Unbreakable (Killer X OC)

Chapter 21 Harbor

**Chapter 21: Harbor**

Without warning, Cytherea jumped down from the main mast, her heart racing with adrenaline as she executed her moonwalk, a skillful maneuver that allowed her to land gracefully on the deck. The salty sea air whipped around her, invigorating and sharp, mingling with the acrid scent of gunpowder that lingered from previous skirmishes. The ship creaked beneath her feet, a familiar sound that resonated with the pulse of the ocean, grounding her in the moment.

She landed next to their captain on the upper deck, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto the enemy ship, its dark silhouette cutting through the waves like a predator. In a low, suspenseful voice, she said, still feeling the tension in the air, “They are steering towards us and speeding up; I think it's safe to say they are onto us and are preparing for an all-out battle now, not a sneak attack. Neither of us has a surprise advantage now. They should be within firing range in five minutes if they maintain this speed.”

Eustass grinned excitedly, a wild glint in his eyes that mirrored the thrill coursing through his veins. The wind tousled his hair, and the sun glinted off his weathered skin, giving him an almost mythical appearance. Cytherea added, her voice steady but laced with urgency, “Now that they are a lot closer, I can tell you the strongest one is aiming for you too. There is deadly and vengeful intent directed at you, Cap. Whatever the reason, they know who we are, and they want us to bleed. All I can tell you is that it's personal to them.”

The captain laughed, a deep, booming sound that echoed across the deck, reverberating off the wooden planks and mingling with the crashing waves. His laughter grew louder as he turned to the men, calling out, “MEN, GET READY TO KICK SOME ASS!” The men on the lower deck cheered, their voices rising in a cacophony of excitement and anticipation, raising their weapons high; the glint of steel in the sunlight was a promise of the chaos to come. Everyone was eager for battle, the thrill of combat igniting a fire in their chests, their hearts pounding in unison with the rhythm of the ship.

The captain turned towards the cannons, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders, shouting, “GIG, ARE THE CANNONS READY?” Gig and the other dozen gunners stood tall, their faces set with determination, the salt spray from the ocean glistening on their brows. They threw their fists in reply in unison, their voices booming, “SIR, YES, SIR!” The air crackled with energy, the impending clash of steel and the roar of cannon fire looming just moments away, a storm of chaos ready to erupt.

As the enemy ship approaches, Cytherea is about to return to the mast but suddenly stops, the thought crosses her mind. She turns back, her heart pounding, and places her hand on Eustass's forearm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the rough fabric of his shirt. She silently gestures for him to lean closer, her eyes intense with urgency. In a soft, heartfelt whisper, she tells him, “A ship in a harbor is safe.”

Eustass quickly leans back, his eyebrows raised and eyes wide with surprise, the playful glint in his gaze momentarily replaced by seriousness. After a moment, he playfully runs his hand through Cytherea's cold, damp hair, the chill of the rain contrasting with the warmth of their shared moment. With a smirk, he leans in closer, his breath warm against her ear, and replies softly, “But that’s not what ships are built for.” He gives her a light push on the head, a gesture filled with camaraderie, and excitedly exclaims, “Now get your ass back up and keep fucking up their plans!” Cytherea beams with a smile, her spirits lifted by his words, salutes quickly, and then turns to head towards the mast on the lower deck, her heart racing with renewed determination.

As she strides forward, she notices Killer standing close by, his imposing figure a stark contrast against the backdrop of the stormy sky. He is ensuring that the other men are prepared for battle, his back turned to her as she moves toward the mast. His voice is low and commanding, cutting through the sound of the wind and rain as he issues orders to their crew, each word dripping with authority. He is wearing his handguards, the leather creaking slightly as he moves, and she can see the scythes still secured to his hip, their blades glinting ominously, poised for action. He stands confidently in the cold rain, droplets cascading off his broad shoulders, displaying no doubt about the fight ahead.