I Be Missin’ Ye so Much

Macha took a slight step back, startled by Tyr's harsh tone. Her head brushed the leaves of the trees, causing the cold snow that rested on the branches to fall to the ground. Brushing against the leaves caused the pine needles to tickle her face as she sunk into the shadows. The Christmas smell of the plant seemed so out of place to her while she focused on masking her presence.

She did not study in depth about demons, so she understood that it would be dangerous for her to help. Although she wanted to assist him, she also did not want to get his way.

In a soft voice, barely above a whisper, she said, "Fine, but be careful. You're more important to me than anything else."

Tyr turned to head back to the village but stopped when he realized he forgot something. The snow crunched loudly as he jogged toward the trees. His arms reached into the darkness and wrapped around Macha, giving her a tight squeeze.

Their armors clinked together and got in the way of the intimate embrace, but he did not care. If anything happened to him, he wanted to make sure she knew he loved her.

He kissed the top of her head and whispered, "Stay hidden. I need to try to stop them."

As he tore himself from her comforting arms, they both mouthed, "Love you," before he turned to walk away.

After reminding her that he cared, Tyr approached the village and thought about how it would be simpler to gather their things and leave the island. Although he could easily do that, it would allow this group to continue terrorizing the world. One day Macha or his sister could be sailing about, only to perish to this demonic horde.

He drew his lances and his fists tightened around the poles. A sneer crossed his face as he thought, "Evil needs nothing more to thrive than for me to do nothing."

He ducked behind a building and recalled the stories he heard about this band of pirates. The tales ranged greatly and lacked any consistency. One story claimed that you could cut the crew up into hundreds of pieces and they would rise back up. Another said they took their fallen with them and that Killigrew would raise them from the dead.

He did not know which was the truth or if they were all made up. All the sailors he knew had a tendency to spin ridiculous tales.

Before he started his attack, he wanted to observe the pirates a bit longer. It was possible that watching them could reveal important information to him.

From the textbooks he read, demons could grant strong powers. They could save a person from death or enhance their natural capacities. All of their gifts came with a price and most of the time it required spirits. For this reason, it was dangerous to bargain with these monsters and carried a heavy stigma. Other than what he studied, he had no personal experience with these rare magic users.

Tyr killed a stray drunkard as he made his way back towards the village center. The tip of his lance easily pierced the woman's chest as she slept. He waited to see if she would rise, but nothing happened. The tension in his shoulders relaxed slightly, and he continued on.

He felt no guilt killing these people. In this line of profession, their hands were as black as the blood that dripped from the throats of the sacrificed women.

As he approached, he saw Captain Killigrew standing in front of ten corpses who were laid out on the dirty floor. Their bodies were frozen solid and their hair still had flakes of snow in it. If this were summer, the bodies would have been covered with maggots, but since it was winter, their skin remained flawless.

Her heavy boots stomped across the wooden stage as she sauntered around the bodies. The heavy fabrics of her skirt tumbled to the ground, and she placed her hand on the first man's chest. She had many rings on her fingers and the stones appeared larger on her knobby knuckles. When her palm touched his chest, she drummed her fingertips along his collarbone while giving him a twisted smile.

The same demonic green glow that surrounded her previously, seeped into the man's heart from her hand. It spread throughout his body and life flowed back into him. Within moments, his complexion warmed, his chest raised, and he took in a deep breath. His eyes fluttered open and a look of terror crossed his face when he viewed the Captain.

The wicked smile still remained on her lips. "Ahh... Henry darlin', I be missin' ye so much," she said sweetly. Her lashes fluttered, and she played with the laces on his shirt.

Her face then twisted and she cried out like a banshee, "Can ye explain the talks o' treason I be hearin'? A li'le birdie whispered all ye plans ta me."

His eyes were wide with fear, "No, I swear..."

She drew her cutlass and lopped off the man's leg. His howls of pain echoed through the night.

The crowd cheered and laughed. A few hollered taunts at the man named Henry.

As the crowd became rowdy, she had her men rip off Henry's clothes, and she pulled the dagger from her boot. Killigrew's sharp blade ran under his skin as she filleted it off. She pinched his elastic skin between her fingers, raising her arm as it came off in long strips. His blood poured down his limbs, and he screamed in agony.

"Please…" he cried, trying to break free.

His struggles caused his flesh to tear in her hand. Giving him a sneer, she threw it to the side and continued her task. Her dark brown eyes twinkled wickedly as she watched him squirm. By the time she kicked him over to do his back, he was dead.

She spat on his corpse and growled, "Ye ne'er could hold out lon' enough ta please me."

After finishing with Henry, she moved to the other men who died. She raised each one and welcomed them back with an intimate kiss. Once the deceased were all raised, she grabbed a bottle from the side, washed her hands with the drink, and motioned for the music to continue.

The band began playing again, and the festivities continued.

Tyr stood in a dark shadow, elated that the man named Henry died and did not revive. It appeared that some of the more terrifying versions of their ability to come back from death were wrong. The Captain could resurrect the dead but seemed to only be able to do it one at a time.

Since he was by himself, he wanted to be safe and assume that all the pirates had this skill. Keeping this in mind, he decided it would be easiest to kill them in a methodical manner. If he started from the outskirts and circled his way in, then they might not realize they were being attacked until it was too late.

Tyr crept along the dark streets that smelled of beer and piss. As he moved, he snapped the necks of the men and women who lay in a drunken slumber.

Only once did he come across a couple in the act of having sloppy sex against a building. The woman kept falling over.

Her slurred voice cried out, "Put it in already..."

"Shut yer trap n 'old still."

Tyr grimaced at sight of the two fumbling around before he drew his lance back and impaled both drunkards through their hearts. He threw their bodies under the post and pier house and continued on. He never understood why people bothered to try to have drunken sex.

The village housed roughly sixty individuals, and it took a while for him to investigate all the buildings. Most of them were empty, but a few had unsuspecting targets.

As the minutes passed, he grew nervous. The longer he was away from Macha, the more he thought of her. He wondered if she ran into trouble, if another group would return, or if she would do something crazy.

After he cleared out the last house, he stopped and glanced at his ring. He wanted to check on her, but time was precious. The more time he spent standing around, the higher the chance that someone would realize the people outside were dead.

The cheerful sounds of fiddles playing and the crowd clapping drifted into the shabby room that he stood in. The metallic smell of blood hit his nose as he stared down at the man he just killed. A crimson river flowed out of the corpse and Tyr stepped over it, striding towards the door.