Rodgers lay near the body of the Iron Lantern.
He could not do anything. His entire body pained him every muscle, every joint, every breath was a battle. A forceful, heavy sleep was upon his eyes, so great that he could not move any muscle on his body. His eyelids drooped. His mind fogged. His will flickered.
After all, was there really any need for him to continue moving? Was there any need for him to continue fighting? Was there any purpose for it?
If a man dedicated his entire life to building the greatest house that had ever existed, once it is complete, he has no purpose. Most will say it is finished. The work is done. The reason for being is gone.
Rodgers felt that emptiness now.
His rival was dead. The battle was over. The meaning of his existence had been fulfilled.
But he got up.
With his last strength, holding his sword his fingers wrapping around the hilt, his knuckles white, his grip desperate he wanted to go back into battle. He did not know why. Did not understand why. But something pulled him forward.
Then his body was hit by a great shockwave.
BOOM!
The force slammed into him pushing him and the body of the Iron Lantern to the side, tumbling them across the deck, fetching them up against the railing. The shockwave was from the roar of Davina Jones in her monster form a primal, terrible sound that carried across the sea.
He was further injured internally. He felt pain in his chest, in his abdomen, in his organs shifting inside him. Blood trickled from his lips. His vision swam.
Suddenly, after that, he felt a cold shivering down his spine.
His body reacted instinct taking over, muscles coiling, weapon rising. He immediately got into guard, almost as if he was expecting an enemy to attack him.
He put himself in guard and looked all around him.
He sweated bullets.
His heart pounded.
Then he said, his voice barely a whisper.
"Huh?" He blinked. "There's no one around."
He lowered his sword, just slightly.
"Am I running mad?"
He slapped himself in the face WHACK! and his hand did not feel like his own. The sensation was dull. Wrong. Distant.
He looked at the body of the Iron Lantern at the still face, the closed eyes, the peace that had settled over his features.
"What did you do to my body, old friend?"
The shockwave from Davina Jones's monster form, far away, continued to spread.
It hit him over and over again like an automated gun that kept firing, that was how the waves of the roar hit him. Each wave pounded against his chest, rattled his bones, shook his will. The sea kept roaring and moving in fast action, pulsing with the rhythm of the abomination's rage.
He said, his voice strained.
"What's going on over there?"
He looked toward the source of the chaos.
"This is not normal."
On the other side, the desire for the ultimate will to kill clashed on.
Gareth clashed with the Black Ledger on a destroyed, tumbling vessel on the sea. The ship was broken its hull splintered, its deck slanted, its body dying in the water. It rose and fell with the waves, creaking and groaning like a wounded animal.
This battle who shall be the victor?
Gareth was a condensation of killing intent to its fullest. He was like a demon who had come into this world, his body radiating malice, his eyes burning with hatred, his will absolute. He moved like a force of nature unstoppable, unrelenting, terrible.
He fought against a man with great desire.
The Black Ledger. Gideon Crowe. A man who wanted to learn anatomy and to become it. He moved with the precision of a scholar, the hunger of a pervert, the will of a madman.
Their blades clashed.
CLANG!
The sound echoed across the water sharp, final, terrible.
Gareth pressed forward his sword cutting through the air, his body moving like a shadow, his intent consuming everything around him. The Black Ledger dodged, countered, studied.
He watched Gareth's movements with the eyes of a scientist, cataloging every twitch, every breath, every flicker of muscle. He was not just fighting he was learning.
Gareth attacked again.
His blade stabbed forward fast, precise, deadly aimed at the Black Ledger's heart.
The Black Ledger twisted.
The blade passed by him close enough to cut his coat, close enough to draw blood, close enough to kill but he moved through it, around it, beyond it.
He countered.
His hand shot forward not a strike, not a punch, but an open palm that pressed against Gareth's chest, feeling his heartbeat, measuring his intensity.
Gareth grabbed his wrist.
His fingers closed around the Black Ledger's arm crushing, squeezing, breaking. The bones cracked under the pressure. The flesh bruised under the force.
The Black Ledger smiled.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, sharp scalpel.
He stabbed it into Gareth's shoulder.
SHLIK!
The blade pierced flesh, grated against bone, sprayed blood across his face. Gareth did not flinch. Did not react. His eyes cold, empty, absolute remained fixed on the Black Ledger's face.
He pulled the scalpel out.
He dropped it.
He attacked again.
The battle continued.
They moved across the destroyed vessel leaping over debris, sliding across blood, dodging the flames that licked at the remains of the ship. Their blades flashed. Their bodies twisted. Their wills clashed.
Gareth was a storm of malice every strike filled with hatred, every movement driven by rage. He did not think. Did not plan. Did not hesitate. He simply attacked again and again and again.
The Black Ledger was a scholar of violence every dodge calculated, every counter measured, every moment recorded in the depths of his mind. He studied Gareth's movements, learned his patterns, anticipate his attacks.
He was not trying to win.
He was trying to understand.
Gareth swung his blade a massive arc that should have cut the Black Ledger in two.
The Black Ledger dropped to the ground.
His body fell sliding across the blood-slick deck, passing under the blade, emerging behind Gareth. His hand shot out not a weapon, not a strike, but a touch. His fingers pressed against Gareth's spine, feeling the vertebrae, measuring the structure.
Gareth spun.
His elbow slammed into the Black Ledger's face CRACK! shattering his nose, spraying blood, sending him stumbling backward.
The Black Ledger laughed.
Blood poured from his broken nose, dripping down his lips, his chin, his chest. But his eyes his eyes were bright, excited, alive.
"Wonderful." His voice was thick with blood. "Your body is wonderful."
He wiped his face.
"Every strike." He smiled. "Every movement. Every breath."
He took a step forward.
"It's all perfect."
He raised his hands.
"I want to learn you."
Gareth did not respond.
He attacked.
His blade shot forward fast, precise, deadly aimed at the Black Ledger's throat.
The Black Ledger moved.
He flowed around the blade, twisted through the strike, countered with a palm to Gareth's chest. He pushed not hard, but right redirecting Gareth's momentum, sending him staggering.
Gareth caught himself.
He attacked again.
And again.
And again.
The battle continued intense, brutal, exhausting. The destroyed vessel shook beneath them, sinking lower into the water, threatening to capsize.
But neither of them stopped.
Neither of them could stop.
Gareth attacked.
The Black Ledger studied.
And the sea roared.