Mt. Ohm - God Slayer, K. van Marshall [little bear else holmelund minarik .txt] 📗

his vision and looks hard at the tiny asteroid sized moon, Keman. Exhaling deeply, he turned to the Captain. “Your bravery, versus the vile Quorth during the war was exceptional. With you captaining this voyage we will be fine, and I myself will lead the charge up the mountain. Glory is assured”.

 

The glory Prince Edvard spoke of, lay a long voyage across the icy Arupa seas. However, the task was set in stone, with no option of failure. To return without immortality would lead to his ridicule. Therefore, in order successful traverse the ocean and arrive safely at Mt. Ohm, the Prince has taken no chances. This is evident by the amount manpower he acquired for the journey: his personal guards and attendants, then the sailors and spriggers. Prince Edvard was more than willing to sacrifice them all. For this is no minor mission of exploration, he had drained too many resources on this hunt for the ultimate power for it to end in failure; death would be much more preferable.  

 

“Thank the chef for the meal, Captain”.

 

“I shall. Are you going to retire?”.

 

“Maybe, after a little stress relief”. The Captain cringed, he knew what the Prince was talking about. “All that doubt filled talk has me thinking very negatively”, said the Prince, before skipping down into the innards of the ship.

 

In the bowels of the ship, the Drill was but a distant memory for the spriggers, yet being captives of the Prince may be far worse. Unbeknownst to the spriggers, they had been placed on the safest boat in the fleet - the royal warship Namor; the magnificent vessel of Prince Edvard. Larger and twice as durable as the other ships, it is stocked with the best; the most adept sprigger’s, skilled seamen, top notch warriors and notable navigators. Although the captives did not realise the blessing, being located on the Namor with its unknown positives, all they felt were the very real physical negatives. Positioned in the center of the fleet; they were protected on all sides by the Youllon fleet, however being on the same boat as the Prince was far more wicked than the tests of the sprigger camp.

 

Whenever bored or anxious, the Prince ventures down to torment his captives. The long voyage does not have much entertainment, and even the Prince could not hide from the mounting tension; he doesn’t even attempt. The sprigger graduates are lucky to avoid serious injury when the Prince visits. Punching, kicking and burning, are all parts of Prince Edvard's favourite ways to pass time. The worse part, for the sprigger's; none of them know when they will arrive at Mt. Ohm; there is no due date for their torment to end. Despite the dire circumstances, they had not given up hope of surviving and grasping godhood for themselves, it is the only thing keeping them from breaking.

 

“Yoooo sprigger's, it's that tiiiiiiiiime, tiiiime for your daily ooooobedience check”, sang Prince Edvard sadistically, bursting into the brig through the heavy wooden door.

 

The brown door flew open wide, leaving his tiny frame taking up little space in the doorway. However, his cold oppressive presence filled the room instantly. Most of the sprigger's turned their heads nervously at his sudden presence, hiding their eyes in fear, studying the wooden floor as if it held the most interesting comic they had ever seen.

 

Prince Edvard's smile stretched from ear to ear, he loved the sense of fear in the air. ‘Fear is far better than loyalty’, is the Prince daily mantra. His red hair burned in the light of the flickering lamp as he steps through the room. Looking around, he locks eyes with Stow, and walks towards him. His every step jingles, his military uniform covered in medals. Prince Edvard is not just a member of the royal family, but a general and likes to show it. Although, in possession of a fierce fighting spirit, the Prince has a twisted superiority complex. The rows of gold and silver that line his shoulder pads, along with his chest bedazzled in golden stars, are proud signs of his history as war hero and criminal.

 

Zweek studied him closely. Edfart carries himself like a true military man, he’s obviously fought in a heap of battles.

 

Everyone in the brig, even the Niisarm trio have been forced to acknowledge Edvard's strength. The acknowledgement only came after some personal and up close experiences. The abuse they received confirmed the Prince strength to be monstrous, and his personality to be wildly wicked. For the Prince, to exercise his boredom was a necessary performance; he must keep attitudes in check. For the long few weeks aboard Namor the Prince had made Stow his supporting actor, and it was time for the evening exhibition. A showcasing of the Prince strength on the brig stage. Again, this ene would see another matinée of mayhem.

 

“Niisarm chums, other bums, how are you all?”, said Edvard, less enthusiastically, letting his smile gradually fade away.

 

Looking over the captives, he paces through the center of the cabin - medals ringing. He stops in front of Stow, and it starts. It begins as it always does, with him looking down menacingly at Stow.

 

“When you Niisarm bandit low lives came to the castle, you promised so much. I almost believed you would be useful. Now, I know you will be, your lives, your friends lives. Fhaaaaahahaha”, laughed Edvard sadistically.

 

“How do we know they are alive?”, asked Xena, trying to draw his attention from Stow.

 

Shockingly, the Prince had a chivalrous streak and was yet to lay a single finger on any of the female spriggers, he even made rules forbidding his men from certain violations.

 

“Do you think that even matters? Simple woman, you have all been branded and are on the way to Mt. Ohm”, beamed the Prince, the grin returning to his face. “I do not know why you still care. You know that Hector, he betrayed you all... With his tail between his legs he came to me, the fool. He hoped to gain pardon with your lives”. The Prince shot a glance at Zweek, hoping for a reaction. “When he realised I had no intention of letting him live he attacked with all he had - it was very amusing. He was not just a fool, but weak. At least Novus put up a decent fight - although I did destroy him single handedly”, he said, now looking down at Stow, his grin wider than ever.

 

“You bastard!”, shouted Stow. Getting to his feet as quickly as his awkwardly chained body would allow. Although cramped up, he still towered over Edvard.

 

Hunched by his bindings, and unable to face the Prince with a full upright stance, his actions were enough to show the Prince this predicament means nothing to him.

 

Stow's orange sprigger jumpsuit was tattered and smeared in blood - the gaping holes revealing the lashings of scars all over his torso. The wound under his left peck, was the stuff of nightmares; a horrendous bloody red, orange scabbed, puss covered sore. It looked ready to ooze forth with diseased mucus with every breathe. If his ability to heal was any less vigorous, he would have surely died during the months of abuse.

 

Prince Edvard's smile twisted into a demented grin as he turned to lock eyes with Stow; amused and disgusted in equal measure. “Scum, still to learn your place”, scowled the Prince.

 

Sat to the side, Zweek had been pondering the source of a suspicious tone. It started silently a while ago, but was gradually coming more frequently, and getting much louder, but Edfarts standoff with Stow interrupted his inner reflection.

 

“Prince of dung - you this bored? You royals sure are real petty. I thought you were meant to be wise and gracious”, said Zweek. Stow has been willingly putting himself into the line of fire, and I am sure Edfart knows this. This battle of wills between them, won't end well.

 

“Oh, the leader. It's rare to hear from you”, scoffed Edvard, not taking his eyes off Stow. “I live to correct attitudes such as these”.

 

Aiming for the sore spot on Stows torso, Edvard sent a wind stealing kick into his ribs; an amazing feat for someone so small; Stows ribs were at the same height as Prince Edvard’s head. Even more miraculously, the force lifted his heavy frame off the floor - suspending him in the air. Without pause, the Prince spun majestically - leaping to then rocket a sharp punch into Stow’s cranium. Planting him head first into the hard, cold wooden floor. Stows body collapsed behind him a second later, and a loud thud bounced the cabin - in a fury, the Prince continued - sending a succession of kicks into the same spot of Stow's ribs. He seemed truly determined to correct Stow’s impudence tonight.

 

“You are going to learn this ene”, shouted Prince Edvard, unsheathing Creed, he raised it high above his head. Zweek and Xena scrambled to their feet, the Prince looked like he was about to go to far.  

 

BAAAAANG!

 

A loud crash followed by a creek sent the whole cabin tumbling - stopped, scrambled and sideways, the tense situation was cut short. Shouts and the sound of thunder, stunned the entire brig motionless. Seconds later everyone in the cabin was airborne, this time everyone was suspended for a moment before smashing back down to the cold wooden floor. Amongst the bizarre shifting of the ship, the Prince somehow bounced his way out of the brig and is currently scrambling his way to the upper deck amongst the violently shaking ship.

 

By the time the Prince managed to arrive on deck, the crew were furiously sprinting around: pulling at the mainsail, and outing fires. The easyvoyage was over. The grand Warship Namor and the rest of the fleet had been besieged by a super storm. Weather in the far northern seas are mysterious in nature; unpredictable and indescribable natural disasters can appear out of nowhere. Although, these crews had traversed many seas, and experienced all manner of weather, none had ever been so far north - even to the most experienced these storms were incomprehensible; they would soon realise the true terror of the storms, and pay for their ignorance.

 

The Prince ran to the port side of the ship, surveying the damage to his mighty fleet. The winds had blown the lead ship into the right wing of the formation, both ships were now inter-twinned; their sails tied like the tongue of a terrible liar. The rest of the fleet managed to steer away from the doomed warships - the Namor narrowly avoiding a collision with the leading point ship by a few metres as it turned hard. The Prince watched as lightning rained down on the two doomed warships - now to the rear of the Namor. Horrendous blazes broke out amongst shouts of frantic desperation, and screams for help.

 

“Fools, die with dignity”, said the Prince, turning his back. He grabs a passing crewmen. “Where is Nemvord?”. The man bows instantly, before pointing towards the helm. Squinting, the Prince barely spots Nemvord, he is steering the ship while dishing out orders.   

 

Prince Edvard makes his way across the dark deck, bumping crew members as he goes. Although during the light cycle of Saitama, the constant emerald light of the green sun could not be seen. Before the Prince had gone below, the dim night light of the sun as well as three of Gaiterra's moons could clearly be seen in the sky. But now, the sky was dyed jet black - devoid of any light and filled with dense fast moving grey clouds. The Prince staggered and stumbled his way up the stairs to the helm.

 

“Put the paddles on, now!”, screamed Captain Nemvord, pausing, he nods at the Prince. “Your majesty... Please take your leave”.

 

“Do not forget your place! You expect me to cower in the bowels like some woman!”, shouted the Prince.

 

“No lord... These storms are pushing us off course”.

 

“Get us to safety!”, demanded the Prince.

 

The