Morning found Roy hunched over a tangle of blankets on the battleship's bridge, half-awake and definitely not in the mood for more high-seas drama. Last night's "doom-squid" fiasco still haunted him—along with the battered deck, a few dented Presidroids, and the awkwardly awakened "wife-in-a-box" who had casually saved his life.
She hovered near him, wearing a look of uncertain curiosity. So far, she hadn't pressed for details about what exactly she was or why she existed. Roy, for his part, was too frazzled to break it down.
At last, she spoke up.
"You keep telling me you're not my master," she said softly, "but I'm compelled to protect you. It's written into my being. So please, give me an order."
Roy dragged a hand over his face, hair still crusted with salt spray. "Yeah, well… that's messed up. I didn't ask for you to be forced like that."
She nodded, glancing around the bridge at the blinking lights and battered consoles. A robot strolled by, wearing a torn frock coat and holding a mop. Nobody on this ship seemed at all normal.
"Isn't there a way to… undo it?" Roy ventured.
"Perhaps my box has a manual?" she pondered.
Minutes later, Roy was slightly more awake and outside the Compartment of Requests. He opened the door slowly and saw the giant mess, the aftermath of the doom-squid battle. Roy lifted the box and a small slip of parchment fell out of the lid. A scrawled note read: "Write new orders or instructions. The 'magic' will override any prior directive."
"Here," Roy said, tapping the note. "If I scribble something like 'You're free, do what you want,' it might break the old compulsion."
She blinked in surprise. "You want to do that?"
"Yeah, obviously. I'm not about enslaving people. Especially not some poor woman conjured by an idiot classmate's pervy wish and my own idiocy."
She managed a wry smile. "Then please—do it. If it'll make this less…weird for you."
Roy found a pen among the scattered tools. Balancing the parchment against the console, he scrawled:
"You are free. Free to be who you want, go where you want, love who you want. You are not bound to me or any forced loyalty."
He thrust it at her. "There. Done."
A faint glow rose from the parchment. She inhaled sharply, as if a chain snapped inside her mind. Then, just like that, the glow faded. She stared at Roy in a mix of awe and relief.
"So…" Roy gestured aimlessly. "That's it. You're not under any compulsion. You can take a lifeboat or something if you want. Won't stop you."
She squared her shoulders, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "I… have no memory of any other life. I don't know this world. If it's all the same to you, might I stay? At least until I figure out what to do next."
Roy's jaw worked silently before he offered a nod. "Sure. I guess we can figure it out together. Also… do you want a name? I can't keep calling you 'wife-in-a-box' or something cringe like that."
She considered, then gave a faint shrug. "Perhaps… 'Eryndra'? It just popped into my head."
"Eryndra." He tested it. "Cool. Welcome aboard, Eryndra. And… sorry about all this."
She simply bowed her head in thanks.
Mid-morning sunlight glinted off Roy's battleship as it idled near a wobbly wooden dock. The village beyond had a lopsided sign reading "Noruma," and most of its huts looked like a single sneeze could knock them over. Roy leaned on the railing, backpack heavy with random Earth goodies: steaks, caviar, fish sauce, fruit, and of course emergency candy. He had no intention of trading away anything truly valuable, but he figured a few culinary oddities might break the ice.
Beside him, Eryndra stood with arms folded, scanning the shoreline as if sizing up the place. Meanwhile, five Presidroids stood in a neat row behind them—George Washington and Abraham Lincoln from the Super Elite lineup, Woodrow Wilson and Dwight D. Eisenhower from the Elite group, and a single Base Model Roy half-remembered was named Aaron Gurr. All wore their historical outfits with odd modern enhancements, like muskets upgraded into rifles, or old cavalry hats pinned with LED flashes. Roy refused to travel with fewer than five now. After the doom-squid fiasco, caution was his middle name.
"All right, we're only visiting for a bit," Roy said, popping his shoulders. "Let's, uh, park this giant hunk of iron carefully. Don't want to demolish their entire pier."
Serenity, back on the bridge, murmured an "Acknowledged" in her usual melodic voice. The warship's engines hummed as it nosed up to the rickety dock with surprising gentleness.
A clattering sound made Roy glance sideways—a pair of Presidroids in torn suits emerged from the water, seaweed draped over their shoulders like cheap scarves. They'd clearly been lost overboard when the Wiggly Doom-Squid hurled them away, presumed drowned. Yet here they came, marching up the sand without a hint of shame.
"You guys lived?" Roy blurted, nearly dropping his backpack. He jogged down the ramp with Eryndra on his heels.
The soggy robots bowed stiffly, water gurgling from their joints. "Correct, Captain. We ran along the ocean floor to rejoin you."
Roy's eyes widened. "Any nightmares you want to share from down there?"
They both paused, then faced away as if politely ignoring the question. Roy wasn't about to pry. If they'd seen anything unspeakable, maybe it was best left unsaid.
Not long after, Roy, Eryndra, and the five dapper Presidroids—plus the two soggy extras skulking behind—stepped onto the dock. Fishermen gawked, children cowered, and an old lady nearly fainted when she saw the monstrous hunk of steel looming above her village. Roy had donned a sleek, black uniform with a bit of plating on the shoulders—just enough to look mildly important. Eryndra stuck to her near-futuristic bodysuit, spurring whispers of "witchcraft" from a few locals.
An older fisherman shuffled forward, net clutched like a security blanket. "You're not… a god, are you?" he asked, voice trembling.
Roy offered an awkward smile. "No, sir. Just a traveler. Name's Roy. Mind if we talk trade? I brought some neat stuff." He held out a gloved hand for a shake, but the fisherman eyed it like it might explode.
"Talk, yes, we can… talk," the fisherman stammered. "But your metal boat is… it's…"
Roy let the poor guy trail off and eased into the sandy main street, villagers gathering in an uneasy ring. He set his backpack on a crate and reached in, brandishing things like packaged steaks, jars of caviar, and a bottle of fish sauce that smelled like old socks. The fisherman wrinkled his nose at the pungent aroma.
"Meat of that color? Is that from a sky-beast?" one villager asked, peeking over Roy's shoulder. "Fish eggs—some demon roe?"
Roy snorted. "Just normal fish eggs where I come from. Promise." He pulled out a starfruit, bright yellow-green, star-shaped, practically glimmering in the sun. A wave of ooohs swept the crowd.
The fisherfolk, emboldened by his show-and-tell, dragged out their own fish, many of them with strange magical markings or faint glows. One scaly monster smelled like roasted peppers. Another had swirling stripes that changed color when poked. An especially proud fisherman waved around a spiny red creature, nearly stabbing Roy in the face.
He stared at it. "Uh, neat. I'd like to sterilize it first if that's okay. No offense."
"Sterall eyes? Magic?" someone asked. An old man almost started chanting a warding spell before his wife smacked him upside the head.
Roy tried not to laugh. "Sure, let's call it magic." He motioned for a Base Model Presidroid to scurry back to the warship and return with a dark metal container for "cleaning." The locals gaped as Roy pressed a button, sealed the fish inside, and quietly bombarded it with gamma radiation. No one needed those details, though. A minute later, he popped it open and took a tentative bite of the now microbe-free fillet.
Flavor exploded on his tongue, a mix of lobster, tuna, and something purely magical that sent tingles down his spine. It was so good he almost forgot to chew. "Wow," he managed between bites. "That's insane. You guys have some top-tier fish."
An older fisherman had caught sight of Roy's swift "sterilization" trick. He turned to his sons, eyes alight with sudden realization.
"He truly is a god," the man whispered, voice trembling with excitement. "Did you hear how he purifies his food? That's what holy spirits do!"
The sons glanced at Roy, who was busy sampling the latest fish fillet with starry-eyed wonder, and the father jabbed a finger at them. "Quick, go fetch your great-grandfather's lucky leg bone! We'll offer it in exchange for his blessing!"
They darted off, leaving Roy oblivious to the hush settling over a small circle of villagers. A murmur rippled through the crowd: He can ward off curses… he must be a deity… maybe he controls the sea itself…
By the time Roy turned around, none of the sons had worked up the nerve to actually present the "lucky leg." But from the fervent looks in their eyes, Roy guessed they had misread him as something divine.
Pride flooded the villagers' expressions as Roy continued to eat. Meanwhile, Roy offered them caviar samples in return, leading to skeptical glances and a few brave volunteers. When they realized caviar was basically salty fish eggs in teeny form, they either recoiled or clapped in delight. Soon, a mini food fair sprang up: the villagers served Roy and Eryndra slices of bizarre fish, Roy dished out Earth goodies. Eryndra wrinkled her nose at the caviar—"It tastes like the ocean got compressed into teeny pellets that are soaked in snot," she muttered—yet she devoured any fruit in arm's reach.
A handful of kids crowded around, eyes glued to Roy's backpack. He rummaged, producing candy bars in neon wrappers. The first kid unwrapped one, took a bite, squealed so loud it scared off nearby gulls. Soon everyone was clamoring for a piece, sugar lighting up their brains like fireworks.
Eryndra lifted a small plastic bag filled with orange-and-yellow candy. "Roy, what about these?"
Roy's eyes bugged out. "Eryndra—no. That's a death sentence. Seriously."
But it was too late. She'd already passed them around to a half-dozen curious villagers. Within seconds, a little boy vomited violently behind a crate, another kid dropped to his knees sobbing, and a grown man stumbled toward the dock's edge, moaning in despair.
"I can't… I can't keep living like this," the man wailed, clutching his hair.
A collective shudder passed through the onlookers, like someone had unleashed a wave of existential dread. Eryndra, wide-eyed, popped a single piece into her mouth—and promptly grimaced in horror.
"This… is foul!" she gasped, nearly gagging.
She shot forward in a blur, snatching candy corn from any villager still holding it, then returned to Roy's side in less time than it took to blink. Without missing a beat, she crushed the entire bag into a tiny plastic pellet, wound her arm back, and hurled it with such force that a sonic boom cracked the air.
Roy swore he saw the bag vanish into the horizon—possibly on its way to torment some unlucky demon. Panicked murmurs filled the air as the afflicted townsfolk groaned and clutched their stomachs. Roy hastily offered them alternative candies and fruit, hoping to chase away the "Curse Corn of Khan-Di," as someone melodramatically dubbed it on the spot.
Apologies abounded, but eventually the mood recovered. Meanwhile, Roy discovered the older folks made weird kelp pastries that smelled like low tide. He smiled politely, accepted them, and definitely planned to toss them overboard later. The magical fish, though, was the real jackpot.
Amid this trading carnival, Roy found himself relaxing. Eryndra politely watched kids snack on actual candy while the adults cornered Roy to ask about his warship's power source. He kept his answers vague, "Advanced energy, can defend us in a pinch," that sort of thing, never delving into nuclear reactors or ballistic missiles. The atmosphere turned almost festive.
Then a shrill cry pierced the air. Eryndra stiffened, scanning the horizon. Roy squinted and made out shapes in the sky—batlike figures shrieking across the clouds.
"They come!" someone yelled. "The Dyun Dyun are here!"
A flock of demonic, birdlike creatures dove in, leathery wings beating the air. Eyes glowed a hungry red. The villagers panicked, shouting that these monsters raided the village for fish and sometimes took a chunk of flesh too. "Hurry, hide!" they yelled at Roy.
Roy's adrenaline spiked. "Serenity, you see that?"
"Affirmative," crackled her voice from his wrist comm. "Shall I deploy drones or do you prefer we show some restraint?"
"Restraint, but definitely guns. I do not want to nuke half the village. CIWS only."
"Understood, Captain."
The villagers scrambled behind huts, brandishing nets and flimsy spears. The bird-things—nearly a hundred in total—descended with piercing screeches. Roy's five presidroids stepped up like this was a choreographed show, calmly drawing sidearms. Washington's robotic voice droned, "Proceed with crowd control. Remain vigilant."
Lincoln whipped out some experimental rail-pistol and nailed one demon mid-swoop, sending black gore raining. Eryndra vaulted into motion, delivering a swift spinning kick to a smaller bird that dove too close, snapping its spine with a crunch.
But it was chaos—dozens more soared overhead. A man in a fishing hut screamed as a demon bird smashed through the roof. Roy pointed at a Base Model Presidroid, who instantly tore open the hut, dragging the man to safety.
From the battleship, two small minigun drones zoomed in, saturating the sky with tracer rounds. The bigger birds let out shrieks of alarm, some peeling off, others diving in a frenzy. Feathers, shrieks, and bullet casings littered the sand.
One especially massive demon, the size of a horse, crashed onto a row of crates near Roy, shrieking in fury. Roy stumbled back, cursing, while Eryndra lunged forward. The beast lashed out, catching Eryndra's face in a shallow scrape. She hissed, stumbling for a split second. Washington seized the opening to slam an iron fist into the demon's flank, toppling it in a flail of wings.
Roy scrambled to Eryndra and held he face, inspecting the cut. "Are you okay?" he asked sincerely. "Don't get yourself killed before your life even begins!"
Finally, the last of the flock tried retreating, but the drones cut them off. In under ten minutes, the entire swarm lay scattered across the shore, either dead or so riddled with bullets they were incapable of flight. Some huts were damaged, but the fish crates stayed intact.
"Thank you," gasped a fisherman, eyes brimming with relief. "Even paying top coin to big guilds wouldn't bring enough muscle for this many birds. We… we owe you our lives."
Roy exhaled, lowering a pistol he'd barely used. "No big deal," he lied, hands still shaking with leftover adrenaline. Kids started cheering, calling him "Bird-Bane" or "Iron Bird-Killer," even though Eryndra and the presidroids had done most of the work.
An older woman fussed over Eryndra's cheek, dabbing it with some herbal salve and covering it with cloth. Eryndra let her, stoic but grateful. Across the beach, people collected the demonic carcasses, muttering about how maybe they could sell the feathers or talons. Roy left them a hefty portion of Earth food as a form of apology for all the gunfire. At least the day ended in the villagers' favor. They'd lost no one, and for once, the Dyun Dyun wouldn't be stealing their fish.
As the crowd mellowed into relief and awe, one elder placed a wrinkled hand on Roy's shoulder. "If you ever need anything from Noruma, we'll be here—though we don't have much, we have gratitude."
Roy gave a nod, feeling a spark of genuine warmth. "Thank you. I might drop by if I'm craving fresh fish again. Sorry about the bullet holes." He gestured sheepishly at a half-demolished hut.
Some folks laughed nervously. The tension slowly ebbed away, replaced by excitement at the idea of a near-invincible iron warship protecting them. Eryndra glided back to Roy, wiping demon blood off her hands. The Presidroids hovered around them like a personal honor guard, guns still steaming.
Eventually, Roy motioned that they'd better return to the ship. The local kids waved vigorously, still sticky from candy. The men and women bowed or saluted or tried both at once. Roy's battered party trudged along the dock, demon feathers swirling in the breeze.
"Another day, another near-disaster," Roy muttered to Eryndra, forcing a weary grin. He felt like a traveling exterminator.
Serenity's voice murmured through his ear comm, confirming the drones had docked. Eryndra gingerly touched the bandage on her cheek and tossed Roy a sideways smile.
"Man, am I excellent or what?" Roy murmured with a half-smile. Eryndra chuckled, a small grin on her own face.
The giant warship pulled away from the dock, venturing out into open waters. Under a warm sun, Noruma slowly faded behind them; the echoes of demon wings gave way to the gentle sound of waves.
Roy's expression turned serious as he addressed Eryndra on the bridge. "Would you rather stay behind?" he inquired with a small smile. "I may not be returning to shore for some time."
Eryndra raised a brow. "Too late, I'm already on board. Guess I'll have to stick around."
Roy's eyes narrowed, recalling her incredible leaps. "Can't you just… jump to shore? I've seen you drop from dozens of feet without so much as a bruise."
She pressed a hand to her cheek. "Sure, but…my wound. It hurts. Badly. I think it's infected. Whatever that means."
Roy frowned. "Really? Let me see how bad it is." He carefully undid the bandage, only to find pristine skin. "What exactly are you playing at…?"
From across the room, Serenity cleared her virtual throat. "Captain, with several Presidroids in need of maintenance, we could really use her help."
"Isn't it just two of them now?" Roy asked.
Serenity discreetly sent commands to the Washington and Lincoln Presidroids. Washington stumbled forward with a sudden limp. "Oh no…what is…this?" he groaned theatrically.
Next to him, Lincoln awkwardly turned to Roy and toppled forward, face hitting the ground, beeping erratically. Roy's eyes went wide. "Washington! Lincoln! No! My boys!"
Arms folded, Eryndra flashed a quick smile at Serenity. "Looks like you'll need me a bit longer. I'll stay."
Roy barely heard her—he was already on his knees, cradling Lincoln's head and cooing softly over the fallen robot.