"You godsbedammed useless pricks need me for fucking everything, don't you?" he snapped at them and sliced smoothly into the tentacles. His blade didn’t quite cut them off but the wounds were enough to drive them away from the group.
Suddenly, the whole ship jerked forward and almost hurled Samor from his feet. He regained his balance and looked back to where most of the appendages receded from the deck, slid over the side, and left the men alone for the moment.
"There, you see?" he muttered as his gaze scanned the scene again. "All it needed was a quick lesson in the history of pain delivered by my sword. Whereas you bumbling fucking imbecilic incompetents need to learn how to fight the larger threats. How you survived this long is honestly beyond comprehension."
He turned, hoping to see his men standing in proper awe of what he'd accomplished when barely out of bed. Instead, his eyes widened when he realized that all but one of them sprawled on the deck and clutched gaping wounds. The last one screamed as something powerful launched him overboard.
The darkness was almost complete aside from a handful of lamps that were still hanging despite the storm, and the rain, while it didn’t fall as strongly as it had before, continued to batter the vessel relentlessly.
It was only when a sizzle of lightning illuminated the deck that he realized another man was present. The veritable giant stood with a sword in his hand and appeared to be covered in blood. It looked quite black in the almost nonexistent light.
Of course, it could be only one man given the circumstances. Samor had assumed the barbarian was dead but in retrospect, there was no valid reason to believe that.
He hadn’t seen the body, he reminded himself, which merely proved that he should never ignore one of the few rules he lived by—make sure the fucking bastard is thoroughly killed.
"You could have walked away," he pointed out caustically. "The world would have believed you dead and you could have moved on from it to a new life, but no, you had to return. And why? For a useless fucking dwarf?"
Skharr didn't answer, but in the silence, the mercenary stole another hurried inspection of the deck and finally realized that the warrior hadn't killed most of his men. Instead, the remaining crew had done the deed.
As he stared at the scene and tried to assimilate this information and determine what it might mean, the storm began to dissipate. A few clusters of stars appeared above them and shed a little more light on the ship.
The crew were already assembling, with a few still attending to the tasks needed to keep the ship running. The captain approached him but his demeanor distinctly suggested that he would be of no help.
"What the fuck is this, Thatch?" Samor demanded, his sword still in hand. If they intended to kill him, he would certainly take a handful of them into the afterlife with him.
"Justice," Skharr told him coldly.
He turned swiftly, ready to meet the expected attack, but the giant buried his sword in the deck, rolled his shoulders, and approached with no weapon in his hands.
For a moment, it seemed like it was a poor decision on the man's part, but as the mercenary swung his blade to slice into the barbarian's chest, his adversary’s hand snapped out at an impossible speed, caught him by the wrist, and squeezed until he could feel bones grinding on bones and pain surged up his arm.
He tried to retain his hold on his sword but it was impossible and it clattered loudly onto the deck as he twisted and tried to throw a punch to push the large man back.
The blow landed but it didn't seem to cause any damage—not to Skharr's face, at least—and a small smirk touched the barbarian’s lips in response. By contrast, Samor’s hand exploded in pain as a massive hand took him by the neck, wrapped tightly around his throat, and with an almost effortless tug, lifted him off the deck.
There was unfortunately no time to draw and quarter the man, as tempting as the notion was. Besides, that kind of effort required far more than Skharr was willing to expend at this point, but he could still make Samor's death last. He could certainly make it a terrifyingly painful experience rather than a swift delivery of justice.
With a feral grin, he squeezed the man's throat and held him in mid-air until his struggles had almost stopped before he finally opened his hand and let him fall heavily with a painful thud.
The pirates laughed and seemed sure that it was as good as over. One had even claimed the sword Samor dropped. But the barbarian was not quite finished with him yet. The mercenary sucked in a deep breath of the crisp evening air and his eyes bulged as he tried weakly to drag himself away.
Skharr scowled, unhooked his ax, and moved to where the man lay prone. He twisted his fingers into a handful of the thick, golden hair the fool appeared to be so fond of and lifted him onto his feet to march him to the edge of the deck. Still holding him in a vice-like grip, he stopped where the railing had been knocked away by the tentacles that had invaded the deck not long before.
"You…you can't do this," Samor whispered. He stared into the water and his eyes widened as his fate suddenly became clear. "Captain!"
"You told me that you took someone who now appears to be a friend of the Scourge of the Waters," Graves answered with a chuckle. "That's a godsbedammed foolish decision—a lesson you would have to learn if you survive. Not that you will, of course."
The warrior smirked and thrust the ax blade into the mercenary’s stomach until blood ran freely from the wound and the muscles beneath no longer resisted. Once that was done, he drew the blade across and more blood gushed from the gaping hole. The man’s screams echoed across the water when his guts were exposed to the air, and after a few long seconds, they began to slide out.
Skharr took a step back and watched with grim satisfaction as the man tried to contain his innards, but they slid through his hands until their weight and the pain dragged him overboard. A second later, he splashed loudly into the ocean, although it was debatable how long he would be able to stay above water. If he was unlucky, he would be able to keep himself up until the sharks or one of the other sea monsters found him.
"Right!" Graves shouted and turned his attention to the remaining crew. "Get those godsbedammed coin-addled fucks off my ship to join Samor as fish food and clean this deck. And one of you lazy shits, find me the dwarf!"
Chapter Nineteen
Revenge was not something Skharr pursued often. He'd been on that path already in the past and had learned the hard way that there was always an empty feeling afterward. As the adrenaline faded, his fingers felt light and trembled somewhat as he drew a deep breath and focused on the disaster around him.
The crew had begun to clear the debris left by the storm. A few of the more skilled sailors focused on the repairs while others used wooden buckets to bail rain and seawater from the deck. They would have to do the same in the hold, of course, but anything above would ultimately seep through and they preferred to work from top to bottom.
It was a blessing that the storm had mostly cleared to leave them with a light drizzle rather than a deluge. Perhaps the monster had brought the storms and used them to shield itself when it attacked vessels on the surface.
The barbarian smirked. The fact that it was far from being the craziest thing he had ever seen was an interesting commentary on his life.