anathemafiction
patreon
Water – The Pirate King & Neia
🕑 Added 2023-10-18 15:02:34 +0000 UTCNote: These are deep in the romances. They’re in love with you by now, body and soul.
The shock leaves you breathless.
Water splits with the ease of a steel wall, and your body breaks as it sinks into its freezing depths. And they are freezing. Cold streaks through your every nerve like lightning, immobilizing what little muscles survived the crash.
You open your mouth as a reflex, and water greedier than a fat merchant rushes through your lips, seeking to drown your lungs. You cannot even scream.
Your throat has stopped working.
The ocean claims you into it, dragging you down until the surface is little else than a shimmering light, miles and miles and miles above. You wonder if you cry. You wonder if you're adding yet another droplet to a beast larger than any continent.
You wonder, too, if salt is to be the last thing you will ever taste.
And now, you're sure you cry because the phantom taste of a sweet, ripe peach lingers on your drowned tongue.
You will never eat another.
You will never have him kiss the nectar from your lips again. Your Pirate...
You kick your legs, but they're too heavy. Your lungs are screaming, your throat is burning, and you're too far away. It hurts, but now fear and panic are kept away by the incoming darkness. The cold deepens until you stop feeling it, and the wild waters slowly turn into a calm, motionless pond.
It's dark. Your eyes are half-lidded. You keep them on that light, so far above. It's a blur now. And so are you. My Pirate...It was good while it lasted.
The darkness spreads, and the water drags you, but you feel nothing else. Only sorrow, but that too will fade away.
When you're passing through the thin veil, just when you're ducking your head under the doorway to the realm of midnight, you see a crash on the light of the surface. A shadow dives in, coming straight at you.
Your fingers flex, but you can do no more.
Because the world closes, and you float away. Finally, you can float away.
.
.
.
He saw you flying overboard.
The Pirate howls, a scream like a battle cry, and buries his axe in the skull of a raider. It splits his forehead in two, and the man's own howl joins his. Both in pain, but so very different.
He runs forward, heart hammering through his veins, slashing left and right, opening a path as he counts the seconds. Five, six. He kicks a woman so hard; she slides on the blood-soaked deck and falls to her death. Seven, eight. A rapier comes soaring for his head. He blocks it with one of his golden axes while the other buries in the neck of the attacker.
Nine, ten.
His rage has him seeing the world in red. His swings become wild and brutal. "Get out!" he roars, slashing indiscriminately. He has never been so enraged.
He has never felt more afraid.
Eleven, twelve, thirteen.
The Pirate runs at full speed now, almost slipping on the blood and salt water that stains his ship, before finally, he arrives at the banister you feel through. His black eyes are blown from bloodlust, but now they look around frantically, searching for any sign of you.
The ocean, his wild mistress, is as angry as him. Grey and black waves roll over each other, slamming on the ship and swallowing the bodies that fall into its embrace. Fourteen, fifteen...
He throws his axes aside and dives headfirst.
The shock leaves him breathless.
But he was expecting it. The Pirate tightens his lips and forces his eyes open. Cold electrifies him, numbing him instantly, but he'd be dead before he stopped moving. He swims down, and the ocean accepts him in her embrace. It pulls him in, making him swim all the faster — a deadly trap. He knows it will be near impossible to swim the other way.
But first, he must find you. Twenty-five, twenty-six.
Bodies float past him, but none are you. Blood trails upwards like crimson smoke, calling the sharks and the fish to a feast. It's getting darker, the light diffusing and weakening. Spirits guide me.
He doesn't see you.
Anger burns so brightly that it turns to pure dread. Thirty, thirty-one.
No.
He swims desperately, plunging into the dark. The Pirate isn't sure if his lungs can take the journey back to the surface, but he goes lower still.
Forty-one. Forty-two.
NO!
Bubbles burst from his lips. He yells, but the ocean drinks it in. There's no more air in his searing lungs, and yet, he gives a powerful stroke towards the depths. If this is to be your graveyard, let him share it with you.
The Pirate always knew he would die at sea. He always—
A body floats in a veil of darkness.
Your hair flows around you like tendrils that sway in a peaceful stream— your skin drinks in the last of the sunlight. Your head is tilted back, your arms slightly spread, and, for a heartbeat, the Pirate drifts shock-still because he has never seen a more beautiful being.
You, at the heart of the ocean, look like one of the forgotten goddesses you're always talking about.
With eyes closed and mouth parted. You are beautiful, but you also look dead.
If he had any more air, he would shout so loud that it'd rival the ocean. It would have parted the waters. But alas, all he can do, as his lungs start to scream for release and his limbs get heavier, is swim towards you.
He catches your arm and pulls you to him. You don't react; just go along as if you're a seaweed. He can't tell if you're cold because his hands have long stopped feeling. He holds you tight with one arm looped around your waist and starts the fight of his life.
Before, the ocean drank him in. Now, it fights for every meter. He kicks and swims his arm, as his head gets lighter. He pulls you after him, teeth barred, but his heart slows. His eyes are set on the light of the surface, but the edges start to cave in, his vision tunneling to darkness.
He swims as fast as he can.
It's not fast enough.
Your head rests on his collarbone. The Pirate wonders if he should use the last of his strength to turn his head and kiss you one last time.
He doesn't. He keeps kicking and pushing and pushing and...
He's half alive when finally, finally.
He breaks the surface.
"Captain!"
.
.
.
You awake... gradually.
Your head swims in its own ocean, and thoughts are as sluggish as a beam of light through water. You blink tiredly and feel a crushing weight on your chest. "Ah," you let out a painful breath, but by the gods, it's a breath.
Your throat burns, your arms are limp, but a gentle fire crackles nearby, and a heavy mantle covers your body. You know where you are instantly. The ground sways to tranquil waves, and the windows behind a massive desk tell of a sky painted in blue.
The captain's cabin.
You were saved. You're alive.
Another broken breath bubbles past your lips. It sounds almost like a sob, but if you cry, you cry in relief. And it feels like something, so you do it again.
"Are those happy tears, peach? Or are you in pain?"
Your breath catches and, with the will of a titan, turn your head on the pillow. It's a testament to how out of it you are that you missed the King of Pirates perching on the side of your bed. He looks... as tired as the drag of his voice. His long, angular face looks gawkier, and his hair falls in long, damp streaks made even darker by the water.
The lines around his mouth and eyes have never been so stark. He's shirtless, and his pants cling to his legs like they're soaked still. He watches you with his lips pressed into a thin line, and his brows furrowing deeply. "Can you speak?" he asks. His voice has none of the bravado it usually carries. It's spoken from low in his chest.
Your darling pirate. You reach a hand towards him, and he immediately grabs your fingers, holding you gently. He's cold, you realize. He feels so cold.
"Can you speak?" he asks again, leaning down to seek your gaze.
You blink, realizing you were staring at his cut thumb. "I— yes." Your voice sounds different too. Coarse.
The Pirate cradles your hand closer, but his face stays as intense. "Are you in pain?"
You want him to come under the mantle. "Yes," you admit, tugging on his hand. "But it's tolerable."
He doesn't move closer. "You shouldn't tolerate anything." You snap your eyes up, surprised at his growling tone. Your Pirate shows his teeth to no one in particular, and his hand is so careful, but you can see the tension in his shoulders.
His black eyes find yours, and they are on fire. "We're on the trail of those raiders," he tells you. "They targeted us specifically. I'm going to tear them limb by limb until they tell me why." The black deepens, darkening. He's furious. "And then, when I find whoever gave the order, they're going to beg their God to have never been born. I'll put their hideout to the torch and salt the fucking earth. Spineless, miserable—"
You pull on his hand. "You're not going anywhere like that," you say, gesturing at his state. He looks a mess, and he's probably feeling like a wreck. He needs to rest. "Least of all serve revenge."
The Pirate's eyes flash. "They killed you."
"I'm right here."
"You didn't see yourself. Spirits, the sea was claiming you. I barely got there in time."
"But you did."
"I almost didn't."
"You did." You push up and grab his face in your hands. His eyes are still wild, but he finally fixes them on you. "You did. You saved me. I'm here." You sweep your thumbs over his cheekbones. "Please," you whisper. "Just come here."
It takes a while, but ultimately, his gaze softens. His lips uncurl, and the man you love returns from the precipice. "I can't lose you," he says, pressing his cheek to your palm.
Your eyes swell up. "Of course, you can," you say. "But today, you didn’t. Let’s cling to that, my love."
Your Pirate slips under the mantle, arms looping around you, cold body pressing on yours. You hug him to you, hand caressing his back, and press your face to the crook of his neck. He smells of blood and salt.
"Breath loudly," he asks you, fingers diving into your hair. Gently, he tilts your head until you look up at him. "Do that for me, treasure?"
You nod as the tears overspill and flow down your cheeks. He rewards you with a kiss.
You're on the verge of sleep, warm in his embrace, when his voice rumbles by your ear. "... I'm still going to kill them."
You smile.
- - -
A hand crushes your throat.
It's large and strong, and you're caught off-guard. You try to crack the wrist with the pummel of your dagger, but it's as if you hit stone.
Shit.
The man slams your head on the wall, and the world splits in two. You're reeling, your daggers fall from limb fingers, as he drags you down and slams your head a second time on the ground.
Blood pours over your eyes, and you see his twisted, cruel smile painted in red. "Say goodnight, heretic," his revolting voice booms before he plunges your head into the stream.
Water envelops you, but its embrace does nothing to ease the crushing hand on your windpipe. It cuts off air, but then, the man's grip loosens just enough that water can seep past your lips and flood your insides.
Panic has you trashing.
You claw at his wrist, at his face, distorted through the water, but he only laughs. You kick and punch, you squeeze his damned wrist, but your strength is faltering, and your vision blurs, and you can feel yourself falling.
Gods. No.
Your arms can't hold themselves any longer. They splash onto the stream. You're vanishing. It doesn't even hurt anymore. Your eyes are locked on that distorted smile, on the man draining your life.
Neia...
She was there. She was right there.
But she was surrounded, and you know there's no one coming. You wish hers could be the last face you saw, but it's him instead. And you can't even look away.
The man says something, but even if you weren't underwater, you couldn't have heard him. Your ears are past listening.
You fall into the realm of night.
Neia. I will see you there. I will wait for you there.
The grip suddenly slackens, but your mind is gone when you're pulled out of the water.
.
.
.
Neia's sword is singing.
She willingly drowns in its sweet voice, succumbing to its call. Neia swings wide, parrying a weak little strike with her broken greatsword. The man wielding the axe falters with the brutality of her clash, and then he screams when she slashes his chest in two.
Blood splatters on her face. It's warm and tastes of metal when she licks it. The world is a wonderful tone of crimson, and Neia its most devoted angel.
"Demon!" Someone shouts.
Nea laughs at the sky. She cuts the man's arm off and kicks the shield of another. It shatters under her metal heel. Her blood pounds against her eardrums, so beautiful, so sweet. She heeds its call, listens to its command.
At last, she can give in. At long fucking last.
"Argh!" Another scream. Neia laughs louder, drowning all the other noise. She's mad, she knows. Right now, she cares little. She can repent later.
They deserve no less. Ambushing her and her sweetling. Fury burns as hot as bliss. Who the hell do they think they are? Neia ducks and slices the kneecap of a Templar. His leg hangs by a single thread. Neia laughs at the image.
Oh, she'll kill them all. She'll kill them because they threatened you, and no one touches you.
She moves before thought, driven only by the sharpest of instincts. There were seven; two remain. One thing she’ll admit about these bastards is that they don't run. They’re not cowards, she’ll give them that.
She leaps to the left, parrying a sword aimed at her jugular before she crushes the Templar's nose with her elbow. The other jumps on her back, and Neia cackles as she sends him flying overhead.
He crashes violently, and she raises her sword...
There are two left.
There should be three.
Neia stops mid-swing. The world pulses in its mad song, but she doesn't dance to its tune any longer. Slowly, as if time has wrapped, Neia turns to the side, yellow eyes scanning the battlefield...
A templar dressed in heavy armor is bent over a deep stream of rushing water. His arm is half plunged into the freezing current. Your bottom half helplessly kicks the dampened earth.
Her sword sings.
Neia no longer listens.
She blinks and finds herself right there. She grabs the Templar's head and squeezes. He screams when her thumbs plunge into his eyes, drawing tears of red blood. He goes limp. Neia snarls and throws him to the side. Part of her yells to follow, to jump on top of him and tear him apart with her teeth and nails. But she doesn't.
You don't get up. You stay slackened in the water.
Neia has only ever feared God. "My Father in Heaven," she hears a voice like her own talk. Footsteps rush from behind, but she can't move. She can only stare at you. "Lord of Salvation, if you take her, I'll burn your world to the ground."
Neia reaches down and pulls you from the stream. Water flows past your frozen lips.
The blade is inches away from the back of her head when, with unnatural speed, Neia turns and holds it. The Templar's eyes blow wide as she slowly rises to her feet, a sword stuck in her hand, eyes two gates to the fiery pit of hell she crawled out of.
You lay behind her, cold and lifeless.
"When you meet your maker," Neia tells the dead man, her voice like flames. "Tell him He's next."
.
.
.
BAM
A hand heavier than a boulder slams right into the middle of your back.
Your eyes go flying, but when you open your mouth to grunt, water spills out. More is coming up your stomach and pressing into your lungs. You cough and spew more water, heaving in the dirt.
BAM
Another slap. It gushes out a small river. Your eyes fill with tears at the pain of it, but you can do nothing but keep retching. You want to breathe. Oh, God, you need to breathe.
"Spit it out." BAM
You cough one last time, and now only a dribble mixed with saliva comes out.
The same hand that assaults you sweeps your hair out of the way as finally, you drink in a precious breath of air.
Your lungs burn, but it's the sweetest burn you've ever tasted.
"Spit all of it," Neia commands, but as harsh as her tone is, her hands are gentle as they caress your hair. She puts one on your back, soothing the spot she was slapping. "Don't let any inside."
You nod, coughing, and reach for her. Neia grabs your hand, fingers intertwining with yours. They're sleek with blood, and you feel the leaking wound on her palm. "What—"
"Doesn't matter," Neia says. She waits for a beat, and when you can finally breathe somewhat regularly, Neia carefully turns you over. You are out of strength, so you lay on the hard ground, looking up at the woman who claimed your heart.
Her white hair is stained with blood, as are her face and armor. Her scar tightens at her squeezed lips, and a little cut right beneath her eye cries red tears down her cheek.
Her eyes are wild still, brimming with a frantic light, but you can tell she's trying her best to hold back. To come back from bloodlust.
"Are they gone?"
"Their flesh will nourish the earth," Neia answers with a growl. She takes a deep breath, and when she opens her eyes again, she seems more in control. "Don't worry about that, sweetling. How are you?"
You give a breathless laugh. "Been better."
"Could've been worse, too. I owe someone an apology." Neia pauses, and then her brows pull together as she studies you. Her free hand brushes your jaw and then envelops your neck. "You're bruised here. A hand imprint."
You look to the side. "It's his."
"Hm." Neia hums, fingers still exploring your sore skin. "We'll fix that."
You snap your eyes at her and catch the little smirk on her lips. "Neia," you chastise, but your cheeks warm.
She chuckles before leaning down and kissing you in the middle of the forehead. "We should leave. We're exposed here," she says, looking up and surveying your surroundings. You do the same but are stuck on the bodies lying nearby.
Death claims this small valley by the stream. But it doesn't claim you, and it doesn't claim Neia. "Alright," you say, pushing yourself to sit. Your body hurts all over, making you cringe.
Neia rises to her feet, and then unceremoniously loops one arm under your knees, another under your back, and lifts you to her arms. You start in surprise, but she presses you against her breastplate.
"Let's go," she says, large strides taking you both away from what would be your grave.
You don't fight it. You simply lean in, kiss her cheek, and let your head rest on her shoulder. She'll take you to safety. You bet your life on it.
Comments
Rachel
Omg I feel so stupid, it's God that's who she owes an apology to. 😂😭 I've read it so many times and it just hit me.
Lauriane
the bridal carry aaaaa 😳😳
Marie Strange
How can I heart this harder?? 🖤🖤🖤
Rita Wolf
Good soup 😌👌🏼
M.G
ummm tears! Beautiful and sad writing pieces! thank you again for sharing your stories with us!
musica
"Lord of Salvation, if you take her, I'll burn your world to the ground." This line. THIS LINE. Just. With the whole context of who Neia is, and the strength of her belief? I want that tattooed on my soul, engraved on my tombstone, and passed down my family line like a precious heirloom. At this point, there is basically nothing I wouldn't do for Neia.
sunday
Love TPK & Neia and these were so lovely and emotional. However… I’m terrified for Romanus and their habit of nearly drowning lol 😭
ameartthyst
Wow I loved these two prompts, the desperation in their actions and the pure rage. Absolutely loved reading it, definitely got chills 💕💕
Leialie
Poor Romanus, almost drowned again. Seems water doesn't get along with them 🤣 At least there's always a darling someone to save them from the depths!
