The deck of the Blue Spider was silent, save for the rhythmic sobbing of the lone survivor. Harley stepped over the twisted remains of a pirate, his metal boots clicking against the blood-soaked wood with a heavy, final cadence.
The pirate scrambled backward, his heels kicking against the corpses of his former crewmates. He hit the railing, trapped between a monster in obsidian armor and the dark depths of the ocean. Harley stopped directly in front of him. He didn't loom; he simply existed, a terrifying void in the shape of a man.
Harley leaned in, his voice dropping into the low, haunting resonance of Zed. It wasn't a human voice—it was the sound of a blade sliding against silk. "Tell me," Harley whispered. "Who is the strongest pirate on these seas right now?"
The pirate didn't hesitate. Terror had stripped away his loyalty, his pride, and his mind. "It's Rocks! It's Rocks D. Xebec!" he shrieked, spit flying from his trembling lips. "He's the king of Hachinosu! Please, lord, spare me! I'll do anything! I promise—"
The promise never left his throat.
With a flick of his wrist, Harley's golden blade sang through the air. The pirate's head slid from his shoulders before his body even realized it was dead. Harley didn't feel a surge of adrenaline. He didn't feel the crushing weight of guilt.
Harley had never been a "good" person. Not in his old life, and certainly not in this one. He felt a strange, cold phenomenon: Emotional Independence. He could still feel fear, joy, or sadness, but these emotions no longer took root. They were like ripples on the surface of a deep, dark well—present for a second, then gone, leaving the water as still as ice. He had been a cold-blooded soul long before the missile hit him, worn down by a society that had no place for him. Killing for the first time didn't shock him; it only left him feeling empty.
He turned his gaze toward the huddled group of survivors. His abyssal black eyes, glowing with that hollow blue light, locked onto them.
"Can you sail this ship?" he asked.
Bruno, the young geologist, stepped forward. His legs were shaking so violently he could barely stand, but he forced himself to speak. "My... my name is—"
"Can you sail the ship?" Harley interrupted, his voice cutting through Bruno's introduction like a knife.
Bruno swallowed hard, the silence stretching for a painful beat. "Yes," he finally whispered.
"Good," Harley commanded. "Sail to your original destination. And clear these carcasses off my deck."
Without another word, Harley turned and walked toward the captain's quarters. His steps were light, almost ethereal, as he disappeared into the darkness of the cabin.
Behind him, the thirteen survivors didn't waste a second. They began grabbing the cold, heavy bodies of the pirates and heaving them over the side. The splash-splash-splash of corpses hitting the water was the only funeral the Blue Spider Pirates would ever receive.
Inside the captain's cabin, Harley sat in the heavy mahogany chair that once belonged to Abroes. He stared at his golden claws, watching the way the dim lantern light reflected off the cosmic metal.
He asked himself a question: What am I looking for here that my old world couldn't give me?
He searched his mind, but there was no grand answer. No noble quest for justice, no burning desire for a throne. Then, a slow, dark smile spread across his pale face. He laughed—a soft, chilling sound that echoed in the lonely room.
He didn't need a grand purpose. He just wanted to enjoy the game.
He wanted to pull the strings of this world from the darkness, to steer the course of history from the shadows behind the curtain. Why? Because he liked it. Because for the first time, he held the blade instead of being the one under it.
In that moment, the nineteen-year-old student named Harley truly died. He was gone, erased by the salt air and the blood on the deck.
There was no Harley anymore. There was only Zed.