The tension in the square thickened like blood in a bowl. The two Cronus figures stared each other down beneath the crimson sky, lit only by the flicker of flame and the green glow of the ghoul's aftermath. Pirates, scattered across rooftops and alleys, looked between the men, unsure who to follow, unsure who to fear.
Then Vanthelis moved.
No signal. No word. Just action.
He raised his hand, a flicker of blue crackling between his fingers. With deadly precision, a ball of lightning surged forth from his palm like a whip of judgment. It streaked through the air in a sharp arc and slammed into the real Cronus's chest.
The explosion cracked like a thunderclap, briefly lighting the square in blinding white. The blast sent Cronus sprawling, his chest smoking, his body twitching in spasms as raw electricity danced over his armor. His massive frame convulsed against the stone ground, eyes wide with pain.
The pirates gasped.
One fool stepped forward, pointing like he'd just uncovered the meaning of life.
"SEE THAT?! He don't even got no thunder powers!" he yelled, spit flying from his mouth. "Only the real Cronus could do that! That there's the fake! Get 'im, lads!"
A moment of silence.
Then a chorus of stupidity:
"GET THE IMPOSTOR!!"
The crowd of pirates surged like a tide, weapons drawn, shouting profanities and battle cries with more enthusiasm than aim. Half of them didn't even know which one they were charging at. But they all charged at the real Cronus, who was now down on one knee, his coat scorched and muscles twitching.
He raised his head slowly, smoke curling from his beard.
"…You bastards," he growled.
The first pirate lunged, swinging a rusted cutlass.
Cronus caught the blade with his bare hand.
With a grunt, he twisted the steel until it snapped—and then drove the jagged edge through the pirate's throat. Blood sprayed like a fountain as the man collapsed, gurgling.
Another came from behind with a spear.
Cronus spun, grabbed the shaft, and snapped the wooden pole over his knee. Using one half as a stake, he jammed it through the attacker's gut, lifting him off the ground like a trophy.
A third pirate tried to shoot him with a flintlock.
He didn't get the chance.
Cronus hurled the bloodied corpse still impaled on the broken spear at the gunman. The body struck with enough force to crush them both against the wall.
"Come on, then!" Cronus roared, thunder still echoing in his voice despite his lack of magic. "You think light shows make a man? You think thunder tricks make a king?!"
Another pirate ran up with a battleaxe, screaming something unintelligible.
Cronus waited until he got close—then headbutted him.
Skull cracked. Teeth flew. The man crumpled like a dropped sack of potatoes.
One by one, they came.
And one by one, they fell.
Some had swords. Others, knives. A few brave idiots even tried their fists. Cronus used whatever was at hand—blades from corpses, broken chains, one poor soul's femur. He fought like a storm, a hurricane of raw, unrelenting brutality.
As one pirate bled out, he wheezed, "Wh…what are you?"
Cronus leaned down and whispered, "Tired."
He snapped the man's neck with one twist and turned to face the next idiot.
Vanthelis, still wearing the guise of Cronus, watched from the sidelines with his arms crossed.
He couldn't help it. He started chuckling.
"Gods," he muttered. "These pirates are dumber than ghouls. At least ghouls don't charge into a wall of muscle and rage with pocket knives."
A pirate screamed and tried to run away.
Cronus hurled a dagger into his back with perfect aim. "No refunds," he muttered.
In the end, Hundred pirates lay dead. The ground was soaked in red, bodies splayed like broken dolls. Smoke hung in the air, mingling with the scent of roasted flesh and fear.
Only two figures remained standing in the square.
Cronus—real, bloodied, breathing like a bull.
And the imposter—Vanthelis, still cloaked in the illusion of his enemy.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Cronus cracked his neck and wiped the blood from his mouth. "So," he rasped. "You gonna throw another lightning ball, little firefly?"
Vanthelis raised a brow. "Tempting."
Cronus gestured at the corpses. "You know, I really liked some of those guys. One of 'em owed me thirty silver."
"You just beat him to death with a boot."
"I'm keeping the boot. Payment."
Vanthelis smirked under the illusion. "You know, for a moment there, I almost felt bad for tricking them."
Cronus took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. "Almost?"
"They deserved it."
Cronus gave a short, barking laugh. "Ain't wrong."
They stood again in silence, two versions of the same face—one born of blood and sea, the other forged in death and vengeance.
"I don't know who you are," Cronus said, voice quieter now. "But I know one thing."
"And what's that?"
He raised his blade and pointed it at Vanthelis's chest.
"You got my face. You got my walk. You got my beard. But I never attack a man from surprise and let his friends die like fools."
Vanthelis dropped the illusion.
The magic shimmered, peeled, and dissipated like smoke. Gone was the pirate king's rugged face. In its place stood a young man with hollow eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a presence colder than any sea wind.
Cronus blinked.
"…Well, I'll be damned."
Vanthelis gave a half bow. "Already am."
Cronus grinned. "I like you, kid. But I'm still gonna gut you."
"I'd be disappointed if you didn't try."