Gareth woke up on a large navy ship wreck.
Around him, ships had been destroyed together, their shattered hulls and broken masts piled atop one another, almost forming a kind of floating island. The wood groaned beneath him, shifting with the waves, rubbing against other wreckage in a constant, grating symphony. The storm still raged above lightning flashing, thunder rolling, rain falling in sheets.
He started breathing heavily.
His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven bursts. His body continuously vibrated not from cold, not from fear, but from the sheer, overwhelming strain of everything he had put it through. His muscles twitched. His nerves fired. His very flesh seemed to hum with exhaustion.
He stretched his fingers.
Slowly. Carefully. Each digit extended one by one, trembling with the effort. He touched the side of his neck feeling his pulse, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.
"It's hot." He smiled a thin, tired expression. "Well... this is stupid of me."
He looked at the grey sky at the storm, at the nothing that watched him, at the battle that never ended.
"Went into battle with this kind of condition."
He touched his chest.
"Since the battle we had against the Romans... I haven't rested. Or done any type of recovery." His voice was quiet, almost conversational. "My body has been tanking damage. And the side effect of using killing intent..."
He pressed his palm against his forehead.
"...my mind feels heavy. And drained."
He looked at his hands at the hands that had killed, that had controlled monsters, that had pushed beyond every limit.
"That is the reality of this place." He paused. "Eternal warfare."
He smiled again wry, bitter, accepting.
"I guess it's eternal... but at the end of the day..." He touched his chest again. "...I'm still human."
He looked at Lancelot at his back.
The transformed knight was still unconscious his body limp, his breath shallow, his face peaceful. Gareth had carried him through the storm, through the battle, through everything. He had not let him fall.
He smiled.
"Huh." His voice was light, almost amused. "You're the strong one... yet I'm carrying you."
He shook his head.
"How annoying."
He paused.
"You know..." His voice softened. "This actually reminds me of the first time we met."
His eyes grew distant remembering, reminiscing, aching.
"I hated that look on your face. As you stood in the middle." He touched his own face tracing the lines, the scars, the memory of who he used to be. "You had nothing you lacked. And at the same time... had nothing you wanted to gain."
He lowered his hand.
"It was pretty annoying."
He was quiet for a moment.
"I hate you." He shook his head. "No... I shouldn't say that."
He smiled.
"I once hated you." He looked at Lancelot's face at the peace, at the stillness, at the friend he had found in the chaos. "But I got to know more of you."
His voice dropped.
"It's beautiful, actually."
He looked at the sky at the grey, at the nothing, at the gods who watched from above.
"A man like me. Once a demon." He touched his chest. "Became a friend."
He laughed a short, bitter, broken sound.
"And now we're here. Toys for entertainment for those in the sky."
He laughed again louder this time, wilder, unhinged.
"HAHAHA. HAHAHAHAHA!"
The sound echoed across the wreckage lost in the storm, lost in the waves, lost in the indifference of the Infinite Sea.
Gareth got up.
His body groaned in protest muscles screaming, joints cracking, wounds throbbing. But he stood. He rose. He refused to fall.
He grabbed some rope that was on the ground thick, coiled, strong and began to reinforce the protection on Lancelot. He wrapped the rope around the unconscious knight, tying him more securely to his back, ensuring that no matter what happened, Lancelot would not fall.
He spoke, his voice quiet but firm.
"I must." He pulled the rope tight. "I truly must defend you."
He tied the final knot.
"I must." He straightened. "I must conquer this sea."
His eyes hardened.
"Even if it means returning to the devil I once was."
He closed his eyes.
It felt like drowning to him the darkness pressing in, the silence consuming him, the weight of everything he had done and everything he had yet to do crushing him from all sides.
It was a form of self-suicide.
Gareth actively used his intent to kill himself.
Not his body. Not his flesh. Something deeper. He began to kill this version of himself that existed the one who was tired, the one who was weak, the one who doubted. He reached inside himself and strangled that man.
As he did, blood came flowing down from his nose.
Thick.
Dark.
Warm.
It dripped onto his lips, his chin, his chest.
He smiled.
A fist met his face.
WHAM!
The impact slammed him against the ground his body crashing into the wooden wreckage, his head snapping back, his vision swimming. The force was full. The impact was absolute. Gareth was shocked.
He lay there for a moment, stunned.
A voice spoke to him.
"You know..." The voice was calm, almost conversational. "You're really stupid right now."
Footsteps approached.
"Oh yes I forgot to introduce myself."
The figure stepped into view a man in a navy uniform, crisp and clean, untouched by the storm, untouched by the chaos. His face was young, handsome, unmarked. His eyes were bright, clear, certain.
"I am no legend." He spread his arms. "Just a man who chases after justice."
He smiled.
"I am the navy man of the sun."
Gareth looked up.
His eyes dark, calculating, hungry fixed on the man's face. His body broken, exhausted, pushed beyond reason moved.
He speed blitzed him.
His sword stabbed through the man's heart piercing flesh, shattering bone, ending life. The man's eyes widened. His mouth opened. Blood poured from the wound.
He fell.
Dead.
Gareth's eyes were filled with the intent to kill.
To kill any creature he saw.
He immediately sprinted.
His body launched forward pushing past his already broken limits, ignoring the screams of his muscles, denying the reality of his wounds. He jumped from the ship wreck he was on, his feet clearing the gap, his body soaring through the air.
His monster the beast with the head of a crocodile, the body of a lion, the fins of a fish rose from the water below to meet him.
It caught him.
Gareth landed on its back, steadying himself, gripping its scales.
He smiled.
"It worked." His voice was quiet, almost reverent. "I controlled it."
He touched his head feeling the stillness inside, the clarity, the certainty.
"I controlled my rebuilding of my mind."
This time, Gareth was sure of at least a level of upper hand against the enemy.
He rode on his monster.
This time, he targeted the largest ship in that area.
The main ship.
Surrounded and bombarded by many naval vessels, it sat at the center of the fleet like a throne, like a fortress, like a challenge. Its sails were black. Its flag bore a skull. Its decks were crowded with pirates.
On this ship lived the Iron Lantern.
Alaric Vane.
Gareth's monster surged forward cutting through the waves, dodging cannonballs, closing the distance.
.
Gareth rode toward the largest ship.
The Iron Lantern waited.
And the sea roared.