Headed by a Snake

Captain Krysaos had done quite well in dragging the enraged creature out of its cage.

It was stronger than Tycondrius had initially estimated... and they only succeeded with so little injury due to good fortune and adequate preparations.

Placing his effects beside him, he knelt down to grab the tree by its end. He lifted it off the man with a strained grunt... and managed to move it a few fulms to the side.

...It would have been much easier had he had both arms to work with.

"Th-thanks," Krysaos muttered... "But my insides are done for, guy. Mushed up like sailor slop..."

Tycon took a deep breath in contemplation.

He still needed to get off the island. Krysaos would greatly expedite that process, so keeping the man alive was a priority.

However... he was trying to discern just how severe the man's injuries were, as to properly allocate his mana usage.

Krysaos did not show signs of a concussion... nor did he seem to have inhaled the creature's Fourth-Circle poison.

Nothing seemed broken, either.

The damage to him seemed to have been limited to minor abrasions and a patch of wooden splinters.

...However, the gentleman was acting as if he were mere ilms away from death.

Tycon was worried there was some hidden malady he was unaware of.

"Tell Ishmael... I'm sorry," Krysaos pleaded.

"I will do so," Tycon shrugged. That was a simple task.

"And tell... Sandpaper Sally... I love her."

"I do not plan on returning to that place," Tycon furrowed his brows.

"Tell.. my mom... I..."

"I don't know who that woman is," Tycon shook his head.

"Then... then tell--"

"Brother-Captain..." Tycon gently interrupted his companion, "please tell me that is not the best you can do."

⟬ ⌈Inspirational Surge⌋ conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ⟭

« System, use about... half the mana necessary-- no, a third should do. »

⟬ Activating. ⟭

Krysaos began to cough with vigor... The healing Skill seemed to be effective.

"Nah... it ain't, LT... It ain't..."

He crawled forward and began digging in the soft dirt with his hands... tossing it haphazardly upon his back, "I'm gonna diiiiiie!! Bury me right here! And bury me with my treasure!!"

Tycon crossed his arms... "You don't have any treasure."

"I have... an amulet... on my neck," Krysaos sniffed... "I wear it to protect me... from venereal diseases."

"That's an incredibly specific magic item," Tycon mused.

"Totally... worth the price."

"...Did you purchase it?"

"Nah," Krysaos mushed his face against the marshy dirt. "Stole it."

"Granted."

Tycon pursed his lips, "I'd imagine your mutinied crew would have taken such a valuable item before abandoning you on the beaches."

Krysaos scoffed, chuckling... "No way. Those guys are all idiots... I have it right--"

...The man got to his knees, grabbing at his chest and flinging dirt about.

"Those SONS OF B*TCHES!!!" He screamed.

Tycon took care not to show his exasperation, "You seem well enough, Captain."

"M-my need for VENGEANCE has healed me to full!"

Tycon sat on his rear and gestured to the lizard skull and heart with his head, "Let's head back to the beach, rest, and empower the ritual in the morning, then."

"Yeap," Krysaos brushed the dirt off his sleeves, "Sounds good, LT."

...

⟬ The next sun... two bells before dawn.⟭

Tycon awoke with the moon and stars still hanging overhead. The time would allow a greater success rate for a dark ritual... the purpose of which was to open a temporary rift to the Plane of the Dead.

His arm was swollen and still pounded in pain when he jostled it. Even with his healing Skill, it would be useless for a week or so.

All battles entailed a certain degree of risk. It was bothersome to have been injured, the other sun... but he had performed to the best of his abilities.

A nonlethal injury taken to thoroughly defeat a bloodline enemy was worthwhile.

He shook Captain Krysaos awake.

"Huh, wha? Ghosts? Piss off, ghost!" He mumbled.

Ishmael materialized out of the darkness in front of Krysaos... and without Tycon needed to expend mana to summon him. That was convenient.

Interestingly, the shadow's left arm dangled uselessly at his side.

The fact reminded Tycon that Ishmael was still a shadow of himself... and at least retained the same general appearances.

The shadow faced Krysaos and gestured the shape of a time-keeping glass with his 'hands'.

"Damn straight," The Captain nodded. "We make exceptions only for hot ghosts."

...It seemed that, even with all of Ishmael's ghostly traits, Krysaos thought of 'ghost' and 'shadow' as completely different entities.

"The spirits won't detect us while we rest in the protective spell circle," Tycon explained.

"Oh, right..." Krysaos grimaced. "I'm still a little mad that you couldn't make it only hide us from the ugly ghosts."

"It was an unreasonable demand, Brother-Captain."

Krysaos' eyes widened, "Wait, can you really do that?"

Ignoring him, Tycon exited the circle, and started towards the rocky area where they erected the summoning ritual.

Krysaos followed in a hurry... mumbling something about fearing nighttime encounters in which he couldn't easily see his partner's face.

Upon reaching the ritual circle, Tycon adjusted the components with the lizard skull as the focus... and directed Krysaos to empower it.

After chanting in Abyssal for a short time, Tycon redirected the formation's mana into the focus... shattering it.

"Uh..." Krysaos frowned, "was that supposed to happen?"

Tycon shook his head, "It seems the skull of an Adamantine-Rank undead cannot handle being the focus of a god-summoning ritual."

"A what now?"

"Sorry, did I misspeak?"

The air chilled, the winds whistled... and a deep... low... villainous cackle thrummed along the far reaches of his senses.

Tycon glanced up with a smile.

It seemed the summoning was a success.

A nine-fulm tall orc in tattered leather robes towered behind Krysaos... in his hands, an oversized warscythe that perfectly fit his oversized build... "Hehe... heh..."

"Wh-where's Ishmael?" Krysaos whispered, his voice cracking as he did.

The shadow, standing adjacent to Tycon, revealed its golden eyes before closing them again.

"Th-thought so," Krysaos gulped... "It's uh... it's standing right behind me, isn't it?"

"Indeed," Tycon chuckled.

Krysaos spun around... then fell on his rear as he looked up-- crawling backward with surprising agility, "Whahahahahahaaaaatt are youuuuuuu?!?!?"

"Sup?" Hades, god of death and the dead, waved a meaty hand.

"This is an old friend of mine," Tycon smirked. "It is nice to see you, Brother-Hades."

"Ahaha... Hey, Tycon," Hades grinned toothily, before sitting down on a large rock.

Tycon furrowed his brows, "Are you quite alright?"

"Wait," Krysaos held up his hand, "Hades? God of death and the dead?"

"Sup?" The orc waved again, "I'm actually... really, really drunk right now."

Tycon raised his eyebrows. Something was off about his massive, Orcish companion-- but he couldn't exactly tell what it was without Hades having explicitly stated as such.

Hades casually twisted his head, scratching at his long unkempt hair as he looked around, "Looks like you killed one o' my-- oh."

"Your what?" Tycon crossed his good arm over his immobile one.

"Nah," The orc shook his head. "Thought it was one o' mine. That kinda thing belongs to the uh... Lizard God, though. You know I don't f*ck with those things, Tycon."

"Granted," Tycon sighed. "I apologize for doubting you."

"It's cool," The orc scoffed. "What's with that pile of dead fish?"

"I collected it," Krysaos grinned. "Hey, big guy, y'wanna join my crew?"

Tycon pursed his lips, "Brother-Captain, Hades is a very busy individ--"

"--Sure," The orc answered with a wide grin.

"HELLS YEAH!!" Krysaos pumped his fist victoriously, "Got an ORC!!"

Tycon wanted to correct the gentleman-Captain, that Hades was not just an orc-- he was a literal God-Rank being...

But... since Hades had accepted, Tycon's worries were meaningless.

"I'd like a favor, Brother-Hades. We're trying to leave this place..."

"Want a ghost-ship? I could turn the two of you into ghosts or somethin'? Give you powers to raise one yourself."

Tycon furrowed his brows, "I'd rather you point us towards any living creatures. I'd assume any recent comers to this island might still have a working ship."

The orc snickered to himself, "What the hells? Bro, that's completely opposite of what I can do."

Tycon placed his hand on his chin, "Really..."

He was grasping at minute chances for a way off of the island... but it didn't occur to him that the avatar of the death god he summoned would be of limited help.

"Ahahaha! Nah, jus' playin'," The orc laughed unapologetically. "Whole island's covered in undeath. 'Course I can see where the pockets of life are."

He drew a line in the sand to direct them to their new destination, "I gotta go, though. Havin' a party with some Nemayans. Vodka for SUNNNS, man."

"It's nearly dawn," Tycon frowned.

"Is it? Seven hells, we'd better get goin' then... You guys wanna teleport over?"

It was admittedly a perfectly viable option for leaving the island... and since Hades offered, it was likely he had access to the spell.

However... it would not be helpful.

"Teleportation is illegal," Tycon narrowed his eyes.

Krysaos' excited face immediately fell into despair.

"So?" The death god asked.

"I'll consider it," Tycon smiled politely.

He wasn't going to consider it seriously. Hades might not have had to worry about the Gatekeeper's Laws, but Tycon did not wish to make yet another powerful enemy.

"Suit yourself," Hades shrugged before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

A god appeared in their midst with little fanfare and disappeared with even less.

It was something Tycon appreciated about his Orcish friend... not overly dramatic about his divine nature... living his life as he pleased.

If only the other gods he'd encountered were so agreeable... then he wouldn't have sought to kill them.