The Stepstones. Bloodfang Bay.
The bay earned its name from the jagged, needle-like reefs that guarded the island. Ever since Mary the "Bloodwitch" began decorating those spikes with the remains of those who dared offend her, the name had become a byword for death across the Stepstones.
Santos, the steward of Letho "Blackfox," had served his master's family for nearly thirty years. Now, accompanied by ten trembling pirates, he stood on the deck of the Invincible Sea Dragon as it crept toward the heart of Mary's domain.
"Lord Santos!" a young pirate with dark curls and a face full of freckles hissed, his teeth chattering. "What if she... what if she sacrifices us? They say she drinks a cup of virgin's blood every morning and eats a man's heart for dinner! I'm too young to die!"
The other pirates huddled closer together, seeking a warmth that the humid, stagnant air of the bay could not provide.
"Silence," Santos snapped, though his own hands were cold. "If we don't bring Lord Letho back, we're dead anyway. Think of the vultures left at our base. If they find out the 'Black Fox' is caged, do you think they'll let us live out our days in peace?"
His words hung heavy in the air. In the Stepstones, loyalty was often just a lack of better options. For these men, the terror of the witch was a gamble against the certainty of being butchered by their own comrades.
The Invincible Sea Dragon pushed deeper into the bay. The water here was turgid and opaque, looking as if it had been stained with ink. Soon, a surreal world opened before them: the "Blood-Tooth Forest."
These were the famous reefs—monstrous, curved pillars of stone that reached toward the sky like the fangs of a prehistoric beast. Sailing through them felt like entering the mouth of a sleeping leviathan. But the "fruit" these stone trees bore was what truly froze the soul.
Desiccated corpses hung from the summits of the stone pillars in grotesque poses. When the sea breeze caught them, they drifted and spun like banners made of cured human skin.
WHOOO...
As the wind whistled through the stone forest, the pirates felt a localized chill. The water became unnaturally still, as if the forest were drinking the very motion of the waves.
"Look at those bodies," one pirate whispered, his voice cracking. "Doesn't it look like... like something sucked them dry?"
"By the Three-Headed God, shut your mouth!" Santos cursed. He knew that naming a fear only gave it teeth.
"Death... blood... no, stay away!" the freckled youth suddenly shrieked. He was staring at the empty air, his eyes wide and vacant.
THWACK.
Santos didn't hesitate. He brought his heavy cane down on the boy's skull, knocking him unconscious. As the youth slumped to the deck, the tension among the crew broke slightly, replaced by a grim, shared silence.
CAW! CAW!
A flock of ravens with blood-red eyes watched them from the stone fangs. They were larger than any ravens Santos had ever seen, and they didn't flee. They watched the ship with the cold, calculating intelligence of predators.
CREAK... CRUNCH...
The stillness of the sea was broken by the sound of grinding timber. Emerging from the mist was a Swan Ship—or what was left of one. It was a rotted, salt-gnawed husk that looked as though it should have sunk a decade ago. Yet, it drifted toward them with a deliberate, haunting grace.
"Evasive maneuvers! Hard to starboard!" the lookout screamed.
"What in the...?"
Santos watched in horror as the ghost ship mimicked their turn, accelerating with an impossible speed to cut off their path.
"Brace for impact!"
BOOM!
The collision was jarring. Iron grappling hooks flew from the rotted deck, biting into the Invincible Sea Dragon's railing with a screech of tortured metal. A group of lithe, powerful figures leaped across the gap.
Thirty women landed on the deck. They wore simple leather armor reinforced with animal pelts, making them appear broader and more formidable. Santos noted with a sinking heart that these female warriors possessed a physical power that dwarfed his own men.
"We seek your mistress, Mary!" Santos bellowed, his voice breaking under the strain. "We bring word of a dragon at Cutthroat Isle!"
The Amazonian warriors paused, their spears leveled. The crowd parted, and a figure draped in a blood-red shroud emerged.
She was impossibly tall—nearly two meters—and walked with a strange, staccato gait, almost like a bird hopping between branches. Her face was hidden behind a ceremonial mask.
"Mortal," a voice came from beneath the shroud, cold and resonant. "You speak of a dragon?"
"Are you... the Lady Mary?"
"Answer me, mortal!"
The temperature around Santos seemed to plummet. A crushing pressure settled over his chest, making it hard to draw breath. He realized then that he wasn't standing before a woman, but a primordial predator.
"Yes! Lord Letho was taken! Cutthroat Isle has become the lair of a sorcerer! They say he calls dragons from the sky, direwolves from the earth, and sharks from the deep!"
Santos spilled the tale in a frantic rush, exaggerating the "witchcraft" of the enemy in hopes of piquing her interest. He closed his eyes, waiting for the end.
But the end didn't come. Instead, the pressure lifted. He opened his eyes to see the female warriors retreating to their rotted ship.
"Lord Santos... did we... did we win?" a sailor whispered as the ghost ship drifted back into the mist.
"I... I think—"
RUMBLE... RUMBLE...
Santos never finished his sentence. A violent, rhythmic tremor shook the Invincible Sea Dragon, as if something gargantuan were rising from the ink-black depths directly beneath their keel.