Sastasha Coves – The Turning Blade

The pirate captain paced with arrogance, but not recklessness — keeping his distance from the ensnared Marauders. He may have been theatrical, but he wasn’t foolish. There was still fight left in the net.

He didn’t draw a sword. He drew a pistol.

His voice dropped to a growl as he aimed it toward the nearest Marauder. “Now then… let’s have a word before we start leaving corpses.”

The other pirates chuckled, circling, weapons drawn. The Marauders gritted their teeth. They could break free, but not before someone got shot. And they knew it.

So did Finn.

From his position behind the crates, Finn traced the line of the net’s rigging to a crude lever fixed along the cavern wall — guarded lazily by a single pirate.

He moved.

The pirate didn’t even register the motion until it was too late. A short gasp, and then a thud. Finn was already pulling the lever.

The net slackened.

The Marauders, no longer immobilised, shoved the ropes aside and rose with force — soaked, angry, but armed.

The pirate captain spun in shock. “What in the—?!”

He turned toward the rigging, saw the downed guard, but didn’t notice anyone else. He pointed his pistol at the Marauders.

Too late.

A dagger struck his hand, knocking the weapon clear. Blood followed quickly after, and a scream echoed off the stone.

By the time his crew surged forward with drawn cutlasses, the Marauders were already loose — and ready.

A full brawl erupted.

Steel clashed against steel. Voices rang out. The captain raised his uninjured fist and roared orders—

Silence.

A blade slit cleanly across his throat from behind. His body crumpled without ceremony, blood soaking into the rock.

Finn stood behind him, already lowering the knife, already moving on.

Resolution

With their leader dead, the pirates faltered. The Marauders, now fully unleashed, tore through them with calculated rage. One by one, the pirates were knocked down and subdued with the kind of force that left bruises lasting months.

When it was over, they gathered what rope they had — the same net the pirates had used — and pulled it tight over the bound crew, pinning them to the cavern floor.

A fitting reversal.

Wyrnzoen stepped over the last tied pirate, wringing seawater from his sleeve, and exhaled hard.

He looked over at Finn, who was wiping his dagger clean with the same calm he’d had entering the fight.

“You waited long enough,” Wyrnzoen said with a crooked grin.

Finn looked up, slid the dagger back into its sheath, and gave a faint shrug.

“Sorry. I thought you’d enjoy the spotlight a little longer.”

Wyrnzoen blinked — then laughed, a low, hoarse thing.

“Sharp little bastard.”

Finn said nothing more. The corner of his mouth twitched — maybe a smile. Maybe not.