Page 51 of Claimed By the Depths

He cried out in tandem with the spew of his lineage, its scarlet hue speckling against dark stone. Skin, tissue, and muscle peeled apart as he shifted, his innards quick to follow. The familiar glossy pinkish-red color of his intestines brought forth memories of all the other pitiful bastards I’d gutted and, as they slid free from the gaping opening in his flesh, I couldn’t help but grin, satisfied with the gruesome sight.

“Switch!” Ace called from behind me, his back meeting mine.

With my blade already angled for demise, our quick swap painted my steel in yet another coat of viscous crimson. Widened eyes met mine, their vibrancy fading as I tossed the weapon I’d dragged along the man’s waistline into the air. Grip settling overhand, I wasted no time slashing through his throat.

Blood splattered across my face, adorning my cheeks in a thick layer of fatal freckles. Driven by my craving for carnage, my tongue darted out to lap at the life force that had fallen a little too close to my mouth. Savoring its potent iron tang, the splitting of flesh caressed my ears as Alastair laid two more of our opponents to rest.

The dull thud of their useless frames meeting cobblestone echoed off the mountainous terrain. Devouring their souls alongside the fifteen others we’d slain, the bowled eerie embrace of Hollowmere muffled the last of their gurgled breaths. It was as if the land itself craved desolation to a near-personified extent, a restless soul slithering beneath the waters responsible for battering its harbor.

The familiar sound of Alastair returning his preferred blade to its scabbard followed the eradication of life. Back still pressed against mine, his fingertips traced along my thigh. The action was a search for confirmation, a caress to ensure I hadn’t been harmed, and that my presence wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

“I’m okay,” I stated, sheathing my dagger to squeeze his hand. “Are you⁠—”

Tissue squelched, my stomach twisting as every worst-case scenario assaulted my mind. Pivoting on my heel, I spun toward my other half—my flame—expecting to find steel burrowed in his throat or chest, somewhere even Parran couldn’t reverse.

But that wasn’t the sight that greeted me. Instead, pools of deep elderberry, near abyssal, held my stare over the shoulder of a guard who had nearly struck Alastair with a fatal blow. A newfound intensity rolled off Parran, their brows narrowed with exemplified wrath. The light they usually embodied had been replaced by something malicious, something darker than any of us had ever witnessed, and it wasn’t until I glanced down that the implications of their actions became clear.

Taloned fingers jutted out from the attacker’s chest, and crushed beneath them was a still-beating heart. With one final clench, the muscular organ burst, blood splattering up Parran’s forearm to clash with their periwinkle skin. Unbothered by its stickiness, they simply rotated their wrist to release the pulp remaining in their palm.

It greeted the street with a wet splat, and as soon as the collision registered, Parran pulled their arm back, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. Frame swaying, the man’s body collided with the ground seconds after. Blinking, Parran mirrored me, the darkness that had consumed their eyes dissipating until the familiar cornflower hue returned.

“Apologies.” They cleared their throat, flicking their hand to the side to shed some of the spilled lineage as they looked at Alastair. “Had I not intervened promptly, you would be in his place.”

Stunned, neither Ace nor I was able to form a reply, but thankfully, a sharp whistle filled the lull in our responsiveness. Smirking, Ignis peered between us, his attention settling on Parran for far longer. “I wondered if they had seen what we Fae are capable of, and it seems, by their silence, they have not.”

“I…” Alastair glanced over at me as if checking that I had just witnessed the same. “Fucking hell, Parran.”

They offered him a shy smile, shoulders shrugging with a hint of indifference. “I did what I had to do to ensure your safety.”

My lips parted to extend gratitude to the healer who had saved the man I loved, but it was not my voice that came.

“What in the actual fuck happened?” Syoran called out, his jog slowing as the gap separating us closed. Gaze darting between the pile of corpses and the four of us, he jutted a finger at the massacre as if we were wholly unaware of what we’d done. “No desire to spare any of them a quick death?”

The latter question seemed to stir something within Alastair, a chuckle rolling from him. “If you believe my crew is capable of such sympathies, then you are a fool, Kao.”

Coming to stand beside him, Kael merely raised his brows. “I suppose that’s one way to make a statement.”

A female followed suit, her caramel irises sweeping over the disarray. Brown locks resting just above her shoulders, her bob swayed as she shook her head, taking in the merciless slaughter. Glancing up at me, I caught the unease in her stare, not because of the relentlessness we had displayed, but because she was… guilty?

“Who is she?” I prompted, challenging her presence.

“Sapphira Maris,” Syoran answered, striations dancing along his cheeks as he uttered the five syllables. “Our quartermaster and navigator.”

Alastair took a step forward, shoulders squaring as he cocked his head in curiosity. “Interesting. Why do you seem so put off by her attendance if she carries such an important role within your crew?”

“Because she⁠—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” Kael interjected, the former prince’s timbre spiking with an authority I couldn’t help but admire. “Listen, I understand the lot of you enjoy circle jerking one another with meaningless taunts and unwavering grudges, but there are far more pertinent things to focus on than tiffs that reside on ships that aren’t even yours.”

Ignis pressed his lips in a taut line, trying to hold back his laughter in response to Kael’s bluntness. “And you must be Prince Kaelivan.”

Seafoam gaze darkening, Kael shifted to address the Fae from the tavern. “And you are?”

“Ignis,” he replied matter-of-factly.

Turning to Alastair, Kael cleared his throat with an unspoken demand. Ace chuckled, the irony and humor of the situation undeniable. “He’s Fae, like Parran. Seems the realm beyond ours, the one you also have ties to, may have birthed the two of them alongside other Shifters. Their kind have become fixated on the prophecy, and Ignis has proved to be equipped with knowledge that will aid us in uncovering the artifacts of the Damned.”

“And this knowledge is?” Kael pressed.