She sheathed her sword.
The blade slid into the scabbard with a soft click a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the sudden silence. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling, her eyes fixed on Rodgers. Her body relaxed, her shoulders dropping, her center of gravity lowering.
She made a defensive position.
Her arms were raised, her palms open, her fingers spread. She was unarmed now her katana sheathed, her dagger gone, her hands empty. But she did not look vulnerable. She looked ready.
She moved so fast she blitzed him.
Her body shot forward a blur of blue and black, a streak of motion that defied the eye. She appeared in his front, so fast that he could not react. His eyes widened. His mouth opened. His heart stopped.
He said to himself, his inner voice quiet, confused, awed.
What's this? He felt a cool breeze wash over him soft, gentle, deceptive. It's like the cool breeze of the night.
He could not see her.
Immediately, she went for his neck.
Her hand shot forward fast, precise, absolute and threw a blow at his neck. The impact clogged his throat, stopping his breath, blocking his airways. His eyes turned red blood vessels bursting, vision swimming, consciousness fading.
He coughed.
Spit poured out his mouth, mixing with blood, dripping down his chin. His body convulsed, his lungs screaming for air, his mind reeling.
Blood flow was instantly stopped through his entire body.
She kicked him to his ribs.
CRACK!
The impact broke all the ribs on his right side shattering bone, piercing flesh, collapsing his lung. He gasped a wet, choking sound—his body curling in on itself, his will flickering.
She drew her sword once again.
Her katana sang as it left the scabbard a flash of steel, a gleam of light, a whisper of death. She made a small but deep cut there, targeting the muscles in his shoulder. The blade slid through flesh, separated fibers, paralyzed the limb.
She left him unable to move that part of his body.
She drew him in.
Her hand grabbed his head her fingers wrapping around his skull, her grip firm, her will absolute. She pulled him close, her face inches from his, her eyes boring into his soul.
She said, her voice calm, almost conversational.
"There was a man on our crew." She paused. "A doctor. One who was really obsessed with anatomy."
She smiled.
"I learned a lot from that man." Her voice hardened. "He was really, really weak. Not even at my level, or even the level of my captain."
She tightened her grip.
"But he taught me how to defeat any enemy." She paused. "He taught me the secrets of the human body the weak points, the vulnerabilities, the limits."
She sighed.
"It would be a shame if he were to be dead."
As she talked about him, she thought of him. The Black Ledger. The man who had studied anatomy with such passion, such devotion, such obsession. The man who had taught her how to dissect an enemy, how to break them, how to win.
And then she headbutted her opponent.
CRACK!
Her forehead slammed into his face shattering his nose, spraying blood, stunning him. He stumbled back, his body reeling, his vision swimming, his consciousness fading.
He fell into the sea after the attack.
His body splashed into the water, sinking beneath the waves, disappearing into the darkness. He could not move at all—his arms useless, his ribs broken, his will flickering.
She smiled.
"The plant is growing." Her voice was soft, almost tender. "But I must make it grow even faster."
She paused.
"My captain has not truly resurrected in you." She looked at the water where he had disappeared. "There are signs, but not enough."
Her voice hardened.
"Fight." She paused. "And grow even more."
She smiled.
"I wish to see it." Her voice dropped. "The dream my captain had. The dream of a free man over the world."
She laughed.
"HAHAHA! HAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHA!"
The sound echoed across the water sharp, joyous, triumphant. She pulled out a small bottle that was strapped to her legs a bottle of rum hidden under her skirt and poured it in her mouth.
The liquid burned as it went down, warm and comforting. She smiled.
in the space between the laughter and the silence, between the seed that was growing and the dream that was waiting.
Mutaro stood on the deck.
Rodgers sank into the sea.
And the storm raged.