While Lucci carved a path through the mob, someone finally clocked the other kid.
"That brat's with him!"
"Hit the weak one first—take the four-year-old!"
"Use the kid to threaten the killer!"
A hundred murderous stares snapped onto Kai.
Lucci's gaze flicked over, flat as ever. "Try not to die. I don't have time to rescue you."
He blurred—Shave—and reappeared inside a knot of pirates. A finger stabbed—Finger Pistol—and a skull popped like a gourd. He pivoted, heel flashing—Tempest Kick—and a pale-blue crescent scythed out. Torsos slid from hips. Blood turned the air metallic.
Bodies thumped. Fear thickened.
The pack charging Kai didn't stop.
He exhaled once. Red bled into his pupils, something ancient pressing outward from his skin like the breath of a caged beast.
"Living's nice," he said, catching the first pirate by the throat without looking. Vertebrae creaked under his grip. "So why sprint toward death?"
Boots scrabbled. Eyes bulged. Words died.
"So that's me to you? Soft persimmon. Easy to pinch." Kai hauled the man closer, the red in his eyes reflected in the pirate's pupils. "Can't handle Lucci, so you came for me. Because I'm four."
The pirate finally wheezed, "Y-you're—cra—"
Crack.
The body slackened. Kai wheeled and hurled it. The corpse became a cannonball.
BOOM.
It slammed through a cluster of attackers. Men pinwheeled, ribs snapping like twigs, blood misting before they crashed into the far wall with a string of heavy thuds. Three didn't get up.
For a heartbeat the warehouse forgot how to breathe.
"H-how…?"
"He's a monster too?!"
"He's worse than the other one!"
"He's four!"
Panic surged—then a foreman's bellow cut through it: "Hold the line! They're just two brats! Captain Gart is bringing three thousand—stall them and they're dead!"
False courage rippled outward. Blades rattled; bootsteps pounded.
Kai rolled his shoulders, as if loosening a cloak. Pressure swelled around him like surf before it breaks. He grinned—small and sharp.
"Good. Closer."
They rushed.
The first wave met his fist—no flourish, just mass and timing. A sternum powdered. A cutlass flashed; Kai dropped his forearm on the wrist—snap—and drove an elbow through the man's face. Two tried to flank him; he stepped in, seized belt and collar, and whipped one through the other so hard their skulls clacked like stones.
Across the floor, Lucci kept slicing—Shave, Finger Pistol, Tempest Kick—numbers dropping in tidy, awful batches. He didn't look over, but his mouth tightened when Kai laughed: a low, dangerous sound that wasn't entirely sane.
The beast inside Kai hammered harder. He stopped choking it down.
"Listen up," he said, voice carrying over steel and screams. "Today, I'm blowing every last one of you to pieces."
He moved.
A shoulder-charge caved a ribcage; a backfist spun a man end-over-end; he toe-flicked a fallen saber and punted the flat so hard it smashed three noses in a row. Another lunged; Kai caught the blade with bare fingers, twisted, and used the man as a shield as muskets cracked—bang, bang, bang—thuds punching into the hostage's back. He shoved the body into the shooters and followed, footwork short and ugly, breaking knees, throats, balance.
Panic finally overcame bravado.
"Fall back—fall—"
"Don't turn, hold—AAAGH!"
They turned. They died.
Up in the rafters' shadow, two white masks watched in silence.
"…Grade?" one asked softly.
"Lucci's tactical mark stays at seventy," murmured Jolf, quill scratching on a card. "Powerful execution, rushed without checking secondary egress. Strategy needs work."
"And the Marine child?"
A pause. "Undeclared," Jolf said at last. "Observation ongoing."
On the floor, Kai planted his heel. The stone underfoot spidered; a ripple stole through ankles. Dozens wobbled—and he was already there, turning bodies into battering rams, hurling men into men until the crush collapsed in on itself.
"Still think I'm the soft pick?" he asked the heap. No one answered.
From deeper in the warehouse, iron cages clanged. Nobles and captured guards stared through bars, numb—hope sparking, fear choking it down again. Could two children really carve through an army?
Outside, faint at first, a horn blew. Another answered. The ground began to tremble—regular, heavy—like a thousand boots hitting dirt in the same breath.
A pirate, bleeding from the mouth, started to smile. "H-heh… hear that? Captain Gart is here…"
Kai tilted his head, listening to the thunder gather beyond the shattered doors. The red in his eyes brightened.
"Good," he said, flexing his hands. "I was just getting warmed up."
To be continued…
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