Bro, I'm not an Undead!

Chapter 1020: Deep Spite

Three days later....

A great vessel sailed over the rather calm, ebony waters which had been hostile for days on end. It was massive, sturdy and without sail, with the force propelling it forward being the large spikes protruding from its back end, all spitting out lengthy trails of furious flame.

Even though the ship wound and meandered a lot because of the tall, still cracks in space - some etched in the boundless, bright sky; some submerged in the viciously poisonous sea or somehow, both - the conditions of this voyage had gotten significantly better.

High above, beyond the peppering of still clouds, the ceiling of Aigas revealed its true form. Its grievous scars from the Ashing of Time caused by Jiggorrhax the Abiding Madness were apparent, yet less gloomy because of the daylight.

From them, no longer did huge scalding liquid trails fall every moment, plummeting into the ocean to prompt a surreal, scorching steam to rise and burn the voyagers. The Scorching Tears, as they were called, had finally ceased a day and a half ago.

Also, despite the abundance of the aforementioned cracks in space, Reverse Clusters - bizarre distortions to the world that expelled anti-spatial and anti-flight influence - were noticeably fewer this far past the Central Boundary and close... very close to Edagon.

The oceans were also a lot calmer. There were no gusts to rock them, and of the unique Cluster Beasts that would have been consistently launching attacks on anything moving over the poisonous waters, it seemed very few lived anywhere close to the top third of this vast water body.

Only the most powerful, adapted monstrosities remained, and they did not particularly like rising up from their slumbers and from their Territories.

This did well by the vessel practically soaring over the layer of ebony ocean.

Aboard it was the figure of a pretty woman who was adorned - as was commonly known of her even in perilous events - light, casual, revealing clothing.

Warding Pride was one of the few Faction Leaders in the Severed Union to have very distinct characteristics that made her stand out even without her doing anything.

Her fashion sense, which rarely included armor was one, and another, was the blue shade of skin from her neck to her feet. While garbled in her silk, white mini-dress, the deep shade of blue was eerily apparent.

She didn't seem to mind. She never did.

As she leaned against the tough edge of the ship, looking into the distance, her grey eyes seemed saturated with something other than what was ahead of her.

The subject of her thoughts could easily be introduced by the view to Warding Pride's left. A perfect, massive, circular hole was borne into the ship's hull, then its deck - revealing part of the underdeck beneath - and then the other side of the ship.

This wound on the vessel had not been inflicted too long ago, and thus the experience was still flesh in memory.

What concerned Warding Pride most wasn't the damage to the ship, however. It was the experience of almost being bested, which she had felt at that moment.

The culprit behind that nasty, bitter feeling vexed Warding Pride to not end.

Bright Storm.

The beauty clicked her tongue.

If it hadn't been because of her timely reaction, manifesting one of her stronger barriers - as was her main proclivity - to guard against the immense blow from one of those deadly

canons Blight Storm whipped out mysteriously...

The consequences were boarder-line nauseating.

Even in the best case scenario, if she merely lost her ship and kept her crew and herself alive, she would have to either fight another Faction Leader for a vessel or beg to come aboard

Eaniss'.

The Head Faction leader had been especially welcoming to those that lost their ships or the few survivors of some of the terrible incidents on this voyage.

However, it seemed, the price was something akin to fealty and submission.

Warding Pride couldn't do that. She would never.

None of the Faction Leaders were especially fond of Eaniss. They merely respected her strength and cunning.

But then again, that was a norm. No one felt particularly strongly about the other in the Union.

What Warding Pride felt against Bright Storm though, was dark, and for two reasons.

'Am I the only one who knows what he is? Does Eaniss know?' she asked herself, her face turning darker with creases from a frown.

It was indeed THE question.

When the Factions first set out for this journey, Warding Pride had set to rattle Bright Storm and see how Pherdanta, a tool he stole from her, would react to her presence.

It was during that interaction, which in itself was spawned from mutual dislike between the two Faction Leaders, that Bright Storm revealed his face.

That loathsome face.

'Pherdanta sticks with that thing while knowing what it is? Perhaps she deserves to die along with it then,' Warding Pride thought and hints of a smile began diluting her frown.

She hadn't seen it necessary to feed this information - Bright Storm's nature - to the other Faction Leaders because that... would be idiotic. If there was a prize to be gained from revealing Bright Storm's nature, she would only do so when he was dead before her feet.

And if there wasn't... well, then he'd do well as a trophy on her wall.

The ugly kind.

Warding Pride giggled.

'I wonder if he's even still in the running after losing his ship. Will he turn tail? Hmph. I would like to see the look on his face when he sees what has become of the little island Eaniss gave

him...' she thought.

The Factions were constantly in conflict.

Even during an event like this where the stronger among them ventured away on critical missions, those that remained in their territories usually warred hard.

The losers lost their treasures, their land, and if the winners willed it, their lives.

Newcomers like Bright Storm were given a grace period before raiding began, but that time had drawn to a close for the fresh Leader.

Warding Pride suspected that the strongest of Bright Storm's men were here with him, save for one.

And if that one alone was in charge of guarding that pathetic island, then it must have already

fallen.

Warding Pride's giggle turned into a full blown hysterical laugh.

It mortified the young man who had approached her with a delicate object in his hand, quite like glass, but as brittle as a dry leaf.

The young man spoke.

"Your Ladyship... Lady Eaniss' invitation keeps calling to you. Will you still... ignore it?"

Warding Pride ended her mirth and raised a brow.

"Let it scream. It's not like there will be a VISIT if I don't go. Now, leave!"

After her subordinate rushed away, Warding Pride returned to relishing in her thoughts

against Bright Storm.

For a moment, she thought she heard a distant roar, but she didn't think much of it.

Her loathing of Bright Storm was infinitely better to hinge on.

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