Tainted Tides

Chapter 13

*Ant's POV*

"AAARRRGHHHHH"

The blood curdling scream rang out across the deck, followed by pin-drop silence, and painful gasps coming from within the circle.

The bubble of rage within me instantly burst, considering the tension of the past few days. My vision blurred with a red haze, but my muscles froze. The anger had caused them to tense up, but usually still allowed movement.

No. There was something else.

Fear.

As much as I wanted to rip Charles to shreds for not only hurting Dec, but for disobeying orders, I was terrified of approaching and seeing Dec injured on the ground.

The silence was punctuated with the muted sound of a drip on the wooden floors.

The sound cleared the haze from my eyes in a sort of calming metronome. I kept out of my mind the fact that it would be the drip of blood, making the metronome tick.

I diverted my gaze to the center of the circle, manifesting my rage into a deadly gaze, like an arrow, searching for Charles; the man who would, once again, find himself at the receiving end.

The image that registered surprised me, but did nothing to quell my rage. In the center of the circle was Charles, with his sword plunged into the floor, cutting Dec's shoulder in a moderate gash; Robbie's arm pushing Charles' sword away, and his legs on either side of Dec's splayed form, to catch Charles' swing with his body; Stephen with wire wrapped around Charles' throat, pulling him backwards and a small blade dug into his tricep, from where blood dripped onto the floorboards.

That's when I realized, the agonizing scream had come from Charles.

Seeing Dec relatively unscathed, my anger washed away my fear. Within two large strides, I was in the center of the circle, yanking back on Stephen's wires, to pull Charles to the ground by his neck. His body went limp as it bounced off the floorboards, knocking all the air from his lungs. Before his body could settle back on to the planks, my hand was on his collar, lifting his torso off the ground. I unleashed a strong right hook across Charles' face. I dropped him to the ground as he gasped for air, and kicked the sword out of his hand and stomped on his wrist.

Every strike I made took a piece of my overwhelming rage with it. The feeling of crumpling flesh was... Cathartic...

As my anger came to a steady simmer while I stepped on Charles' wrist, I found myself wanting to be a lot more methodical. I placed my knee on his chest and brought my hand to the small blade Stephen had inserted into his tricep.

"What were the rules Charles?" I seethed.

Charles averted his gaze and groaned in pain. I pushed the blade further into his arm by a few millimeters.

"What. We're. Your. Orders?!" I said slowly.

"No guns," he groaned out in pain and paused. I ever so slightly twisted the blade within his arm. He screamed in pain. The sound of his agony made me control a sadistic grin.

I had a love-hate relationship with screams of pain. I hated that I loved them. Especially when they erupted from people who'd deserved it.

"And?" I asked in a calmer, and unintentionally menacing tone.

"AAARRRGHHHHH, No vitals, and no deep cuts," Charles yelled out.

Removing my foot from his wrist and the blade from his arm, I grinned and said "good boy," before giving his cheek a couple light smacks.

But I didn't get up.

I wanted one final hit.

I wanted him to crumple beneath me; like he deserved to.