"You arrogant bastard!"
Eving, regardless of his rage, still kept his movements precise. He flung himself diagonally to the left, his heart beating out of his chest.
As the song of clashes rung, Gabe kept his eyes right on Eving. Appearing behind Gabe, Eving heaved his cutlass upward. Gabe, however, moved a beat quicker. A brief, shallow blade of wind met the cutlass' edge.
Their patches of hair swayed violently as they backed away from each other. But it was clear to Eving that between the two of them, he was the one experiencing the backlash from the collision.
Gabe knew this too, a mocking smirk gracing his face as he begun his advancement towards Eving. Sweat rolled down Eving's cheek as he turned around and retreated inside of the ship's cabin.
Gabe was never too far behind, though.
"Running?" His voice reached Eving's ears in an echo. "I would do the same thing if I were you." The cabin was dark, but it was bright enough to where they were both able to see one another, though their features were a bit obscured.
Both did not move, but their gazes did wander like flies.
With his back facing the Captain's table, Eving saw a plate in his peripheral vision. A plan formed, and he acted it as quick as he had thought of it. His hand motioned towards the plate, it becoming a speeding blur.
Swish!
Throwing the plate like a frisbee, it cut through the air, spinning wildly. Gabe, however, effortlessly caught it, the plate snuggling well between his thumb and fingertips.
Eving, however, was quick to follow through. Appearing right in front of Gabe, his fist reeled back, fingers curling. Twisting his body, Eving plunged his fist into Gabe's face.
Splat!
Blood flew from the jails of Gabe's mouth, painting the wooden floor with a tinge of crimson. Eving stayed relentless, the fire in his stomach burning brighter and brighter.
A beat away, Eving held his leg in the air, driving it down like an executioner's blade. However, even when his vision was disoriented from the initial surprise blow, Gabe was more than quick enough to shield himself with his forearm.
Thump!
A jagged set of crackles ran along Gabe's forearm, his face briefly scrunching. Gabe lifted his right leg, planting it on the slanted hill of a sofa, using it to force himself over Eving in a fluid vault.
No longer connected by fist and forearm, Eving swiveled his head to Gabe's movements; a hand swayed overhead, green churning with fury.
Fwoom!
Fwoom!
Small, sharp crescent moons of wind soared like stars. Eving dodged to his left before flipping to the back of the sofa. As the sharp wind penetrated the sofa, white fluff shot upwards, swaying down like feathers.
Gabe dashed and jumped over the sofa, his fingertips coiling with the familiar green effervescence. Clicking his tongue, Eving brought his sword across his face, blocking two sharp crescents. As the remnant green particles of mana danced, Gabe was still present in the air.
Eving kicked Gabe at the center of his stomach and pushing him back slightly. Recovering in the air, Gabe planted his feet on the side of the wall before pushing off of it and torpedoing straight back into Eving.
Eving swayed to the side, preparing for either an onslaught of wind or the physicality of his fists.
"Not far enough," Gabe's words writhed in venom. As Gabe was about to fly by, his hand suddenly appeared on Eving's face, clawing it like a beast's indiscriminate rage.
BAM!
Eving's sight distorted, crashing into the edge of the sofa. For a moment — for just the slither most second — his vision had turned completely black. However, the color of the world soon arrived back, his body straddled by Gabe.
Between Gabe's fingertips, Eving could clearly see the disgusting grin that illuminated the dark quarter.
Gabe's breathing was heavy; it was not in the way of tiredness bursting from within, but rather from the excitement.
Of trapping his prey beneath him.
Eving could feel it, sense it even. From each breath he exhaled. And the way his eyes were rampaging with such vigor.
A lust for violence so profound it could almost be called: love.
A sense of longing for this savagery, forged by the countless endeavors he's endured. And his survival forged the man he was today, someone who sought to shed blood.
For that is all he has known.
This indiscriminate force.
~~~
The night was young, and Grace was staring back into the fire that they had created up in the middle of the forest, in a relatively open clearing amongst the sea of trees.
They had used three gold coins on their new clothing and an additional gold coin to freshen up in order to not smell like the ocean.
David sat not too far away in a diagonal direction to his left. While Miller sat to a diagonal right. Though Miller was much closer to the fire than the rest of them.
It was calm.
Inhaling the scent of burning wood, David suddenly asked a question.
"What Gods are you a Devotee for?"
A Devotee.
Simply put, it is the classification of a person that prays to a God and is accepted, thus being granted abilities that is tailored for that individual.
"I'll go first," David spoke, looking into the fire. "I am under the Manifestation of Strength. I'm a Grade 1.1. There is an inherent boost in physical characteristics, and I have the [Prayer Characteristic]: [Coiling Physique] which amplifies my physical abilities, as well as the benefit of prolonged duration of protein synthesis."
Grace raised an eyebrow in surprise.
That explains why his muscle has hardly atrophied. Interesting. Though the effects may be worse at the moment due to the depraving of his protein intake. Grace knew of the Manifestation of Strength, of course.
It was a popular one, though it did not attract many Devotees due to it being considered "low-rank" amongst the hierarchy of Gods that have been constructed by humans.
Still, it was not bad to be a Devotee to a God like Manifestation ofStrength.
"I'll go next," Miller muttered softly. "I'm a Devotee of the Mistress of Water. There is no notable physical enhancements. I'm a Grade 1.1. I have the Prayer Characteristic: [Dear Water]. It is at Rank 1, but allows me to have a higher proficiency in Water Magic."
Grace and David nodded their head.
Grace didn't have much thoughts in regards to Miller's Goddess, but he did note that Mistress of Water was just a bit above Manifestation of Strength in terms of the hierarchy.
Still, Grace's views on David and Miller did not budge. Regardless if a God or Goddess was considered less or more than the other, it did not change the fact that this human construct is not the consensus metric to determine a person's future.
After all, the most important thing is to be able to bring forth their potential.
Much like the others, Grace stared into the swaying flames.
It was his turn next.
"I am a Devotee to the Cosmic Construct of Infinite Pillars."
The best way to not reveal the fact that he is under the guidance of the Creator is to lie and giving them mere buzzwords.
I'm sure there is a God with a similar name somewhere... Grace thought.
"I am a Grade 1, with a [Prayer Characteristic] called: [Cosmic Phantasm.] It is the ability that I had used to create light for us during our escape on the ship."
Finally, Grace looked up.
Both of their faces were scrunched up, an incredulous expression having replace their previous calm demeanor.
"What the fuck even is that?" David asked aloud.
He wasn't necessarily surprised that Grace was a Devotee for a God that — he assumes to be — a very high rank in the hierarchy.
It just was the name.
It was so disgusting.
Miller chuckled lightly. "The name's... a bit tacky," he then added afterwards.
Grace shrugged his shoulders.
But I made the name... Grace lamented inwardly at their harsh criticism.