บท 8: Sir Henry Morgan
As panic spread through the square, Atenzi fought to maintain his composure.
He couldn't allow fear to undermine his newly established authority.
"People of the Sovereign Lands!" he called out, his voice cutting through the growing chaos. "Return to your homes!
Prepare for battle!
Every able-bodied citizen is to report to the city armories immediately!"
The crowd began to disperse, a mix of fear and determination on their faces.
Atenzi turned to his advisors, barking orders rapid-fire.
"Fortify the harbor!
Man the coastal defenses!
I want every ship we have ready to sail within the hour!"
As his subordinates scrambled to obey, Atenzi strode back into the palace, his mind racing.
He had just consolidated power, and now this.
The timing was too perfect to be coincidence.
Had the Crimson Countess been waiting for this moment of vulnerability?
In the war room, maps of the Sovereign Lands and surrounding waters were hastily unfurled.
Atenzi studied them intently, acutely aware of how little he truly knew about military strategy.
He had been a philosopher in his old life, not a general.
"My lord," one of his advisors ventured, "perhaps we should consider evacuation.
Báthory's forces are said to be... monstrous."
Atenzi fixed the man with a withering glare. "Evacuate?
And go where, exactly?
No, we stand and fight.
The age of humanity cowering before these so-called Harbingers ends now."
Even as he spoke, Atenzi felt a flutter of doubt.
How could he possibly hope to repel an invasion with no military experience and a demoralized, unprepared populace?
As if in answer to his unspoken question, the doors to the war room burst open.
A figure strode in, his bearing unmistakably that of a seasoned warrior.
Salt-and-pepper hair framed a face weathered by sun and sea, eyes that sparkled with equal parts mischief and deadly determination.
Atenzi's breath caught in his throat.
He knew that face from countless history books and legends.
Sir Henry Morgan, the infamous privateer turned governor, now one of the Luminaries of Providence.
Morgan swept his gaze across the room before fixing it on Atenzi.
A crooked grin spread across his face. "Well, lad, looks like you could use a hand."
For a moment, Atenzi was speechless.
Then, gathering his wits, he stepped forward, extending his hand. "Sir Henry Morgan, I presume?
Your arrival is most fortuitous."
Morgan clasped Atenzi's hand in a grip of iron. "Aye, that it is. Though I admit, I'm a bit out of my element.
Last I remember, I was enjoying a fine rum in Port Royal, and now..." He gestured vaguely. "Well, let's just say this isn't quite the afterlife I was expecting."
Atenzi's mind raced.
This was his chance to secure a powerful ally. "Sir Henry, you have no idea how honored I am to meet you.
I've studied your exploits extensively.
Your strategies against the Spanish fleet off Panama?
Brilliant.
And your governance of Jamaica? A masterclass in leadership."
Morgan's eyebrows shot up. "Well now, you're either a damn good liar or... No, you must be a damn good liar.
I've not even done half those things yet."
Atenzi allowed himself a small, conspiratorial smile. "Let's just say I have... insight into potential futures.
And in many of them, you're a legend."
"A legend, eh?" Morgan stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose I'd best live up to that reputation.
Now, tell me about this fleet we're facing."
As Atenzi briefed Morgan on the situation, he could see the privateer's mind working, formulating strategies and discarding them just as quickly.
"Vampires, you say?" Morgan mused. "Nasty business, that.
But every foe has a weakness. We just need to find it."
For the next hour, Atenzi and Morgan pored over maps and reports, devising a plan that seemed equal parts brilliant and insane.
As they worked, Atenzi felt a growing sense of admiration for the privateer.
Here was a man who truly understood the art of war, who could turn even the most desperate situation to his advantage.
"It's risky," Atenzi said finally, studying their proposed battle plan. "If it fails..."
Morgan clapped him on the shoulder. "Lad, if you're not willing to risk everything, you don't deserve to win anything.
Now, let's go rally your troops.
They'll need to understand their roles perfectly for this to work."
As they made their way to address the assembled forces, Atenzi felt a surge of confidence. With Morgan at his side, perhaps they stood a chance after all.
---
High above the mortal realm, Khaliq and Iblis observed the unfolding drama with keen interest.
"Well, well," Iblis drawled, "looks like your wildcard has found himself a new playmate. This should be entertaining."
Khaliq's expression remained impassive, but a glimmer of hope shone in his golden eyes. "Perhaps this alliance will help steer Atenzi back towards a more righteous path."
Iblis snorted. "Righteous?
Please. Morgan's a pirate and a scoundrel.
If anything, he'll push your precious wildcard further into the darkness."
"We shall see," Khaliq replied softly. "We shall see."
---
As the sun began to set, casting an ominous red glow across the waters, Atenzi stood atop the highest tower of the Sovereign Lands' defenses.
Beside him, Morgan peered through a spyglass, his expression grim.
"There," the privateer said, handing Atenzi the glass. "On the horizon. That's no natural fog rolling in."
Atenzi looked, and his blood ran cold.
A vast, undulating mass of mist was creeping across the water, defying the wind.
And within it, he could just make out the silhouettes of ships—hundreds of them.
"It's time," Morgan said, his voice tight with anticipation. "Are you ready, lad?"
Atenzi took a deep breath, feeling the weight of an entire nation's fate on his shoulders. "Ready or not, here they come.
Let's hope this plan of ours works."
As the first eerie wails of Báthory's vampire hordes reached their ears, carried on an unnatural wind, Atenzi raised his hand.
In the harbor below, crews stood ready, waiting for his signal.
This was it.
The moment that would define his rule, that would determine the fate of humanity in this world.
Everything hinged on the next few minutes.
Atenzi's hand fell, and with it, their desperate gambit began.
Flaming projectiles arced through the air, illuminating the twilight sky.
But they weren't aimed at the approaching fleet.
Instead, they struck the waters of the harbor itself.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, with a roar that shook the very foundations of the city, the sea erupted into flames.
Atenzi watched, heart pounding, as the inferno spread with unnatural speed.
Morgan's mad plan—to ignite the oil-coated waters and create a barrier of fire—was working.
But would it be enough?
As the vampire fleet hit the wall of flame, chaos erupted.
Ships caught fire, their undead crews shrieking in terror and pain.
But some were pushing through, their hulls charred but intact.
"Now, lad!" Morgan shouted over the din. "Use that silver tongue of yours! Rally your people!"
Atenzi stepped to the edge of the tower, drawing in a deep breath.
As he prepared to unleash the full power of Lashon Kesef, he caught a glimpse of something that made his blood run cold.
There, at the heart of the vampire armada, a ship larger than any he had ever seen was emerging from the mist.
And on its deck stood a figure that radiated malevolence—Elizabeth Báthory herself, the Crimson Countess.
Their eyes met across the flaming waters, and in that moment, Atenzi knew that this battle was far from over.
It had only just begun...
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