The night air hit Elijah's face like a slap from an angry ex-girlfriend.
He burst through the hatch onto the main deck of the Righteous Wrath, Duckworth half a step behind him, and immediately realized that their luck had run out faster than free booze at a Marine recruitment party.
"Oh," Elijah said. "That's a lot of guns."
Forty-seven.
He counted forty-seven Marines arranged in a perfect semicircle around the hatch. Forty-seven rifles raised. Forty-seven fingers on triggers. Forty-seven very angry faces lit by the glow of deck lanterns.
The Commodore stood on the quarterdeck above them, his Marine coat billowing in the sea breeze like he was posing for a propaganda poster. Soot stained his cheek. His left eye twitched with barely contained rage.
"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Whitmore's voice cracked across the deck. "I want them ALIVE! I want to watch them HANG!"
"Well." Elijah raised his hands slowly. "This is awkward."
"Told you we should've gone out the port side," Duckworth muttered.
"You didn't tell me anything."
"I was thinking it very loudly."
A Marine officer stepped forward. Young guy. Lieutenant, judging by the insignia. The kind of fresh-faced idealist who probably still believed justice meant something.
"Surrender now and you won't be harmed further." The Lieutenant's voice didn't waver. Credit where credit was due. "You're surrounded. There's nowhere to go."
Elijah glanced left. Marines.
Glanced right. More Marines.
Glanced behind. The hatch they'd just come through, now blocked by four very large men with very large swords.
Glanced up.
The main mast towered above the deck, its sails catching moonlight like the wings of some enormous white bird. Rigging crisscrossed the sky. Lanterns swung from hooks and rails, their flames dancing in the wind.
One lantern in particular caught his attention. It hung near the stairs leading below deck, right above the passage that connected to the ship's lower levels. The metal frame glinted. The chain swayed.
And somewhere beneath those stairs, if Marine vessel construction followed standard naval protocol...
The powder magazine.
Elijah started laughing.
"The hell's so funny?" The Lieutenant's confidence cracked just a little.
"Nothing, nothing." Elijah wiped a tear from his eye. "Just realized something. Hey, Quickdraw."
"Don't call me that."
"Feel like making some real fame tonight?" Elijah's grin could have split the moon in half.
Duckworth followed Elijah's gaze. To the lantern. To the stairs. To the darkness below.
The bounty hunter's expression didn't change. Not a flicker. Not a twitch.
But his hand dropped to Patience's grip.
"You're insane."
"Is that a yes?"
"That shot is impossible. The angle. The distance. The number of ricochets required. Nobody could make that shot."
"Then I guess it's a good thing you're not 'nobody.'" Elijah's purple eyes gleamed in the lamplight, those strange red rings pulsing like a heartbeat. "What's the matter? Worried about your reputation? Scared you'll miss?"
"I don't miss."
"ENOUGH!" Commodore Whitmore's patience shattered. "OPEN FIRE! KILL THEM BOTH!"
Forty-seven triggers began to squeeze.
Duckworth drew.
Time didn't slow down. That was a myth. What actually happened was that Elijah's perception narrowed to a single point of focus, his Observation Haki screaming danger from every direction while simultaneously tracking the blur of motion beside him.
Mercy sang first.
The bullet didn't travel in a straight line. It arced upward, catching the metal frame of the swinging lantern at precisely the angle needed to deflect downward. Glass shattered. Oil sprayed. The bullet changed direction, now screaming toward the stairs.
A cannon sat at the bottom of those stairs, positioned for maintenance. The bullet struck its iron barrel with a sound like a ringing bell, ricocheting again, this time angling deeper into the ship's belly.
Elijah didn't see the final impact.
But he heard it.
A spark. Metal on metal. And then the hiss of something catching fire.
"DOWN!" He tackled Duckworth to the deck.
The world exploded.
The Righteous Wrath bucked like a living thing, its wooden frame screaming in protest as the powder magazine detonated. Fire vomited from the lower decks. The stairs disintegrated. A column of flame and smoke erupted through the gap, reaching toward the sky like the finger of an angry god.
And then the main mast began to fall.
The initial blast had weakened its base. Cracks spiderwebbed up the massive wooden pillar. Rigging snapped. Sails tore. And with a groan that sounded almost human, the pride of the Righteous Wrath toppled.
Marines scattered like ants from a kicked hill.
Burning sailcloth rained from the sky. Splintered wood became shrapnel. The mast crashed across the deck with enough force to crack the planking, sending bodies flying in every direction.
Elijah pushed himself up on his elbows.
The semicircle of Marines had dissolved into chaos. Men screamed orders that nobody followed. Officers tried to organize bucket chains while fires spread faster than they could contain. The Commodore was nowhere to be seen, probably buried under debris or busy having a heart attack.
"Holy shit," Elijah breathed. "It actually worked."
Duckworth rose beside him, revolvers still in hand. Soot covered his face. His duster smoldered in three places. He looked like he'd just walked through hell and asked for directions to the bar.
"I told you I don't miss."
"You beautiful bastard." Elijah grabbed the bounty hunter's shoulder. "That was the single most insane thing I've ever witnessed, and I once saw a man try to fistfight a Sea King."
"Less talking. More escaping."
Right. Escape. Important detail.
The deck was chaos incarnate. Fires everywhere. Marines running in every direction. The ship listed slightly to starboard, taking on water from the hull damage. Nobody was paying attention to two escaped prisoners anymore.
"Lifeboats!" Elijah pointed toward the stern. "Port side!"
They ran.
A Marine stumbled into their path, coughing smoke and clutching a burned arm. Duckworth didn't even slow down. Patience barked once, and the man's sword flew from his grip. A second shot sent his pistol spinning into the flames. The Marine dove for cover, no longer interested in heroics.
"Watch the rigging!"
Elijah ducked under a falling spar, rolled, came up running. His lungs burned from the smoke. His eyes watered. The heat pressed against his skin like a physical weight.
Three Marines blocked the path to the lifeboats. They'd managed to form a defensive line, rifles up, eyes wild with the kind of fear that made men dangerous.
"HALT! DON'T MOVE!"