Lord of the Mysteries - Fountain of Blood (Fanfic)

Lex walked down the worn wooden steps of the harbor, her steps silent against the creaking planks. The sharp, briny tang of the sea filled the air, mingling with the clatter of ropes and the faint murmurs of dock workers unloading crates. Cynthia and Arthur stayed behind, watching from the elevated promenade above. Neither of them had dared to follow Lex down; they exchanged nervous glances, each silently relieved that they had not been invited further.

From their vantage point, they observed Lex as she wove her way through the busy port. The workers stopped what they were doing, their gazes lingering on her as if drawn against their will. Some froze mid-task, a crate slipping from one man's grip and landing with a dull thud. Others stepped aside, creating a natural path for Lex to pass, as though something primal in them urged them to avoid her at all costs. The aura she carried was palpable, otherworldly, and suffocating.

Lex moved with an unhurried grace, her red dress billowing faintly in the salty breeze. She walked as if she were the only figure of importance amidst the chaos of the docks, her bandage-covered eyes fixed straight ahead. The steely rhythm of her footsteps slowed as she reached port four.

There, a ship loomed—a hulking vessel of dark-stained wood, its three enormous sails furled for now. The name Storm Reaper was painted in black across its side, faded but legible. A gangplank connected the ship to the dock, and at its base, Lex paused briefly. Around her, dockhands and seamen instinctively backed away, sensing the sheer wrongness of her presence.

"Look at her." Arthur's voice was low and tight as he leaned on the railing above. "They're scattering like flies."

"Because they know," Cynthia murmured, her eyes fixed on the lone figure descending toward the pirate ship. "Even if they can't explain it, they know."

Three men appeared on the deck of the ship, drawn by Lex's arrival. They leaned against the railings, lazily curious at first, but their expressions hardened as she stepped onto the plank.

"What's with the blind chick?" one of them called, his voice tinged with mockery.

"Maybe she's lost," another added, smirking as he elbowed his companion. "Should we help her find her way back to—"

Halfway up the plank, Lex stopped abruptly. Her head tilted slightly, her fiery hair catching the afternoon light like a warning flare.

"Where is your captain?" she asked, her voice cutting cleanly through the clamor of the harbor.

The men exchanged wary glances, their smirks faltering under her detached tone.

"He's at the helm," one of them answered grudgingly, folding his arms. "What's your business with him?"

Lex's lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile. "I've brought him a gift," she said softly. "He'll like it."

The men snickered at her words, the tension loosening slightly—until something materialized behind her.

A hand. A ghoulish, skinless hand suspended in the air, its exposed tendons glistening faintly in the sunlight. It hovered behind her like a malevolent phantom, silent but commanding attention. In its grip, it held a bronze revolver with a polished birch handle.

"Wh—what the hell is that?" one of the men stammered, his face draining of color.

The answer came not in words but in action.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The hand fired three deafening shots in quick succession. Each bullet struck true, ripping into the arteries of the men's necks with surgical precision. They collapsed simultaneously, blood pouring from the wounds in rhythmic pulses, staining the ship's deck in dark crimson. Their screams of agony echoed across the harbor, mingling with the startled cries of dock workers who scrambled to flee the area.

Lex ascended the rest of the plank with the same calm grace, stepping over the writhing bodies without so much as a glance. She paused only to empty the revolver's spent shells, the casings clinking softly as they hit the blood-soaked wood. Methodically, she reloaded the gun, the floating hand assisting her before slipping the weapon back into her dress.

Above, Cynthia and Arthur stood frozen in horrified fascination.

"She—she didn't even kill them outright," Cynthia whispered, her face pale. Her eyes were locked on the scene below, where the three men writhed and screamed, clutching at their throats. "They're just… bleeding out. Slowly."

Arthur swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze away. "I think that's the point," he murmured.

"Did you see the hand?" Cynthia pressed, her voice barely audible. "It came out of nowhere. Like it was waiting for her. What kind of person has something like that—?"

"Not a person," Arthur interrupted, his voice harsh. "That's not a person. That's a monster."

…

, her heels clicking softly against the planks. The chaos she had left in her wake didn't faze her in the slightest. Instead, she turned her attention to the helm, where she expected to find Alan Bettany.

But it was empty.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she scanned the upper deck. No sign of the infamous pirate captain. No sound of footsteps or movement beyond the pained groans of the dying men behind her.

"Coward," she muttered under her breath.

Unhurried, Lex descended the steps leading to the captain's quarters. The door was slightly ajar, revealing a dimly lit interior. She pushed it open fully and stepped inside.

The room was surprisingly clean for a pirate's lair. A large oak desk dominated the center, its surface cluttered with maps, charts, and an ornate compass. A rack of weapons lined one wall—cutlasses, daggers, and even a flintlock rifle. But the room was empty, the captain nowhere in sight.

Lex moved to the desk and lowered herself into the high-backed chair behind it. She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, and rested her hands lightly on the armrests. Her crimson hair fell over her shoulders like a cascade of fire as she turned her bandaged gaze toward the door.

And then she waited.

…

Above on the harbor, Cynthia and Arthur watched anxiously as the scene below grew quieter. The dock workers had mostly scattered, leaving behind an eerie stillness broken only by the lapping of waves and the distant clinking of chains.

"What now?" Arthur asked, his voice hushed.

"We should help her. Those bodies need to be dumped or a crowd might gather." Cynthia said, though her tone carried more uncertainty than she intended. She had no idea what Lex planned to do next, but the memory of the floating, skinless hand was enough to keep her rooted in place. Arthur looked at her with a dumbfounded expression.

"Not happening." He said with absolute certainty.

…

Back on the ship, Lex sat in the captain's chair, the faintest smile playing on her lips. She knew Alan Bettany would return soon—he would have no choice. And when he did, she would be waiting.

For now, the Storm Reaper was hers.