Amon bent down, took the body of the last pirate over his shoulder, and carried it to the neat row of others. The Chaos Space Marine threw it onto the deck and slowly surveyed his surroundings.
In the dim light of the oil lantern hanging on the bridge, the broken swords, torn ropes, and stained hides under which the sailors had once slept emerged from the darkness.
'They were luckier than they deserved,' Amon thought with displeasure. 'A death too easy. The sleepers didn't even have time to be scared when I kicked the hatch and climbed up.'
He looked at the black void of the hold, a meter from which lay the torn oak lid.
'But the watchmen got theirs and then some,' recalling the brief skirmish with some satisfaction. Or rather, amusement.
Amon had burst out of the hold, smashing the hatch with his shoulder, and descended on the pirates like a relentless hurricane. He swiftly finished off the sleeping enemies, who didn't even understand what was happening, and rushed toward the bridge.
The watchmen greeted him with drawn swords, but could these worthless iron pieces, which they mistakenly called swords, hold back a Space Marine? Amon snatched them from the trembling hands of the bandits and broke them into pieces, emphasizing his superiority. The sailor in the crow's nest was quicker—he began cutting the ropes that held the sails.
The pirate hoped the falling fabric would give his comrades more time. He was wrong. Amon hooked the short spear of one of the bandits with his foot, and deftly caught it midair, launching it upwards. The spear pierced a wooden barrel and the pirate's body, pinning him to the crow's nest.
Next, the sorcerer made his way to the captain's cabin and dragged Bloody Karmo onto the deck.
"I can't imagine what the Sea Bishop looks like," Amon said mockingly, peering into the captain's terrified eyes. "But I know exactly what followers of Nurgle look like. First of all, they only have one eye..."
Amon smirked. Revenge, though petty, was sweet. The pirates had doubted his strength and had paid dearly for their foolishness. Now, he could move on to more pressing matters. The sorcerer saw the reddish glow of the lighthouse to the east. Besides, the pirates had mentioned a city called Al-Gord.
"Most likely, the port is near the lighthouse," Amon speculated, gazing at the light. "Such a distance is nothing. But first, let's see what useful things are on this ship."
***
He began with the cabin, rummaging through the cramped room with the grimy porthole. Apparently, the captain hadn't bothered with cleaning, nor had his crew. Against the wall was a fold-down bed with foul-smelling sheets, by the porthole stood a sturdy table with thick legs, and against another wall was a wide wardrobe.
The navigational instruments and maps didn't interest Amon.
"Useless junk," the sorcerer noted. He threw open the wardrobe doors and tossed out the clothes that were too tight for his powerful body. On the floor, he spotted two bags made from the hides of unknown animals. The first one was stuffed to the brim, so swollen that it was about to tear at the seams, while the second one was empty.
Amon untied the strings. A melodious jingle sounded, and golden coins rolled across the floor. The sorcerer smirked.
"Looks like money won't be an issue for me. These will come in handy for now. The pirate raid was successful... until they met me. The crew should have gold too. But first—clothes: I can't just show up in town naked!"
Amon took the empty sack and quickly made holes for his head and arms. He fashioned it into an improvised dress and was satisfied—the leather garment didn't restrict movement and fell below his thighs. He used the tie of the empty sack as a belt.
"That'll do," the sorcerer decided. He left the cabin, slinging the loot over his shoulder, and began searching the bodies of the dead sailors. Each of them had a pouch or a smaller bag filled with gold, jewelry, and precious stones. Amon tied them to his belt. The large sack he tucked under his arm.
He gave the deck one last glance before approaching the railing. The ship gently rocked on the shallow waves of the black, pitch-like sea. In the distance, the lighthouse flickered invitingly. For a moment, the sorcerer paused.
"It's in your best interest to greet me more warmly," Amon said, narrowing his eyes. He spat contemptuously on the deck and jumped into the water, not noticing that the viscous acidic spit did not hiss or burn the wood.