Do Skeletons Dream of Fruity Sheep?
Chapter 1
1131 VTE, Summer, Memento, Black Fleet Admiralty
"Order! Order, Mori damn you all!"
Chaos had overtaken the room, and not the cute rodent kind. Around fifty Admirals were assembled in the large square hall, turned against one another by the topic at hand.
"You fucking cretin, that would doom the new Symphorian trade route!" Admiral Kurokoro's eyes were bulging out of his gaunt eye sockets. His knuckles would have been pale from gripping the edge of the table were they not already white. "We can't afford that, all that iron is getting put to good use already."
"Oh, you fucker, don't try that again! The Symphorians will be just fine if we move some escorts to my strike group, it'll be fine! You're just saying that because you want your men to have a cozy assignment hanging out in the Golden Sea!" Admiral Ovicciditus was yelling his lungs out, trying to overpower the throng of the bickering crowd. A controversial figure, that one. Most of the other admirals were looking at him with a mix of hatred and slack-jawedness at his audacity.
"C-cozy? That fucking pirate-infested puddle?" A vein on Kurokoro's forehead was pulsing as hard as anything in the world. The wide-shouldered man drew a thick katana from its sheathe and pointed it towards the offender. "You dare insult the bravery of my men thus? Will you back your words with steel?"
Ovicciditus raised his elbows in surprise, but remained even-keeled as he responded. "Back my words? I don't need to back anything, everyone knows them to be true!" Sighs of exasperation followed this claim.
While the two admirals were engaged in their screaming match, the rest of the room had heard the words of their superior, gone silent, and were watching the scene carefully, ready for the incoming schadenfreude.
"Draw you fucking blade, miscreant, I'll gut you for this!" Kurokoro was still waving his sword over his head, while the increasingly nervous Ovicciditus entered the bargaining stage. "Aw come the fuck on, Kuro, you're not gutting anything! You're more unhinged than those Death-cursed terrori-"
A wide palm grasped Kurokoro's head, just as a hand of similar size took hold of Ovicciditus'. Without missing a beat, both skulls were smashed into the oak table the Admirals presided over. The wood shattered, sending splinters towards the chuckling audience, and the hands released the heads, now embedded into the solid oaken planks.
Admiral Kurokoro was the first to come back to his senses, rising from the face-shaped hole in the table, and he quietly saluted. A few seconds later, the other punished Admiral stood up groggily, to await his admonition.
The individual before them rubbed her hands on her huge black coat. Before them stood Fleet Admiral Jackia Jichadi, Hero of the Second Chumbud War, Slaughterer of Dis Bay, Schizo's Scourge, End of the Pirate King, Highwayman of /Hirys/, and Leader of the Black Fleet's Admiralty. Her eyes were cold as ice, her dark, blood red pupils speckled with pink stared at the unruly men without a hint of emotion.
"Admiral Kurokoro. Blood feuds are not to be acted upon during official Admiralty meetings. Allocate time for those activities somewhere else in your busy schedule." The older admiral bowed deeply. "Yes Ma'am."
Then, the tall woman looked down to the second trouble-maker, her ponytail bobbing slightly as she did so. "Admiral Ovicciditus. My Mori's island has been raided by schizos seventeen times in the past month. Matiyotl covert piracy has quadrupled since our arrangement with the clockfucks. The vessels tasked with the protection of our Symphorian trade route have engagements near daily. /HiRyS/ is poking at us with training exercises as far as /MANS/' island." She paused.
Ovicciditus began speaking. "But the Watamelon terrorists are the real danger th-". She didn't need to say anything, a frown sufficed to shut him up.
A sigh. "You are as fucking stupid as you act if you think a single ship will be taken from another ongoing assignment for your foolish obsession. You have a strike group, you'll take it to investigate Sashidatum X and XI for signs of preparation for a large-scale campaign on the towelheads' part. Rear Admiral Bonumbellus returned from Sashidatum XXXVIII some weeks back, she'll tag along with you with her flagship and an escort. That's all you get. Engage groups that form immediate threats to us, and report back with your findings. If your fears are corroborated, operations in Sashidatum twenty-four may be considered. Are your orders clear, Admiral Ovicciditus?" The man rubbed his sore chin for a second, and winced when he touched a cut on his cheek.
"Yes Ma'am." His bow was quick and a bit unsteady, but he managed not to fall over.
"Good. Return to your seats, let's discuss the latest results of the North Academy's AP shells testing, and then it'll be time for lunch."
His own strike group and a Rear Admiral underling, that's all he got for the campaign that would save Moriji. Well, Admiral Ovicciditus was no god damn quitter, that was for sure. He would make it work, he had to.
Chapter 2
1131 VTE, Summer, Mori Sea
The thick blood coated the deck like so much black-red varnish. Men and women were dying screaming in the twilight, and Tabarak's curved saber played no small part. Its point plunged through cloth, silk, smooth white skin and a man's torso effortlessly, before he drew it back. The dead man got to bring down his own blade one more time, the slash easily dodged by the experienced Bashi-bazouk turned captain. He got a kick to the chest for his trouble, spurting more blood from his pierced chest, sending him overboard.
Tabarak was living his best life. He turned about to see what remained of the merchant ship's guards. He raised his flintlock gun and fired a shot at a Deadbeat ready to strike down one of his crewmates. Later, he swore he could hear the bullet bouncing around in the fool's head.
The fight was at an end, corpses littered the carrack, most of them belonging to their heretical enemy. Most of the remaining sailors were tied up like the dogs they were, awaiting his judgement. Tabarak would follow his usual routine, beheading a few of the cheaper-looking kafirs before picking who would become his personal slaves and who would be surrendered to the Caliphate for higher purposes. He still heard sounds of commotion coming from the bowcastle and climbed up the steep stairs.
One last armed sailor seemed to stubbornly refuse to surrender. Superficial cuts covered her arms and legs, the rotten black blood slowly spreading through the wet fabric. Backed into a corner, she matched the strikes of two of his men, but her reactions were slowing down, the spots of blood multiplying. Her katana shone in the moonlight and got a good cut across one of the Piyade's chests, but her other opponent punished her impudence with a deep cut to her arm. The injured fighter took a step away from her, a hand on his hurt pectoral, and Tabarak took his place.
He brought down a flurry of slashes on the Deadbeat whore and got a good hit on her hand, cutting the flesh joining her thumb and index down to the bone. She turned around and reached over the balustrade before her Moriji sword even clattered on the hardwood. She wanted to jump into the Ailivian ocean, preferring to see her blasphemous goddess on her own terms before meeting the fate reserved to her by the Caliphate. Not under Tabarak's watch.
His quick hand grasped her shoulder and yanked her to the ground before she could complete her sick purpose. Unarmed and sprawled out on the deck, one man took a hold of each of her limbs and got to work tying her up. This was far from Tabarak's first rodeo. Deadbeat bitches and their arcane mutations defied the natural order, their strength often matching any man's, so his crew knew not to take them on lightly.
She struggled, and pushed, and wriggled, but in the end there was nothing she could do except spit hatefully at Tabarak's boot.
This earned her a nice strong kick to the face, splattering her blood on her silky white hair. One of his favorite parts about Deadbeats, he could do something like that without damaging the merchandise too much. Not that it would stop him normally. "Chain her up and gag her, and leave this one in my quarters."
He walked down back to the main deck while speaking with his first mate, before stomping on the deck for his loyal followers' attention. "Men! Today marks another great day of victory in our fight against the Death-worshipping apostates! Tonight, we drink their wine and take their women! Tomorrow, we sell their spices! And with their gold, we buy weapons to expand our lands and grow more blessed Watamelons! This is our purpose! And upon my name as Tabarak Al-Batiykh, I promise you more triumph than you'll know what to do with! Allah Watame, Allu-a-Watamelon!"
As was now common, Tabarak, his crew, and his spoils of war were welcomed as heroes. Their own Xebec, barely damaged, their men, hardly bloodied, and the hold of the captured carrack, full of gold, spices, cargo and slaves.
Shaqiq Al-Ghanam clasped his shoulder after welcoming him to the harbor of Madina al-Agnam. "'Akhi! You bring honour to our people once more!"
Shaqiq was not his brother of blood, but they'd spilled enough of blood together, both their own and their enemies, that they considered each other as such. Raiding the Holosea together for decades formed strong bonds. "That I do, brother. How goes it here?" Tabarak wasn't only a fierce warrior, now. Upon his leadership fell the strategy of the local Watamelon fleet, so being made aware of the latest happenings was of the utmost importance. He trusted this important task to his steadfast second-in-command, Shaqiq.
"Ah, there is some movement at the Northern border, but the Ghazis are taking care of it. Skirmishes are ongoing to the South, as expected, and we've had a few other good harvests at sea. But, we've received some interesting tidings from our men near Risu. A juicy Black Fleet strike group, armed to the teeth, but few in numbers. And apparently they're looking for us. They'll be working their way down the coast once they're done resupplying with the treerrats." Shaqiq had a hungry smile as he laid this out. He had some ideas regarding this development, and knew Tabarak shared them instantly.
"Hah, is that so? Those fools. Let's begin preparations for their welcome party. The time has come for the Black Fleet to learn to fear the Watamelon."
Chapter 3
1131 VTE, Summer, Mori Sea
Her braided white hair sways in the oceanic wind as she awaits her opponent's first move. A draw cut, clean and fast. She pushes it aside and follows up with a few strikes to his left, which he easily parried, and then feints an overhead.
His breathing is heavy, but he remains focused. Her feinted overhead becomes a slash to his right thigh, and he blocks it successfully. He sees an opening and thrusts towards her chest... Too late. She shifts her hips to the right and the sword tip flies past her chest. He over-committed and has to regain his balance, his sword hangs in the air for an instant. But it's enough. Her left hand snaps into action to grasp the blade on its back and yank it.
He doesn't lose his grip, but the sudden force makes him stumble, and her sword's blunted edge hits his fingers; his weapon falls from his hands. She flicks her wrist the edge stops next to his neck; he’s defeated. Her katana's point caresses his throat for a moment, long enough for a look of understanding to pass between the two fighters. She throws the training weapon aside and slides into a grappling stance.
Without hesitation, he throws a few jabs, all stopped by her forearm, then a straight aimed for her face. But her hand appears and catches it, like a softball. The fingers close around his knuckles, implacable, and the other hand hits his jaw like a bag of bolts, a quick uppercut. Before he can focus his eyes again, he hits the deck hard, and his Rear Admiral is holding him in a submission hold. The forearm begins tightening around his neck for a second; he slaps the wooden planks a few times, and he's released. He lingers on his superior's chest, nominally catching his breath, but... He doesn't mind staying there either. Alas, she pushes off his limp body and stands straight, as relaxed as if she'd just finished a puzzle.
"You did well reading that feint, Lieutenant, but genuine opportunities make you foolish. You should be just as cautious around those." Samantha picks the training sword back up, and the noises of the idle crewmates cheering at the sparring match's result come back into focus.
"Thank you, Rear Admiral, yes, Rear Admiral." Jamus lifted himself back up and bowed. He felt most fighters here would fail to exploit those openings as Samantha did, but he knew better than to rebuke her wisdom. That might earn him another takedown.
These sparring sessions were commonplace on Black Fleet vessels, as was the commanding officer participating, but Samantha Bonumbellum was unusual in how rigorously she partook. She was with her crew nearly every day, sharpening her and her soldiers' skills, and she wasn't afraid to spar hard. Her "might make right" attitude backed by ability was often enough to earn her the respect of her subordinates. But coming out of a successful hunting operation on a Holoimperial Admiral turned schizo, they downright worshipped her.
"Alright, who's next?" Sam's usual training partner, a voluptuous pink-haired woman, stepped forward, wakizashi and katana in her left and right hands, respectively. "Kiriko? Ah, you guys are working me hard today. Fine, come." The pair began to line up when a sailor leaped from the ropes onto the deck.
"Admiral Sam! Signals from Admiral Ovicciditus' vessel have been transcribed. He requests your presence aboard the 'Dominator.'" A sigh loud enough to be heard from the crow's nest escaped Samantha, and she threw her blade to a crewman nearby.
"Very well. Let's see what he wants. Get a boat ready."
Samantha frowned. "Pardon my Oiseau, Admiral, but this plan seems terrible. This approach leaves us vulnerable to encirclement and gives plenty of time to the enemy to prepare for our arrival." Samantha had learned a few things about Luca Ovicciditus in their last weeks of collaborating on this operation. First and foremost, he had this incredibly bothersome combination of spinelessness and stubbornness, traits that might appear contradictory at first. However, the Admiral made it work. Apparently, he'd earned his skull some decades back in one of the /HiRyS/ wars and had sat on missions on the outer tendrils of the Watamelon Caliphate operation since. There were rumors of some personal tragedy being the source of his obsession, but Sam had never looked into it too closely.
"Rear Admiral, you're misevaluating the situation. How are we meant to ascertain the enemy's capabilities if we don't follow the coast? They could have vessels hidden in coves and such. Our search should be methodical." These lapses in judgment gave Samantha a bad feeling about this entire operation. But she was hesitant to rebuke her direct superior's insights directly; she'd gotten used to being the commanding officer in the Holoimperial Sea.
After taking a moment to find diplomatic words, she offered this assessment. "Admiral, vessels hidden in backwater coves are of no interest to us. We already know the Caliphate has galleys and sloops. Xebecs, frigates, ships-of-the-line, these will resupply at harbors and are our concern. I suggest we approach points of interest perpendicularly to the coast and send scouting vessels to check out harbors while the fleet remains beyond the line of sight." Ovicciditus seemed to consider this for some time.
"An overly cautious approach would lengthen our time here significantly. Are you so scared of those beasts in human skins?"
Fool. She couldn't help but bristle at that. "This isn't a massive offense, Admiral. If we stick to the coast closely, there could be enemies waiting for us in ambush around any isthmus, or following us just out of sight. If they have armed vessels in the open ocean, we could be crushed in a pincer attack against the coast at any time. Our force is not dominating enough for such a situation to not be a concern. Remaining far from the land lets us always preserve a retreat vector. Putting our limited resources at risk is unnecessary to fulfill our objectives."
More ponderous pondering. Finally, a decision. "Very well, Rear Admiral, let us adopt this strategy. Speak with the navigators and the lesser vessels' commanders to organize our approaches and select targets. I would suggest Madina be included in this list. It's one of the bigger harbors in the region."
Samantha stood straight and bowed, relieved to have finessed this hurdle. "Sir, yes, Sir."
'... Maybe I can salvage this.' Hopeful thoughts filled her head as she walked out of the captain's quarters.
1131 VTE, Summer, /~ehe/
His breath smelled like Satanan cigars from the Ironmouse Prefecture, the good ones, and lemon water. The scent filled her world as he kissed her. It was not unpleasant, quite the opposite, in fact.
"I've hungered for you, Erlea. How long has it been, a month? Two?" 'Twenty-six days, as of this morning,' thought Erlea, but her body told a different story. She kissed the man's smooth white neck, and her hand traveled downwards from the Lieutenant-Commander's shoulder. Her fingertips caressed his hard left tricep and ribs, then following his toned adonis belt under his cotton shirt. She heard him exhale and move his palm down her lower back while she took hold of his cock.
A well-practiced smile, unseen but felt next to his ear. "I can see that, Hiroto." She pulled gently on the steel-hard rod and kissed him again.
The shamans' rains pounded the building mercilessly for most of the night. The Lieutenant did much the same, aligning with Erlea's preferences. As a lover, he was skilled and pleasant; as a Black Fleet officer, he could be pretty loose-lipped. Their relationship was somewhat transactional but longstanding and satisfactory to both parties. And now came the best part of the night, according to her intellect, at least. Pillow talk.
As one of Fruit Co's de facto information brokers, she had the upper hand in intel compared to the Lieutenant-Commander, but what little information he had was precious. Erlea enjoyed letting carefully selected juicy bits of Holosea gossip slip during their long conversations to let him feel like he was getting as much out of it as her. However, his insights on the Black Fleet's current operations and politics were undeniably more valuable.
Her chuckles danced in the humid room. "And what did Kurokoro do after that?" Hiroto shook his head, sporting an amused smirk. "Oh, from what I heard, Kurokoro was standing there waving his katana around, but he didn't make the next move. That honor fell to our very own Fleet Admiral. Jackia smashed those tables with those thick skulls of theirs, as usual. The Memento ebenist making those tables can probably live solely off Black Fleet commissions." He took a drag of the cigar and exhaled slowly before continuing. "In the end, I'd say Kurokoro got the better deal; he only had to apologize. Ovi got her permission to see those melon people of his, but with practically no support."
Her index began tracing circles on his strong yet emaciated chest, muscle fibers rippling under the hairless skin as he shifted. "Practically? That sounds better than nothing." Hiroto scratched the back of his head and suppressed another chuckle.
"Oh, he got way better than nothing, better than he deserves, some say. Others think he's gonna drag her down to hell with him. Rear Admiral Bonumbellum." Erlea was familiar with the name. The Black Fleet always had an excellent stock of rising stars, promising admirals, but she fit the archetype to a T. The Lieutenant lifted his hand from her shoulder and caressed her hair. "I know you could have me murdered if you wanted to, Erlea, but this Samantha... She can be one scary bitch, and she does her own killing. Smart cookie too. She's gonna make Ovi's operation work or die trying. That's my take on it."
Erlea let a comfortable silence take up the room while she thought. She didn't have the latest data on the Caliphate's forces, but it seemed to her like this strike group could plausibly meet an unfavorable matchup. Ovicciditus' unpopularity had much to do with the current situation; a more politically viable Admiral might have been able to gather a more powerful fleet.
She had to get the latest Caliphate intel and request some simulations from the computing departments. Then, get in touch with her Moriji Sea contacts and assess the latest developments. If she got busy, she could have a dossier to present to HQ in a few days. This whole situation smelled like chaos, and chaos was an opportunity.
A kiss on his lips, and she stood from the bed. "I better get going, Hiroto. Big day tomorrow." The Lieutenant-Commander had one of those sly smiles. "I bet, you busybody..."
Erlea didn't miss opportunities.
Chapter 4
1131 VTE, Summer, Mori Sea
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Warm gold coated the admiral’s cabin, flooding in from the stern’s glass panels. The sun would soon lay to rest; it grew old and tired.
Despite the nice palette, the room was not much to look at. Admiral Ovicciditus was an austere man, as far as decoration of personal space went. Beautiful sculpted ebony paneling surrounded her as it would in most Black Fleet vessels, but there was little memorabilia. Only nice furniture and two carronade-style shortened Samus VIII Vitaihos. The shorter barrel imparted less accuracy on the magically propelled projectile, but with an even lighter weight than the already nimble full-size Samus guns, they were a terrifying weapon to bring to bear in closer-quarter battles.
But beside the beautiful armaments, Samantha only had the Admiral to look at, as they awaited the scout ship’s latest report.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
The last few reports had been little to be excited about. All seemed to suggest the Caliphate was not a force to be concerned with. Each harbor the scout had inspected, from near the horizon line with fine optics, housed fishing boats, some older trade vessels, a small sloop with half a dozen low caliber pieces in rare cases. Each unalarming report seemed to annoy the Admiral further. “Our boats aren’t being captured by thin air, I know the Caliphate has plenty of resources, we just haven’t found them yet.” She’d heard this line, or a variation thereof a dozen times in the past week.
She’d been spared from it today, thankfully, but she fully expected another serving if their man returned empty-handed once more.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
The most excitement they’d had so far had met them some days back, under a black, moonless sky. A sloop had gotten quite close to a corvette before being noticed. The fools might have hoped to capture the vessel under the cover of the night, but the sentries were disciplined enough to kill the plan before it hatched. A yell had alerted the crew to the threat, and within minutes some chain-shot stopped the brigands’ escape, sealing their fate. The sloop was now following the rest of the fleet. A small prize, but better than nothing, all things considered.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Samantha liked to think she had a good tolerance to repetitive noises, but somehow its origin being the Admiral’s heel seemed to make it more annoying than it should be.
A knock at the door, finally. The tapping ceased, and the Admiral ordered the visitor to enter.
The new intel agitated Ovicciditus, to say the least. “A large frigate? What make? Ah, I knew it, those devils!” His white fist hit the desk twice, while the officer answered. “Admiral, looked like a Tsukinode model, at least thirty years old.”
While his palm pounded the dark wood, a strange, exulted smile took over his face. “Well, Rear Admiral, I know you doubted our mission, but it seems it will bear fruit after all. Do you think the Admiralty will laugh at us again, if we return with such a prize?”
‘I don’t recall the Admiralty ever laughing at me’, thought Sam, but she left those words remain unspoken. “Admiral, I would recommend sending word of this to the Admiralty and requesting backup. Rushing into the harbor could put us at risk. Such an asset in enemy hands should be enough to rouse them from their apathy.”
She had to give him something. Whether it was a lacking capacity for forcefulness, or a hint of wisdom, the Admiral seemed to value her advice highly. He was deep in thought considering her words when the lieutenant spoke again. “Sir, other findings came from this operation.”
“Did they? Well, out with it.”
The sailor steeled himself, his face a mask of stoicism, but his voice now had a snarling edge of anger to it. “Sir, ma’am. In our closest approach to the harbor, we saw a galleon unloading at the dock. They... It was slaves. At least one hundred and fifty were lined up in the port, most half-naked, with more coming out. All Deadbeats. They were filing into one of the warehouses.” A cloud passed over the commanders’ faces.
For perhaps the first time since meeting him, Ovi’s grey eyes had the coldness expected of an Admiral of the Black Fleet. She questioned his judgement, but at least his heart was in the right place... This time, he did not ask; he ordered. “Rear Admiral Bonumbellum, this is an evil we cannot let stand. We strike this harbor on the next morn, to capture this frigate and free the captives of this warehouse. The sheepfuckers will hold them there for some days, but not long enough to await backup.”
Samantha instinctively agreed with the initiative. Not moving in to assist this many captive souls when they had the ships for it would weigh heavily on her... But, a thought sneaked up on her from the dark. Where did those Deadbeats come from? She hadn’t heard word of such a successful slaving raid being afflicted on Deadbeats, not in recent years...
She pushed it aside. This was no time for hesitation. Regardless of how they were captured, these people needed their help. “Sir, Yes sir! Lieutenant, have the ship signal the fleet to gather all commanders. The Admiral and I will begin drawing up the battle plans.”
The officer bowed and rushed out while Samantha unfolded the cartography table and cracked her knuckles. They had a long night ahead of them.
“Any more questions?” Sam slowly looked into their eyes. The officers of the MMS Flashing Sword, K-12 battleship under the command of Rear Admiral Samantha Bonumbellum. The finest men and women she knew, each harder boned than the last. Each ready to meet Mori on this day, if that was the fate that awaited them.
Captain Cassus was one of her veterans, he piped up. “Sam, did the scouts say anything about battery emplacements? Wouldn’t want a redo of Namakubi.” This prompted a few chuckles from all, even Kiriko, who sat off to the side of the cabin. The assault of Namakubi was a core memory of sorts to her crew. The cannibal’s base had seemed to let them approach unchallenged, but once her then E-2 frigate had gotten deep enough into the cove, all hell broke loose. A small artillery piece popped out of every window in the village, and they were soon being pelted. Judicious use of their broadsides’ smoke allowed them to evade a continuous assault and retreat with minimal damage, but that was a lesson well learned.
“No plans to pull foot-long splinters from your ass today, Cassus.” She kept a smile from reaching her face as she teased. “Scouts saw nothing like that. This Caliphate likes to keep it subtle, I think, so they might hide a few cannons on the coastline, but if they could make ‘em disappear like that, it won’t be anything too sizable. We keep an eye out, and if we see something suspicious, we blast it. The Vitaihos will outrange any artillery they can hide. Anything else?” The soldiers shuffled through the maps for a few minutes, looking for faults in their approach.
Commander Shiina shared her concern next. “What about reinforcements?” A cautious strategist, Sam saw a bright future in her career. The Rear Admiral nodded. “Yes, this is a possibility. Since the harbor is in a small bay, the sloop we captured will keep a lookout outside of it in the open sea and signal the rest of the fleet of any approaches from beyond our line-of-sight, prevent surprises. It doesn’t have much in terms of armament, so it would just be a sitting duck if we brought it into the harbor.” This seemed to satisfy the Commander; the other officers remained silent.
Samantha nodded approvingly. “We hit the shore in two hours. To your stations. Dismissed!” A dozen synchronized heel clicks graced her ears, and the sailors walked out. She trusted them to do their duty, as sure as the sun would rise from the East. All depended on their commander not failing them...
“Are you worried, Sam?” Kiriko had remained behind, as usual. She fussed over herself before Samantha’s mirror, the clearest one on the ship. Her hands were applying a pure white sticky powder to her visage with a brush, contrasting with her black robes.
“Are you not?” The New Moon Maiden was Sam’s confidant and closest friend. They had stuck together for the past eight years, ever since Kiriko had withdrawn from the Goddess Faithful to join the Black Fleet. In spite of that, she still surprised her at times.
Kiriko shook her head. “No. This battle, a coastal assault on an under-equipped enemy, it has the scent of familiarity. It is hard to fear what you know well. The strongest fears come from the unknown. Come, help me with my scalp.”
Samantha stood from her chair and approached her friend. “Can’t you fear an old enemy?” She applied some of the corundum ointment to her hands. It felt like a dry clay powder mixed into tallow. Her hands began massaging the substance into Kiriko’s skin, under her hair, careful not to miss any spots.
Lines and symbols engraved into Kiriko’s skull were glowing faintly through her skin as Sam worked. The four-pointed warding star on her forehead was clearly visible in the dim cabin. The ex-priestess tried not to move too much while she answered her friend. “I suppose. Is it the enemy you fear? Or the humiliation of defeat at their hands? The pain of injury? Perhaps, foolishly, one is afraid of Mori’s embrace? I think, with familiarity, the fear of those things dulls into apathy, or blossoms into love.” Samantha thought about this for some time, quietly. She definitely did not want to become familiar with humiliation...
“What about the fear of loss?” Samantha was almost done; she was evening out coating of the substance on the nape of Kiriko’s neck.
Kiriko smirked while smoothing out her hair. “Isn’t that a fear of a world without them? An unknown world, in some ways.”
Samantha shoved her, but Kiriko was so solid, she pushed herself more than anything. “Hah, you think you’re so clever, aren’t you? Go get suited up.” She turned and cleaned her hands on a towel.
“Will do, Sam. Godspeed.” The glyphs had dimmed since their initial activation, and the pink patterns were now doing their work. Samantha always cringed when she thought about the operation Kiriko and her ilk went through to receive those blessings. It was a gruesome affair.
Finally, she was left alone. A moment of solitude before the battle. She looked out into the night. Lanterns from the ship lit up the ship’s wake. The turning and roiling patterns the turbulent water traced felt foreboding, even though she knew them as well as her own hand.