the ship's name as Seden’s Orbit.

“What now?” Clay asks.

Boriss continues watching the [Sailor] near the entrance as well as the [Sailors] aboard the ship. He also takes stock of any other [Sailors] in the vicinity. So far, the [Sailor] guarding the entrance is only visible to two other [Sailors] leaning on the ship's rail. The moment Boriss enters the light, he would be seen.

“Plan.”

Boriss reaches into his pocket and retrieves a handful of perfectly round stones. “Here.” He hands the stones to Clay. “You see metal pole there? I want you throw stone at it.”

“Y-you sure?”

“Da. You distract, I finish. Stay behind boxes.”

“Wait…” Clay whispers warily, but the Russian is already moving through the darkness.

Clay swallows. Slowly, he lifts a stone…

____________________________________________________________

“Shen, there's a rumor going around that the [Captain] sent a bunch of [Rogues] to kill an entire crew,” a leaning [Sailor] comments.

“Ben, you really shouldn’t listen to rumors.” Shen, also leaning on the rail, comments quietly.

“But they’re true, right?” Ben urges.

Shen shakes his head. “Unless the [Captain] or the [First Mate] tell us otherwise, it's not true.”

“Yea, but hypothetically, if it were true, you think there would be problems?”

“Of course there would be problems. Breston’s [Lord] does not accept ship to ship conflict while at port. The last time something like this happened, [Lord] Richard slaughtered the instigating [Captain] in single combat, disbanded the crew, and then auctioned off the deceased [Captain’s] ship.”

“Oh? Single combat? Do you think Calvaran can beat the [Lord]?”

Shen frowns at the question. “Normally, I would say our [Captain] would undeniably win. But, the [Lord] is an Expert class [Duelist]. I think the full class name is [Duelist Of The Instinctual Blade].”

“You think our [Captain] can’t kill an Expert class? I mean, what even is his level? Is he 74 or something?” Ben asks.

Shen leans away from the rail and stretches his arm upward. “Nobody really knows, but probably not 74. Some rumors say late fifties, others early sixties. Regardless, our [Captain] can indeed kill an expert, but I doubt fighting a [Duelist] is going to be anything but difficult. [Duelists] specialize in single combat, and an expert [Duelist] is probably not something our [Captain] wants to tangle with without adequate preparation.”

Ben pouts at the explanation, which gets an eye roll from Shen. “I know you’re new to the crew and all, but don’t get hellbent on levels and classes too much. A [Captain’s] most prized possession isn’t levels, but, “Shen taps his head, “this.”

Ben's eyes wander away from Shen and back to the ship's entrance. Then he notices something. “What's with him? Did he notice something?” Ben points at the [Sailor] positioned at the entrance.

Indeed, the [Sailor] is standing up and staring in the darkness.

“Hmm?” Shen watches as the [Sailor] takes a step forward.

“Oh, Thresh is probably hearing a rat or something. Happens often enough.”

Ben frowns when he looks in the direction where Thresh is staring.

After a moment, Thresh walks into the darkness.

The two wait for a minute. Then two.

“He’s taking a bit long to return.” Ben comments.

As Shen opens his mouth to answer, a ding is heard nearby followed by a crash and the breaking of glass. They both turn towards the sound, Shen faster than Ben, to find that the lantern fell off the rail.

“Shit.” Shen curses. He rushes to the lantern followed by Ben a moment after. They slowly pick up the light source. The lantern is still working, but the glass casing is shattered.

“Damn, the wind must have pushed it over,” Shen says. He takes a step back towards the rail and almost trips.

“What?”

He looks down and notices a stone.

“The hell is a stone doing here?” He leans down and throws the stone overboard. Then he places the lantern back on the ledge and looks down.

“Is he still not back yet?” Shen grumbles.

“Should we rouse the others?” Ben asks.

Shen shakes his head. “If we rouse the ship and the fucker was just taking a long ass shit, we’re going to get a good ten lashes.”

“But what if we’re getting attacked?”

Shen groans. “Why is it all what ifs with you? We’ve got five [Sailors] on watch up here and plenty of lights to see any idiots willing to board. Hell, we’ve got sight of the only entrance to the ship.” Shen points at the singular wood ramp. “Nothing is going to sneak up on us.”

“Ahh, but. I think I heard the ramp creaking while we were handling the lamp.” Ben adds.

The clearly more experienced [Sailor] sighs loudly. “Do you honestly think someone snuck aboard the ship in the half minute we were fiddling with the lantern?”

“It’s possible,” Ben replies.

“You’re being paranoid,” Shen growls. “We’re not in any dan- oh what now!”

Both turn to the sight of a flickering light behind some stacked boxcontainers.

“It’s flickering.”

“Cause it's low on oil.” Shen grumbles. “One of the others probably forgot to refuel it. Come on, let's go fix it.” He starts walking.

“Uhhh, maybe I should stay here and watch the entrance?”

Shen shakes his head at Ben. “You must have some amazing skill if they’d let a coward like you join the crew. Fine then, stay there. I’ll fix the lantern myself.”

Shen, aggravated, heads towards the flickering light. “Of all the crew on watch, why is it me that has to train someone? Why can’t it be Ferdinand, or Albert?”

When Shen gets very near the lantern, the light completely shuts off leaving him in complete darkness.

“Of course it runs out when I arrive,” He whines. Instead of waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he continues around the corner where he remembers the lantern to be. “I’m going to strangle the idiot who forgot to refuel th-”

An arm quickly wraps around his throat with crushing strength. Shen’s hand reaches for the arm and futilely tries to remove the appendage. He attempts to scream for help, but no breath can escape.

“Comrade Clay, you see grip here,” a voice behind him whispers.

“K-kinda.”

“Is called stranglehold. You use arm to block air here. Dis vhey they not scream.”

“O-ok.”

“Is good move, but is slow. Is faster break neck. Vatch.”

Another arm wraps around Shen’s head.

Crack

___________________________________________________________________

Clay heard the crack. It was quite slight and muffled. But he heard it. And the moment he did, the man's body went limp. He watches Boriss carefully place the corpse on the ground.

“Four more. Then we go inside.”

Boriss silently glances around the corner towards the man named Ben. But Ben is missing. Only a damaged lantern is left where the man had been standing.

“What's wrong?” Clay asks.

Boriss frowns. He reaches to his side and arms himself with a knife. “Follow like mouse.”

Boriss looks around warily as he walks towards the lantern. As he gets closer, his eyes dart around rapidly. But no body is found, nor is there any yelling or sound of rapid movement to dictate an alarm.

With a silent dash, Boriss turns the lantern off before stepping away.

“Boriss?”

“Is fine, Comrade Clay. Is fine.”

Boriss continues glancing everywhere for movement, but finds nothing.

“Come, we hunt other three.”

Clay silently trails Boriss around the ship and watches with morbid curiosity as the KGB trained Russian easily dismantles the rest of the watch on the deck. One he shanks in the neck and explains where the best artery to strike is. Another he backhands with an elbow strike that shatters the man's vocal cords. Finally, the third is shanked through the stomach, up the ribs and into the heart while his other hand covers the [Sailor’s] mouth to muffle any noise.

Each kill is quick, lethal, and undeniably silent.

“One missing,” Boriss says softly. “But is no alarm. Vhat you think, Comrade Clay?”

“Maybe he went to poop? Grampa takes a long time to poop when he eats cheese,” Clay answers.

Boriss opens his mouth to refute the claim, and then stops. “Maybe,” he finally says after a second thought. Then nods.

“Is fine, then. If poop, then vhe search toilet.” Boriss stretches his neck. “Comrade Clay, extra sneaky now.”

Clay nods and then follows the Russian into the ship.

_______________________________________________________________

Though the Imminent Huntress and Seden’s Orbit are of the same class of ship. Seden’s Orbit is actually a larger vessel by a good thirty percent. Granted, such a larger hull comes at the cost of speed and efficiency. Not that it matters, for the Seden’s Orbit is a ship built for combat against others of its class and not for trade. It is a destroyer built for war.

As the two enter the ship's interior, Boriss can't help but grimace at the magical runic light illuminating the interior from the ten foot tall ceiling. It's not much light, but it is enough to make walking in the open difficult.

“Vhe move slow.” Boriss continues through the ship with most of the ship being empty. Eventually, he arrives at the sleeping quarters. To his delight, the quarters are separated into twenty tiny rooms with a single bed inside. At the end of the twenty rooms is the [First Mates] Quarters and then the [Captains].”

“Shhhh,” He whispers to Clay.

Slowly, he opens the first room ever so softly and sneaks inside. Clay follows and then the door is closed just as silently.

A muted struggle follows, and then more silence. The door opens and both Boriss and Clay exit.

Then they enter the next, and the next, and the next. By the time the last of the [Sailors] rooms have been entered. Clay’s nervousness has been replaced with curiosity. Each [Sailor] died in a unique way using a different move. All silent, or modified to be silent.

With the smaller rooms completed, the next stop is the [First Mate] and second in command.

When they try to enter his room, they find it to be locked. Having expected this, Boriss takes out two pieces of metal and inserts them into the lock. After a moment, he hears a click. With a grin and nod towards Clay, Boriss opens the door and enters into the more spacious room. Slowly, the two walk towards the bed where a man sleeps soundly. The man is skinny, middle aged, and wears a rather nice engraved ruby necklace. On the nightstand near him are glasses, and leaning next to the nightstand is what looks like a staff with a gem and two runes at the top.

Wary of the staff, Boriss readies his dagger and aims for the throat. He raises the weapon and thrusts forward. The necklace instantly glows brightly, followed by a barrier blocking the dagger’s thrust.

The man's eyes burst open and instantly focus on the dagger half an inch from piercing his throat. Reflexes honed from the ages, the man extends a palm towards Boriss. In an instant, he forms and releases a spell. But Boriss’s reflexes are faster as he retracts his dagger and shifts his body away. A blast of air loudly explodes from the man's palm and dents the wooden wall.

Before the man even realizes he missed, Boriss’s hand wraps around the man's head. Then he twists and the body goes limp.

“Comrade Clay, are you well?”

“Y-yes.” Clay answers.

“Good. We move fast now.” Boriss runs past Clay, rushes out the room, and then enters the [Captain’s] Quarters.

In the large quarters, the [Fleet Captain] is awake. He stands at nine feet tall with bulging muscles, red skin, and several horns protruding from his joints and skull.

The Buxon leans down and picks up a battleax with discernible ease. Then he grins angrily towards the intruder.