A boy named Smith Cooper is now tasked with saving the world from Jackson Thomas and the demon who works with him. He gathers a team to stop him at all costs but they don't all get along very well. Will they save the world or will it perish along wi...
The pirate vessel rocked on the choppy waves, its timeworn planks groaning under my feet. I materialized my presence, a ripple in the fabric of reality. The salty air clung to my skin, a reminder of countless battles fought on land and sea.
Voices buzzed like angry wasps—Captain Rourke, First Mate Kael, and the rest. They thought they could lure me with promises of gold and jewels. But I had other plans. Bounty from other prey would suffice, but this game intrigued me. I'd play along.
Captain Rourke lunged, his sword gleaming in the pale moonlight. My portals danced, sidestepping the blade with the grace of a phantom. When I reappeared, my cursed sword—forged in the fires of forgotten realms—sliced through Rourke's weapon like butter. Fear etched the captain's weathered face.
"And then, desperation," I mused to myself. A gun drawn, a bullet fired. I grinned, the corners of my mouth twisting. Portals spun around me, a cosmic ballet, redirecting the lead back to its source. The captain crumpled, his scream swallowed by the hungry sea.
The first mate rushed forward, eyes wide with panic. I hated him. "Don't take another step!" I warned.
"He's almost dead," the mate pleaded.
"I don't care!" My voice held the weight of ages. "Next, it's your turn."
The world blurred as my portal powers surged. Bullets multiplied, striking every head on the ship. Bodies fell like discarded puppets, their lifeblood staining the deck.
An hour later, I stood on the blood-soaked planks. The abyss whispered to me, its secrets echoing in my mind.
I spoke with pride "Found some pirates on the coast."
A mysterious voice said "Good job. Here's your money."
And so, the shadows deepened. My past haunted me, and the abyss hungered for more.
Wyatt Chatman—the name whispered through the dimly lit room, a ghost from the past. He was a lone wolf, stalking the edges of society, his secrets buried deep.
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The room smelled of damp wood and old memories. Wyatt sat by the window, the moon casting shadows across his lined face. His fingers traced the rim of a glass, the amber liquid inside a reflection of his fractured soul.
And then, the knock—an intrusion into his solitude. He stood there, a silhouette against the moonlight.
"There's someone who wants to talk to you," Wyatt said, his voice low.
He glanced at the phone in his hand. He knew who it would be—the man who held the strings of fate, tugging them to his whims.
"Smith," he murmured. "Tell him I can't talk."
Wyatt's eyes held a stubborn resolve. "He won't take no for an answer."
He sighed. The past had a way of catching up, like shadows stretching toward dawn.
