The splinters were the least of Lucian's worries as he staggered up, barely raising his arms in time to block the kick aimed at his head.
The pirate appeared in front of him in a blink of an eye, and the next kick that followed was equally fast. The impact rattled through Lucian's forearms like a hammer on an anvil.
Lucian stabbed his dagger toward the man's side at the same time as the momentum flung him into the opposite wall, wood cracking on impact.
He followed up instantly, hurling a tear gas bomb at the pirate's feet. For a heartbeat, he thought it worked.
"Street rat tricks," the pirate snarled, his sword whipped through the room. The tear gas slammed straight into Lucian's face.
His eyes burned shut as he burst from the wooden structure and leaped to the lower deck, only for a spear to whistle toward his face. Lucian caught the hilt by pure reflex and yanked hard, trying to pull the wielder into a knee strike.
The pirate however, used the momentum to drive a brutal elbow into Lucian's throat, followed by a punch to his mask.
Lucian reeled back, almost losing his mask.
"Did he really kill Woodheart?" One of the pirates muttered, analyzing Lucian while they closed in like sharks.
Lucian' couldn't breathe properly, his throat burning from the hit as his limbs continued to move. His fist carried an explosive force with each hit, yet his body wasn't ready for the aftermath of those punches. The recoil rattled his bones and the sheer force made his own muscles tear.
The moment he saw a crack in the pirate's formation, Lucian rushed forward, ignoring his screaming body as he attempted to flee again.
The pirate's astral energy burst out, the gravity field crushing Lucian's body back in the pirate's direction.
Lucian released a wave of his own to cancel it. However, the aftershock of their clashing skills threw him off his feet.
The wood creaked and snapped under the pressure, as the iron railings bent like noodles. Lucian felt like his ribs were about to collapse, barely holding himself together.
The pirate was also struggling to breathe, his face turning purple, but still looking in better shape than Lucian.
Lucian pushed his shackled powers to their limit, his muscles bulging against his clothes as another pirate appeared. His palm cracked his armor, sending him flying into the rest of the group like a projectile.
"I don't want war," Lucian's voice was strained as he tried to convey his desire for peace. He had a feeling that the pirates would not listen, "Being enemies is not Glory's intention."
"Glory's intentions don't matter when you sail into our territory," the tall pirate said, his sword slicing the air as he rushed Lucian, "Your existence here is an act of war."
Lucian dodged the sword, but the force that followed caught him off guard. A wave of energy hit him like a physical barrier, sending him skidding across the floor toward the group of pirates. His feet left deep grooves in the wood, making it splinter and chip. Pain lanced through his ribs.
Lucian wove through their assault as much as he could, only for bone spikes to erupt unpredictably from the pirates' knuckles, impaling the wooden walls and railings around him.
The pirates laughed again, circling tighter, taking turns in fighting him.
Lucian always chose his opponents meticulously. Throughout his rise to power, he specifically targeted either weaker foes he could easily overwhelm, or stronger enemies against whom he had already secured absolute leverage through traps, debts, or blackmail. He avoided direct confrontations and often prevented people from picking fights with him in the first place, ensuring he never entered a battle he hadn't already won.
This... this was different. These pirates had prepared, they knew he was coming, and he had walked right into their web. Ash had observed him enough to know how he fought and relayed it to the pirates, but how? He was under Lucian's surveillance the whole time. Was there something he missed?
Lucian's shackled power was leaking out of him, withholding their attacks and distorting the air around him.
He was not a knight, but a brawler who used dirty tricks to win. He met their weapons with his bare hands, bending them with the heat of his touch, except for the blessed sword.
They soon throw their weapons away and use their bare hands to punch and kick him, relying on their bodies instead. Lucian wasn't trained to fight this way. The way their limbs extended and twisted in impossible angles, was not something he could predict.
He jumped to a higher level deck, avoiding their attacks. The narrow space of the walkway made them form a single line to come after him. He threw more tear bombs, inflicting himself at the same time, giving up his eyesight in exchange. He then quickly slipped through their attacks, fleeing from the scene.
He activated his third eye to see his surroundings, choosing a path with the least resistance. His body moved like a ghost, his form blurring as he made sharp turns, his feet barely touching the ground as the shackled state propelled him forward.
He couldn't defeat all of them alone. He could escape with the help of his feral army, but shook away the thought before it could form.
He saw his simple, loyal ferals, who just wanted to build sandcastles, play and breed, being sliced to ribbons in his mind. He had promised he would never let them be used as mindless meat shields, and they trusted his every word. They trusted him to lead them, not leave them to die.
Going to war with the whole Black Heart would be suicide, and dying before clearing his sins was not on his bucket list.
Lucian ran and ran, until he spotted slave markets, brothels, and many other places where the scent of human misery was strong.
He began to remove his clothes as he ran. First the outer layer, then the armors, until he was only in his trousers and shirt.
He put the mask, armplates, and the clothes in a bag and threw it into a sewer drain.
The slaves wore nothing but rags, and he needed to blend in with them, so he tore the bottom of his shirt to make it look raggedy. Dumped his boots in a trash pile and walked barefoot.
The shirt still looked new, so he searched for a change of clothes in the area. It was dark. The smell of wet fur and piss reached his nose as he climbed down a ladder to a filthy alleyway.