We stopped at a decrepit little island, with nothing more than a little port town of shabby buildings and shady people. Dyson went with Siobhan on the little row boat, leaving me behind with the other dead things. Not that I could feel jealousy, but it was rude of them to assume I didn't want to go.

  The Smuggler’s Den, as it was appropriately called. The docks were lined with questionable cargo, even crates of exotic animals, probably nearly extinct. Even some poor unfortunate monsters. Part of me really wanted to smash every single crate I could find, and free all those creatures. Death would be better than whatever grim fate awaited them here.

  At the same time, where were they going to go? There didn’t appear to be much vegetation or space on this island. The pirates would just catch them again, or kill them anyway. If I brought them on board, I thought, not only would it cause a fuss, but they probably wouldn’t live long either. It wasn't like Siobhan kept a whole lot of food rations around. Undead don’t really eat much.

  Maybe, death was the kinder option. As Jimmy had told me, it was better than being stuck in a miserable existence. If there was one thing this place had an abundance of, aside from the pirates, was other Reapers. They lurked in every shadow, at least two to every ship. I guess when you live a life of thieving and violence, death becomes a constant companion. I started to float away from the ship.

  “Oi, where ya goin’, girl?” Jimmy shouted from above me. He was left to guard the helm. I turned slowly, with a sweet smile.

  "Just thought I’d stretch my legs, take a look around.” I told him.

  The old zombie frowned, “The cap’n gave strict orders for you to stay ‘ere.”

  I laughed, “You think I take orders from her? I’m not bound to this ship.”

  “True enough.” He nodded wistfully. “Don’t be long, or you’ll hear about it later.”

  He wasn't wrong. It seemed like she had been looking for any reason to get rid of me, even after I saved their lives from the siren. Dyson thought she just got freaked out because I was able to use the Scythe through Dyson; which was funny, cause I thought that was what attracted her to him.

  Personally, I thought it was a jealousy thing. Not that it mattered. I’m dead, cold, and not always solid. A living woman beats that any day. Dyson would never pick me over her. Not that I care.

  My feet touched the cold wood of a pier as I manifested. At least while I was here, maybe I could do some good. I didn’t have to go far to find the first one; a crate with holes too small. Inside, a dull whining. I leaned through the side to find two tiger cubs, barely able to lift their heads. They whined a little louder when they saw me.

  “Shh… It’s going to be okay.” I whispered as I reach over to stroke one’s head. Its fur was thin, and course. It broke my heart; if I had one to break. “Shh…” I hummed, hoping to bring them peace. The first one went quiet, its eyes closed and its body relaxed. In a moment, its chest stopped rising. The second one passed even faster than the first. I felt their spirits drift out of the box, finally free.

  When I stood up, I yelped. Standing on the other side of the box, was a figure in an oversized black cloak, wisping in a nonexistent breeze. I couldn’t see a face, but I got the sense it was angry. It said nothing. Most of them never do. Sometimes I wonder why I am able to talk and take corporeal form, and others can't.

  “Hi. I, um… I was just…” I stumbled over my tongue. It was unlike me to be so...human. It crossed its sleeves; if it had eyes, it was probably glaring.

  “Look, these animals deserve better. You can either help me, or stay out of my way.” I placed my hands on my hips and stared right back at the void in the hood.

  The Reaper didn’t respond right away, but when it does, it pointed to the left. I look, but I didn’t know what I was looking for. Then it floated through the cargo and stopped by another large crate. It turned and looked back at me, waiting. I guessed that meant it was going to help? I felt myself smile, bittersweet.

  All told, we set free over two hundred animals. I felt some sense of relief in putting the animals to rest, especially the monsters. Humans should not be caging and transporting things they don't understand.

  A wave of death rippled out from the shitty little tavern and it seemed to slow time as I watched it go. It rotted away all wood, rusted all metal. Bodies, once human, charred and withered; blackened death. The vegetation, the remaining wildlife, everything. As the blast made it's way through me, I felt a surge of power, much like when I held the Scythe. It was intoxicating, overwhelming.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  By the time I realized that Dyson might be in trouble, I blacked out.

  ~*~

  I was floating somewhere. It was dark, and impossibly hot. I didn’t know I could sweat. Dull red light filled my peripherals. It took me a moment to realize I was staring at some sort of black rock. I couldn't move my body. I could, however, turn, slowly. The edges of my vision were hazy, or was it just smoky in here?

  The whole cavernous room was lined with the same black rocky surface. On the other end, down the length of the room, was a river of red, steaming liquid. It bubbled and gurgled as it slowly moved downstream. I’d never seen lava in person before, but I assumed that was what it was. It was also the only light source, so I couldn't make out much outside of the immediate area.

  Which, I might add, was lavishly furnished. Everything was in red and black, silken fabrics and gold threads. Carpets covered the floor, pillows strewn about. A few couches, stools, lounges. There were at least four tables overflowing with a mishmash of foods, no plates. There were donuts on top of broccoli, a burger sticking out of pudding. It almost looked like a garbage heap, except the food was fresh. Which was weird, considering the heat.

  I was stuck standing behind the tall back of a golden throne. All I could see was the right arm; a pale, delicate hand resting on red velvet cushioning. It was clearly a woman’s hands, with long, pointed nails painted black. At the foot of the throne I noticed a couple steps, and a very large black dog. At least, it kind of resembled a dog. To my relief, it appeared to be asleep.

  “Damien, my dearest darling boy. Where oh where is the angel I asked for?” A sweet, sultry voice lamented. I shifted to the right to peer around the throne. I caught the profile of a super model of a woman, with an upturned nose, long lashes and a waterfall of raven hair.

  A few feet in front of her was a man, tall and lanky, with stringy white-silver hair down to his elbows and piercing eyes. He lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head. He, apparently, couldn’t see me standing beside the throne. It seemed like none of them could see or sense me.

  “Forgive me, Mother. The attack on the Manor was not wholly successful. There was...interference.” He told her.

  Mother? Interesting. What manner of meeting had I wandered into?

  “What sort of interference?” The voice of the woman turned sour.

  The man shifted like a child being scolded. “Pendragon. He accessed magic beyond his Artifacts. He tapped into the Vault and....something else. But I managed to retrieve a few other targets, just not that one.”

  The woman scoffed, “A weak, dying breed, a human mutt, nothing more. I did not raise a coward, Damien. Do not fail me again.”

  He swallowed hard. “Yes, mother.” He didn’t linger, and I didn’t blame him. Once he was gone, the woman stood up and began to wander across the room. I saw the back of her lithe form, the fabric of her floor length, form-fitting gown dragging along behind her. Her dress and where it seemed to connect to her skin seemed to shimmer with starlight.

  At her heels, the dog-like creature awoke and followed. Her hand reached out, and her fingers caressed everything she passed; the tables, the fruit, the plants, some other beasts sitting around that I hadn’t been able to see before. In her wake, everything she touched became twisted, deformed, and grotesque, warping at the touch of her slender finger.

  I found myself following her too, though I wasn’t trying to. I tried to stop, but I kept moving, pulled into her gravity. It was almost like a human film, playing out in my head. Like a vision. Quite a vivid one at that.

  The woman turned down into a dark little alcove. “Oh, can’t you just feel the revolution coming? A new age of chaos, just waiting to be unleashed!” She exclaimed. I panicked for a moment, thinking she could see me after all. With a wave of her hand, a single candle illuminated the cramped space; the ceiling sloped sharply, leaving only half of the room with standing space. The other, smaller half was blocked off by bars of a cell.

  “A rebellion, not a revolution. One that will be quashed in good time, child.” A hoarse voice responded. I leaned in closer to see a figure, sitting with her back against the wall, one leg sprawled out and the other with the knee in the air. A long, bony arm rested on the knee, dirty hand hanging limp.

  “Now, now, Mother. We talked about this. I won’t have any of your negativity in my house!” The black-haired woman scolded.

  “This is a volcano, Eris. Not a house.” When she lifted her head, her matted black hair fell aside, revealing that she had no face, just darkness and that sparkle of starlight. Most of her was darkness and starlight, except for pale segments of skin; Nyx, the Goddess of the Night.

  “It’s MY volcano, so I’ll call it whatever I like… Are you listening? What are you looking at?” Eris all but stomped her feet. In the corner of my eye I could see her head begin to turn, to look at me. Nyx's hand twitched, fingers straightening for a moment. Then the candles went out.

  I hit the deck hard. The back of my head made a loud thud as it connected with the damp wood. The main mast of the Flying Dutchman towered over me, mocking me. I had been shunted back from whatever vivid vision I was having by Nyx, before I could be discovered. A fall like that would probably have killed most people. But I wasn't most people. I wasn't even people.

  Realizing I was back at the island, I raced to the edge of the deck and looked out at the complete desolation of the small island, now fading into the distance. Where the tavern had been was a smoldering black mess. The Flying Dutchman was moving, and I couldn't just blink away.

  "Dyson." I mouthed, as I watched the island become a small mark on the horizon.