Rodgers jumped from ship to ship, his body soaring through the air, his feet pounding against the decks, his momentum building with each leap. The wind screamed past his ears. The rain lashed against his face. The chaos below faded into a distant hum.
Mutaro took chase after him.
Her body moved with speed impressive speed but her long-distance speed was not as great as his. She would stumble on the uneven decks, lose her footing on the blood-slick wood, and fall behind. The gap between them widened, then held, then widened again.
She stopped.
She stood on the deck of a broken vessel, her katana still in her hand, her blue hair whipping in the wind. She watched him disappear into the distance, then reappear on another ship, then disappear again. He was like a ghost, like a shadow, like something that could not be caught.
She said, her voice calm, almost admiring.
"You're pretty smart for your type." A pause. "You quickly knew my type of combat. I'm not used to a combat style that requires long-term energy expenditure."
She tilted her head.
"So you decided to widen the distance between us." She paused. "Though I'm not sure whether you knew I wasn't a great fighter when I'm in a lot of motion."
She smiled.
"Nice. Nice." Her voice hardened. "It does show that he's using his brain to think."
She squatted.
"So let me teach him a lesson."
She built up enough force.
Her muscles coiled, her body tensed, her will focused. Then, like a spring that had built up enough kinetic energy, she bursted out.
BOOM!
Her body launched forward flying straight at him, cutting through the air like a blade, closing the distance in seconds. Her katana was raised, its edge gleaming, its purpose absolute.
She said, her voice sharp and clear.
"Sea Wave Swordsmanship."
She paused.
"Style One."
Her voice hardened.
"Sea Sickness."
She met him.
He was mid-jump, his body suspended in the air, his momentum carrying him toward the next ship. He saw her a blur of blue and steel and at the very last moment, he turned around to block the attack.
His blade rose.
Her katana descended.
CRASH!
The impact was devastating. His arms were met with a shattering force that shook him to his core. His bones vibrated. His muscles screamed. His vision swam. He lost his balance, his body tumbling through the air, his sword falling out of his hands.
He hit the deck of a nearby ship.
Rolling, tumbling, crashing into a crate of supplies. His body ached. His mind reeled. His will flickered.
He tried to grab his sword again.
His hand reached for the hilt, but his fingers could not properly orient themselves. They were numb, useless, broken. He could not grip. Could not hold. Could not fight.
She stood on a higher vessel than him.
Her katana was still raised, her blue hair still flowing, her eyes still calm and unreadable. She looked down at him.
"How do you like my attack?" She paused. "Now..."
She rushed toward him.
"...DEFEND!"
She swung her sword down.
CRASH!
The blade split the vessel that was there into two. The wood shattered, the deck parted, the ship groaned and died. Rodgers was thrown away by the force his body tumbling through the air, his limbs flailing, his mind screaming.
He barely grabbed his sword.
His fingers closed around the hilt weak, trembling, desperate. He held on, clinging to the one thing that could save him.
He charged at her.
His body moved not with grace, not with precision, but with desperation. He was not thinking. He was not planning. He was simply acting, reacting, surviving.
This time, he did not give anything.
Again, there was no more plans in his head.
But he continued to hear one voice.
Survive.
Survive.
SURVIVE.
He clashed blades with her.
CLANG!
The impact shook his arms. The force rattled his bones. But he held on. He pushed forward. He refused to fall.
He went down rolling like a barrel his body spinning across the deck, dodging her strikes, finding openings. He went for fast stabs against her legs, aiming to cripple her, to slow her, to win.
She jumped up.
Her body rose into the air her katana raised, her eyes fixed, her will absolute. She went for a single stab against him, so fast that he could barely react.
SHLIK!
Her blade stabbed into his left eye.
The pain was immediate, blazing, absolute. He screamed a raw, primal, agonized sound. His hands flew to his face, his fingers clawing at the wound, his blood pouring through his fingers.
He lost his left eye.
Rodgers jumped back.
His body launched away from her, creating distance, giving himself room to think. His hand pressed against his ruined eye, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to survive.
He had to win.
He knew he had to win.
There was simply a strange force pushing him.
He wiped the blood off as he raised his sword up again.
His body was broken. His eye was gone. His hands were shattered. But he stood. He raised his blade. He refused to fall.
She said to him, her voice calm, almost gentle.
"How futile of you." She paused. "You've lost an eye, and your hands are basically destroyed."
She tilted her head.
"Why do you keep fighting?" She paused. "You have accomplished your goal of killing my captain."
Her voice hardened.
"Why do you so desperately cling onto life?"
Rodgers could not answer her.
But his eyes his one remaining eye showed an emotion he had fundamentally lacked.
Conviction.
in the space between the question and the silence, between the shattered man and the fire that still burned in his heart.
Rodgers raised his sword.
Mutaro watched.
And the sea roared.