Plus of salt water burst up from the oceans surface as dozens of deep blue tendrils shot out from underneath. They coiled in the air, quickly extending up and plunging into the fog.
The tentacles, composed completely of a viscous blue sli, coiled around the ships hulls forcing the rotten ghostly ships to creak in pain. The pirates who had not been marked for death, were instead forced to face off against the legend of the depths.
They gripped their cutlasses tighter and charged towards the tentacles, beginning to hack away at the slimy skin in desperate hopes that if the beast released their ships it would sohow an they would get to go free.
It was utterly delusional, but fear often did not play on logic. Just desperation as it clung to every possibility, no matter how illogical and impossible they were.
Unfortuntely for these pirates, attacking the tendrils was the worst option of all. Their blades bounced off the spongy, slimy skin that made up the tendrils to the point that they felt like they were trying to cut through rubber.
However when they finally managed to pierce the rubbery skin, it was not blood that spewed from the Cyan Kraken. The clear liquid sprayed from the wounds, splashing the pirate unlucky enough to draw first blood right in his ugly, undead face.
The mont it made contact, his face imdiately started to hiss and smoke. Flesh peeled off as his face rapidly began to degrade and lt from a single touch of the liquid. However it was not acid the sli typically produced.
Instead, Cynthia had expanded her body by filling it with salt water. Salt water that seed very disagreeable with the ghostly pirates. What tragic irony.
The pirate stumbled back, his sword clattering to the deck as he clawed at his face in horror, letting out miserable wails and screams of terror as the salt water attacked him worse than any acid he knew.
The burning only lasted for a few seconds before the salt in the small amount of droplets was completely spent, but in that ti half of his flesh had been reduced to bone. The rest had been reduced down to a pile of putrid black blood and viscous ectoplasm that coated the floor.
However, when he pulled his hands away from his face and finally looked up, he found himself staring at the tip of the very tendril he had attacked. More specifically, he was staring at the small hole in the tip of the tentacle.
"No, Please... Have rcy!"
The pirate barely had a chance to beg for the one thing he had never offered any of his own victims, but it fell on utterly deaf ears. The tendril cared little for his pleas as it swelled slightly before spewing a thick column of salt water.
It barely t resistance as it splashed him directly in the face, before completely carving through his head entirely.
Before the headless body even had a chance to hit the deck, the tentacle was already turning itself around, blasting more of the spotless pirates like a fire hose. Cleaning the poop deck of all the filthy shit that infested it.
Similar purging and salt water cleansing rituals were playing out across dozens of ships as tendrils flailed from the watery depths like the Kraken released.
Scar watched with morbid amusent as he hung above the battle, idly drinking in the fear that was building and slowly converting it into his own power for later use. It was a sha that they had to purge them all.
Leaving a few alive to spread the legend would work perfectly for building his own reserve of Divine Energy based on fear. He glanced over his shoulder at Mayfly, who was watching the massacre with awe and hints of fear himself.
He would have to do.
Strangely, at that exact mont, a deathly chill run down Mayfly's spine causing him to shiver and almost wet his pants. Beads of sweat ford all over his body at once, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what had caused it.
It was just a primal sense of fear, like he was a rabbit being caught in the gaze of a lion knowing it could kill him at any mont. The strangest part was, it passed as quickly as it had co, leaving him utterly baffled.
Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, Scar glanced over the ships below him, making sure every one of them was being taken care of in so manner, before looking at the one untouched by the chaos.
The farthest ship from the chaos was oddly not the largest. Although a man o'war was one the foggy battlefield, it was currently being assualted by three of Cynthia's tendrils - one of which had forced itself in through a cannon hole and was wreaking havoc on the ships internals.
Instead the furthest ship was a frigate. Its hull was black as ink, with a blood red stripe painted across its top half. The tattered sails that flapped in the slight wind were the sa crimson as its hull stripe, as if they had been dyed in the blood of the ships countless victims.
A torn and ruined black flag waved at the very top of the middle mast, depicting a horned skeleton stabbing a spear into a blood red heart.
This ship floated in the fog, like all the others, but it stayed far from the battle. Even though every crew-mber and ship in their mighty undead fleet was being ravaged and destroyed, the black and red ship did not dare co any closer.
Why would it? If it approached anymore, then it would be within the range of the ti loop. The ti loop that was no disabled, aning it wouldn't matter if they approached, but they didn't know that.
Scar stirred the ambient spiritual energy around him, diving down and shooting himself through the air towards the flagship of the undead fleet. As soon as he got in range, the cannons began to thunder and blast, sending a dozen cannon balls flying his way.
He weaved between them, his sword streaking through the air and landing in his hand just in ti for him to cleave a cannonball in two without slowing his flight.
As he drew closer to the flagship, his senses tingled with the energy present on it. Unlike the rest of the crew, the people manning his ship were actually powerful. All of them at the higher end of transcendent at least.
There was also one aura that stood out amongst the rest, radiating much more power than any other of the crew and releasing with it a dreadful and malevolent aura that could only be trained by blood-lust. Decades of blood-lust.
When Scar landed on the deck of the ship, he wasted no ti. He imdiately crossed blades with the crew. They let out defiant roars as they charged - climbing down the rigging or pouring out from within the hold.
It was left to the small portion of the crew on the upper deck to fend him off, yet even if they were high transcendent, how could they match up to him?
In stats alone, he was more than five tis more powerful than them, and Scar was more than just stats. Even before he had the magical numbers on his side, it had been skill keeping him alive and today was no different.
Two spectral n attacked him at once, as they were the closest to his landing point. They swung wildly, with no real form or training, only what they had learned from the experience of slaughter.
Scar held back a chuckle as he weaved through the wild swings, occasionally spinning his own sword into the perfect position to parry their manic attacks. He acted so lazy and nonchalant about it all, it was almost like it was a ga to him.
One of the n swung their swords again, screaming as he did so. A black toothed grin spread across his face as he saw that his sword was heading perfectly on course to chop into this bastard's neck. Yet at the last second, the blade he was swinging just swerved itself out of the way.
It swung completely the wrong way on its own, panic setting on the pirates face as he was dragged along with the sword. He stumbled forwards, and just so happened to fall into the path of Scar's [Fjord Carver].
His head popped off his shoulders, rolling across the deck, while Scar danced around the other pirates blade. He lazily batted the sword to the side, grabbing the spirit by the throat and spun around.
He held the pirate up, just in ti for him to so kindly use his body to block a flintlock shot from a crew mber climbing down the rigging.
Scar smirked behind his mask as he tossed the body to the side, glaring at the rigging climber smugly as the pirates sword unsheathed itself and stabbed into its owner's chest. The sure shot pirate let out a wheezing gasp as he slipped from the rigging and slamd down onto the deck.
But by the ti he landed, Scar had already moved on. One of the freshly dead pirates flintlocks floated into his outstretched hand as he quickly pulled the trigger, sending a shot of spiritual energy soaring into another crew-mates forehead.
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