Everyone who saw it froze for an instant.
On the stern of the Widow Queen, Marla, her scimitar raised high, suddenly went rigid.
The cruel, savage grin on her face froze where it was.
She lowered her head in disbelief, staring at the center of her broad, powerful chest.
There, at the height of her heart, a gaping hole the size of a bowl had appeared, its edges glowing faintly with embers, the air thick with the stench of roasted flesh.
Her expression locked into one of sheer shock and incomprehension. The last spark in her eyes guttered out like a candle in the wind. The scimitar slipped from her grasp and struck the deck with a sharp, despairing clang.
A heartbeat later, her body, stripped of its core strength, collapsed like a boneless husk. She fell silently onto the icy deck as flames kindled across her form, spreading swiftly until they consumed her whole.
The battlefield fell silent, as if muted.
"L-Lady Marla?" stammered a nearby Weeping Reef captain, his voice shaking uncontrollably.
"The... Salt Widow... she's dead?"
Another pirate gaped at the burning hole in Marla's chest, terror flooding his face.
"It's him! The new master of Torturer's Deep! He killed Marla with fire sorcery!"
Panic erupted like a plague, sweeping from ship to ship across the Weeping Reef fleet.
Their commander, slain in such a horrifying, unstoppable fashion, shattered the very core of their will.
The ferocity and cruelty that had bound them together crumbled in the face of absolute power and nameless terror.
What had been a surging tide of attack collapsed in an instant. The Weeping Reef pirates fell into chaos and dread.
Some ships spun and fled outright. Others collided. Some even turned on each other, fighting for a path of escape.
The once-mighty fleet dissolved into a boiling frenzy of panic.
"Counterattack! Crush them!"
Lo Quen seized the moment, his roar like thunder.
The words lit a fire in the hearts of Torturer's Deep's soldiers, unleashing all the fury they had pent up.
The warships bellowed with deafening roars as oarsmen summoned their last strength. The vessels surged forward like beasts breaking free of chains, slamming into the enemy's disordered ranks.
Arrows and stones rained down like a storm of vengeance.
On the beach, the troops roared like unleashed tigers, their battle cries shaking the air as they hunted down the fleeing Weeping Reef pirates, driving them into the sea or cutting them down on the blood-soaked sands.
In an instant, the battle turned.
The Weeping Reef fleet collapsed completely, shattering into scattered fragments racing to flee this cursed sea.
When the last ship flying the Weeping Reef banner disappeared in panic over the far horizon, the shipyard beach and surrounding waters had become a vision of hell.
The sea was stained dark red with blood, strewn with severed limbs and splintered timbers.
The air reeked of blood, charred flesh, and death.
Lo Quen allowed no pause for rest, not even a glance at the slaughter he had wrought.
He gathered his battered but unbroken men, ordering the captured shipwrights and pirates of Jawbreak Island and Weeping Reef locked away in the holds.
Then he tasked Jorah with tallying the ships taken in battle.
The heart of the shipyard was theirs.
Several oared vessels, battered to different degrees, lay in the docks or stranded on the shore.
Heaps of oak and ironwood planks, barrels of tung oil and fish glue, coils of rope, and piles of bronze nails and iron fittings were stacked in untouched corners and warehouses—precious stores for rebuilding and strengthening the fleet.
Just then, a light galley cut through the mist from the main harbor.
On board was an officer of Roro's, his face a blend of panic and exhilaration. Before the boat had even steadied, he was scrambling up onto the Nest of the Crab.
"Lord, there's chaos at the main harbor!" the officer blurted, breathless.
Lo Quen's brow furrowed.
He had ordered Roro only to harass at the harbor's edge, feint an assault, and withdraw if Caggo's men sallied out. If the plan was followed, nothing should have gone wrong.
"Explain. What about Roro?"
"Not Lord Roro, my lord."
The officer hurried to clarify, swallowing nervously. "It's the Jawbreak pirates—they've completely fallen apart. At first, when our fleet appeared, they rang the alarm so loud it shook the sky. The walls were crammed with men, ballistae were rolled out—they looked ready to fight to the last. Lord Roro had us stick to the plan: shout, wave banners, beat the drums, act like we were about to launch a full assault from just beyond their range."
He paused, disbelief etched across his face. "But then, half an hour later, the fortress suddenly caught fire. The flames spread fast, black smoke pouring into the sky. Stranger still, the pirates on the walls—bows drawn, ready to defend—dropped their weapons the moment they saw the fire. They panicked, screaming, and rushed back into the fortress. The walls were abandoned entirely.
"Lord Roro thought it too suspicious to act rashly, so he sent me at once to ask your command. Should we move into the main harbor? It's wide open now... and eerily silent."
Lo Quen's eyes narrowed to sharp points.
Internal strife? Or a trap?
He shook his head. Not being there himself, he couldn't yet judge.
"Send word to Roro: keep strict watch on the harbor, no landing without orders. We sail for the main harbor immediately."
His tone was iron. "Signal the fleet: abandon clearing the wreckage in the shipyard. Weigh anchor and set course for Jawbreak Island's main harbor."
...
Jawbreak Island was a long, narrow mass stretching north to south. Its main harbor sat at the island's southernmost tip, nestled within a naturally sheltered bay.
To the north rose a short but steep limestone hill, from which a small stream wound its way into the bay.
Atop that hill clung Caggo's seat of power—Jawbreaker Fortress.
It was less a fortress than a stone stronghold of decent size: a low wall of rough limestone blocks, barely six or seven feet high, snaked along the slope to enclose a modest area.
Inside stood the pirates' main quarters, warehouses, and Caggo's tower.
The fort had little depth; its strength lay in the steep incline it sat upon. Any attacker would have to charge uphill, fully exposed to defenders' bolts and hurled weapons.
At the foot of the hill, to the south, stretched Jawbreak Island's main harbor, where Caggo's last fleet had been anchored.
When Lo Quen's warships appeared outside, Roro's fleet closed in at once.
Roro clambered swiftly aboard the Nest of the Crab, skipping pleasantries as he pointed urgently toward the harbor.
"Lord, look! Not a soul left inside. After the fortress caught fire, all of Caggo's men ran back in."
Lo Quen fixed his eyes on the sight before them.
In the harbor, ships of all sizes rocked gently with the tide, mooring ropes slapping hollowly against their sides.
No guards, no sailors—not even a skiff was manned.
The docks lay deserted, littered with weapons, helmets, and gear abandoned in the scramble.
But up by Jawbreaker Fortress, the view was starkly different. Thick columns of black smoke billowed from within its low walls, rising into the not-yet-bright sky. Even from afar, the stench of burning wood carried on the wind.
Flags hung limp and crooked atop the battlements, with not a man in sight, only smoke pouring ceaselessly from behind the walls.
Faint shouts and the clash of metal drifted from within, muffled by the hillside and distance, too unclear to make sense of.
The entire main harbor seethed with a strange, unsettled chaos.