Episode 30

Jonathan shook his head. Why was he looking back now? The past was dead and buried, along with that child.

It was meaningless.

It didn't make sense, and it didn't do him any good. He took a deep breath.

He was strong now.

Strong enough that no one could take a single thing more from him. That was true freedom. It had been a long road with many detours, but at last the boy born in the garbage was free.

Yes. That was all he should think about.

"Leonard... Brother..."

"Yes?"

Jonathan grimaced at the sound of his voice. It was the voice of the man he'd thought of as his brother for so many years, it was true, but at the same time it was still so strange. Forced, dead.

It was painful.

It sounded so much like him, but at the same time it couldn't be further from what it should be. And not just the voice, of course. The man himself.

There was a spark there. The spark of the soul, of life, as one would like to put it.

That was a fact. But how much?

Thinking about such things, he was at a loss for words.

"Nothing. Forget it.

He sent Leonard to man the helm, taking the ship to the next planned destination. But not verbally. He did it with a mental command, because he owned him. Because Leonard was no different at all from the hundreds of undead without will in his possession.

I'll feel better when I get some rest, Jonathan thought as he retreated to his cabin. And he sat down in the chair.

Yes, in the chair.

Maybe he should sleep in the bed, but he didn't feel able to relax in it, for whatever reason. He would have a better chance of falling asleep, he thought, if he sat down to do some work. Exhaustion would do the rest. He hoped.

Falling asleep in a chair wasn't ideal, but he'd slept in much worse places.

This is all mine, he thought, eyes closed in the chair, fists resting on his forehead. And I will fight tooth and nail to keep it. Life is a war.

Eventually, without realizing it, he fell asleep.

——

His eyes snapped open.

He almost literally jumped out of bed, preparing to fight, his heart beating painfully against his chest.

But nothing had happened to him.

There was no one and nothing here. Except himself, of course.

"Shit. A dream, of course."

He'd had a nightmare. Adam, at his bedside, raising a knife to end his life while he could only watch as if hypnotized. His reaction had been only at last, hand in hand with the end of the dream.

No way could he be here, on his boat. But the idea that he had snuck into his cabin just like that was even more ridiculous. At the very least, the fight would have woken him up much earlier.

His head recognized it.

Jonathan put a hand to his chest, just above his heart. But the thing wouldn't stop hammering. It had seemed all too real.

"Just a dream." It was normal for him to be afraid enough to see him in his nightmares, but that wouldn't stop him from doing what he had to do.

Oh, and by the way, he hadn't even slept in bed.

Jonathan got up from the chair. He was breathing heavily and his face was covered in sweat. But at least he was fully awake, now. He had too many real problems to worry about to be chasing ghosts.

He stepped out of the cabin.

The first thing he noticed was that he had slept much longer than expected. The sun was not going down, but was just now coming back up.

Which meant that he had slept through the afternoon and the night as well.

Unbelievable.

Nothing had happened while he had been resting, but that was no excuse. He had to see to it that something like that didn't happen again. He wouldn't be so lucky the next time, or the third time, the thing was that sooner or later he would pay for that carelessness.

Because life was a war. A constant battle.

Especially for guys like him.

He had slept so little during these days that of course in the end he had fallen asleep and overslept. He should try to get at least four hours of sleep every night.

Maybe more, but it was too much to expect these days. If he wasn't dreaming about some creepy shit he was dreaming about something else equally disturbing. Ghosts danced in his mind all night. So many ghosts, so many regrets.

"Actually, I'm alone. If I don't give them an order, they're not going to do anything...." Talking to himself might be a bad habit, but he had crossed too many lines for that to be the very thing that made him worry about his sanity. At least it reassured him. Sometimes.

"Jonathan." Elizabeth's voice, suddenly.

He winced, as if afraid of her.

"Yes?"

He turned to look at her, but she merely returned a vacant stare. More than returning his gaze, in fact, he had a feeling she was looking right through him.

Maybe that was for the best. He didn't like her eyes on him. Not anymore.

Jonathan waited, but the silence showed no sign of ending. That was probably it. He turned away, almost one hundred percent confident that the conversation, if it could be called that, was over.

The spark of life.

He'd preserved something, in her and Leonard, in dozens of others. Victims like him.

But, just like any other spark, it just....

"I don't want to die." She said it in the most natural tone ever in her resurrection, as if it were her last crystallized thought. The spark he had dragged away from the light, not allowing it to rest in peace where the gods waited.

A cold hand grabbed his heart and squeezed as if to make it burst like a ripe melon left in the sun.

Suddenly, he couldn't breathe again, in a few words.

"You won't die. I promise."

He looked into her eyes without fear, shame or guilt for the first time since that fateful day, promising that. Promising the world.

As he had done with his wife and daughter.

But this time he would keep his promises.

This time he had realized he wasn't alone. Not really.

——

Jonathan unsheathed his sword, approaching the man. Even though he was going to kill him, he had forgotten his name. And he wasn't the least bit interested in remembering it.

"Wait. Wait." That was the really important thing.

For some reason, the man stepped back precisely now, with his hands in front of him as if to protect himself. As if telling him to stop.

Jonathan clicked his tongue.

He had to be patient, but it was hard. It had never been his strong suit. Quite the contrary, as a pirate, he had done what he wanted when he wanted and taken what came his way as well.

Like that child, dead and buried... Well.

Well, he had taught Jonathan, you might say, that there was no point in holding back.

"What? You gave me permission."

Now, though, he was giving him a hard time.

Jonathan could understand his fear, but only in a distant way. I mean, he had already explained everything to him, hadn't he? And not only had he agreed, he had been the first of them to step forward.

"I know I just did, but... I don't want to die."

Jonathan clicked his tongue, again. How stupid. What a stupid thing to say.

"You're not going to die. Not really."

He'd made more or less the same speech to the crowd, explaining everything. And he would explain it again, if necessary. But he preferred not to. Being forced to repeat himself was irritating. A waste of time.

"It will hurt. It will hurt," he stammered awkwardly, but at least Jonathan understood everything now. That's all it was. Fear of pain, no matter how quickly death would come to him. "I don't..."

"You're just scared," Jonathan said, quietly and soothingly. He wasn't performing, his anger had faded. Because now he understood. But Jonathan also understood the man would regret it if he didn't take this opportunity, they were both the same. Victims. "I know that hatred is above all else.

The man whose name he still couldn't remember opened his mouth to say whatever it was. Some other nonsense, for sure.

But Jonathan had had enough of his protests, so he decided to make things easier for him.

In other words.

He beheaded him in the blink of an eye.

The crowd scattered, fleeing in terror, before the man's head hit the ground. Screams filled the morning air, and that same air carried them away.

Maybe he should have seen that reaction coming and held back. Should have had a little more patience with that man.

But he was angry enough that the man had started to have second thoughts only after he got to the starting line. It had never crossed his mind that the others, who should understand what he was offering them, would do the same. Or worse.

This was something much bigger than him. Or them.

Than anyone.

"Really? Are you really going to make trouble now? Really!" he shouted, a complete fiend, if there was any chance of calming them down and making them listen to the voice of reason he had shattered it.

He simply couldn't contain himself. Just like before.

He lunged for those who had fled, along with his army of undead. He'd tried the same tactic as in his hometown and the results had been good.

They had listened, been willing to give themselves to him body and soul. Literally.

They were simply afraid to take that leap of faith.

But, working for him, all their fear and pain would be gone forever. And he would take revenge for them, for all of them.

And many more to come.

——

When it was all over and they got away, again with Leonard behind the helm, Jonathan suddenly felt sick. It wasn't long before he was bent precariously over the edge of the boat.

Vomiting.

It was intense, like a river of lava flowing down his throat, but brief, at least. Not that he had much in his stomach to throw up, anyway.

Still, he wasn't off the hook. It wasn't that easy.

He didn't throw up anything else, but he gagged anyway. For quite a while. The whole experience fucked him up so bad that he got a little dizzy, well, quite a bit, he was this close to falling overboard.

And no one would have had the initiative to catch him. They couldn't.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" Jonathan wiped the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand.

He didn't really understand.

Until recently Jonathan had been feeling great, about the victory, about his powers growing. The same feeling of his feet not touching the ground that had gripped him since his Arise skill moved into a new stage. Light, confident, on top of the world.

——

Jonathan and the crew of the Red Eagle had already attacked two cities, as well as a couple of towns and settlements along the way.

News of what he was doing must have spread throughout the kingdom by now. If the Count hadn't warned them beforehand, imagining what he would do.

One way or another, it didn't matter. It wouldn't change anything.

That was because he had only one reason for choosing the next place to collect undead soldiers. What he was looking for, primarily, was others like him. Victims of the Count, eager for revenge.

In other words, he could use any part of the kingdom.

So they could be forewarned, but they couldn't see him coming, couldn't really prepare.

One thing he did have to admit, though. With every town, village or shabby settlement he raided in search of soldiers, he was finding it harder to go unnoticed. Not to mention that the Red Eagle was getting too small for so many people. Small even for a crew where only one person needed to eat, piss, shit and sleep.

So, in the next town he took not only soldiers, but also a second boat. The least bad one he could find out there. He couldn't be too picky.

Jonathan checked the stats tab page one more time. It was as if he couldn't stop. All of his stats had been over a hundred and bordering on two hundred, even.

It was still nothing compared to the Count, of course.

But he wasn't going to spend months or years trying to catch up. He needed a large army and he needed the power to fight him head to head, even if he was at a great disadvantage.

At Elesbury, he hadn't even been able to do that. Not really. It was as if he had been toying with him from the beginning. But this time things would be different.

Unlike all the places he'd stormed and jumped along the way, the Count would indeed be able to prepare for his arrival. But that was okay.

Besides, Jonathan had an ace up his sleeve.

He hoped it would be enough. But he also had a backup plan or two, just in case. In any case, he wasn't going to wait for all his stats to reach the level cap. Anyway, he didn't have that much time even if he wanted to be patient. Not with everyone after him, wanting to put his head on a pike.

Even though the Count was the real enemy.

The hour of truth was approaching.

The second battle. The final war.

Jonathan couldn't wait, however it turned out, it would all be resolved soon. And the thought was comforting in a way.

——

"My lord... Are you worried about something?"Someone called out behind him.

The Count didn't turn to look at him, didn't bother to cover his back. If it was someone else with a desire for revenge, they couldn't kill him. And if it was someone who simply wanted to talk to him, or suck up to him, he didn't care.

They weren't human beings to begin with.

There was only one other human being in this world, only one person just like him. And he wasn't here. He wasn't even close. Yet.

He guessed that was the second reason, seeing him standing on the balcony, his hands on the railing, his gaze lost in the distance. For...

How long had he been doing this? Maybe it really was worrying.

It's not like The Count really needed to eat or sleep, after all, so he might have been.... He didn't want to think about that, in any case.

That guy's behavior was weird, in any case.

As much as he wanted to suck up to him, the rest of the pawns tended to quickly pass him by, hoping he wouldn't see them. And that they would have no reason to turn around and approach him, if he saw them at all.

So it was weird. But he also couldn't care less.

Whatever he was doing, at this point he was only able to think about Jonathan. He might come. Either to accept his offer or to try to kill him. He seemed to have opted for the former, based on the rumors and reports, but the idea made him happy anyway.

He was lonely after all.

"I'm just waiting." He himself wasn't sure why he had bothered to respond to something that was like a piece of furniture to him.

No matter what, he got swept along with the flow more often than not. It wasn't easy to live this way.

All his energy, as he had told Jonathan, he believed, was focused on simply existing. Holding on to whatever he could, for as long as he could.

Only it was an unfair game, with no time limit and where you couldn't realize you'd lost it. Because it was forever. Complete and total.

That's why...

He needed death or a person to share the journey with. A mirror to look into. An equal. People began to recognize themselves through their similarities and differences with others, but he lacked a mirror, he was lost within himself. The world was full of shadows and meaningless sounds and....

"For what, my lord?"

Like that.

"For... my other half, of course." The words came out easily.

The Count said this without looking away from the calm waters for a moment, nor from the horizon beyond, sharp but full of promise.

——

Jonathan and his ships arrived at Dunwich along with the nightfall.

Ships, indeed. Five already, and hundreds of soldiers. He had taken the opportunity to amass more strength when and where he could along the way. All his stats had already exceeded two hundred, but he was still a long way from comparing himself to Adam, evidently.

Still, this should be enough.

Not to take the city or to finish off the Count, but to get the ball rolling. So to speak.

Jonathan had the upper hand in any fight. Because there would always be casualties, naturally. And all casualties would be converted to his side.

He would bring this city to its knees with his own army, the people who were supposed to protect them.

He had waited long enough. He had prepared enough.

He couldn't wait another second.

He only regretted one thing. Elizabeth and Leonard weren't with him, it had seemed too dangerous to bring them into what, one way or another, would be the last battle.

He wanted to save them, not make use of them, like the rest.

Still, he wished to have them by his side. If only for their presence. He didn't need words. He wouldn't hear anything he wasn't already saying to himself, anyway.

So, if they could be here today, each on one side, the three of them against the world....

But they weren't here. And things didn't work that way.

Though it didn't change anything, Jonathan wondered why they had fired so quickly. Did they already know it was him, so sure were they?

Or could it be that the Count had ordered them to shoot down any approaching ship, no questions asked, indiscriminately?

Jonathan had hoped to enter the city before he noticed their presence. That was why he had waited until nightfall. it had gone wrong, evidently, but it was no big deal.

They just had to get to shore before the boats were shot down. They should be able to do that, at least. Or if not to shore, at least close enough to swim the rest of the way without too much trouble; close, very close.

At his command, one of the undead erected a stone barrier on the deck of the boat he was on.

The rest of the ships should also get similar defenses. They should. He had practiced along the way, testing the limits of his powers and how far they could interpret an order but it wasn't all clear to him yet.

He hadn't given himself that much time.

In any case, the stone barrier was suspended in the air, covering just enough. No more, no less.

He had been very careful about that. That it wouldn't block his view, that it wouldn't brush or interfere with the sails, otherwise it would be better just to let them hit him and hope for the best.

The rain of flaming arrows hit the barrier, but it held. For the time being.

The arrows also sank into the deck, into the hull of the ship, ripped the sails here and there, but not enough to affect the ship's speed, fortunately.

Still, that was the beginning of the end.

Flaming arrows, as he had said. The tip hadn't done much to the sails.

But now they were on fire, and the fire was spreading very quickly. It had always been a race against the clock. Now he simply had much, much less time.

So little that he certainly couldn't worry about how the other ships were doing. Just knowing they were still standing was enough for him.

When the rain of arrows temporarily stopped, he had the barrier thrown away, watched it sink shortly before a fireball impacted nearby, shaking the waters.

Good defense, but it blocked his vision in the meantime. Not entirely, but enough to be annoying.

Jonathan would make good use of these seconds in the open, before the archers charged their arrows again. The undead he had employed for that could recreate the barrier as many times as it took, after all. As long as he didn't lose them.

Or run out of steam, but there was no way that would happen before they reached the shore.

The ball would start rolling from that very moment. And then there would be no one to stop it. They proceeded with the suicidal charge to shore, without hesitation; the dead knew no fear. They had already lost everything they could.

Except the desire for revenge.

The ship he was on, which was not the Red Eagle, was the first to fall. Almost as if they had known. As if they had seen him from the battlements, somehow.

The arrows sticking everywhere and the fire spreading, consuming everything it touched and the oxygen, had done damage, but not enough to stop them from proceeding.

Until then, however, none of the rocks had hit them.

It was difficult to target a moving ship with a catapult after all, but in the end they were lucky. The stone fell from the skies, impacting like a meteorite, splitting the ship in half. Not the ship that had been the closest thing to home for so many years, but it would fall too, eventually. He was almost grateful he didn't have to be there to see it.

For he fell into the water.

As his body broke through the surface of the water and the cold enveloped him like the cloak of death, he could only think that he had done well not to bring Elizabeth and Leonard to this place after all.

The world, the light, everything was fading away. Drifting away.

Jonathan had the feeling that it weighed nothing as it sank to the bottom of the sea along with the wreckage of the ship. And that that fading light, the light of the burning ship, blocking out even the moonlight, would be the last thing he would see of the world.