The God's Game

Storm 2

The author warns you all!

This chapter contains mild gore.

River instantly regretted his decision the second he stepped out of his cabin.

The world tilted, and the floor beneath his feet gave away. He slipped on the deck, slick with water,and fell on his back. Pain shot up his spine,completely kicking him out of his muddled state of mind. He flailed his arms around, trying to loop them around something to stop himself from rolling off the deck into oblivion.

A giant wave crashed onto the hull, and the ship heaved and dipped, sending him flying across the deck like a loose leaf caught in the wind. His head hit the metal railing with a loud clatter. River gripped the fixuture for his dear life in this cosmic tug of war between gravity and the surging waves.

Don't go out in a storm. Noted.

Rain and sea spray soaked him, and he squinted his eyes to see through the burning in them. Coldness sank its vicious fangs into his skin, but it was the least of his problems now.

Lightening briefly illuminated the turbulant seascape in front of him, revealing colossal towers of churning waves. His breath left his lungs, and he whimpered. The sight filled him with awe and palpable dread.

Rain thudded on the creaking timbers as it decended into dense sheets,blurring the horizon. Silver streaks ran across the sky like a malevolent cobweb, the dark mirror overhead shattering before heaven's fury.

The roaring of thunder exploded over the howling of the sea. River's heart lurched at the boom, and he curled into himself. The ship's masts strained against the force of the gales. It sounded as if the ship itself had come to life, creaking and groaning under the onslaught.

Sails flapped wildly—a butterfly caught within the fury of the tempest. There was no telling how much more battering it could withstand before tearing apart.

Clementine was a ladybug in a jar of medicine.

And God was shaking it well before use.

The deck had transformed into a treacherous battlefield. The crew of Clementine hustled to weather her through the war against the elements. They were an army of seasoned soldiers, with determination and years of experience etched into their unyielding gazes.

Bones's giant frame loomed over the helm, the very image of a major on the battlefront. His arms manhandled the wooden wheel, his muscles bulging from the exertion. His emerald eyes were narrowed to slits as he swung the helm. Every single degree he turned was a precarious gamble against death.

River heard a yell overhead. He stared up and saw Chipper on the ratlines. Despite his scrawny figure, he gripped the course ropes with an iron fist. The boy crawled up the mast, as agile as a spider on its sticky web.

He signaled something to Louie, and they both started to reef the sails. Their movements were quick and coordinated, as if they were two meshing cogs on a well-oiled gear train. They handled the lines and secured the sail ties with the help of some other crew members. They were a first and second lieutenant, if River may say, guiding manpower to refine the adjustments on the most crucial weapon they had at hand.

Others ran about, clad in oilskins with harnesses attached, to secure loose items from becoming projectiles. They yelled over the vengeful spirit of the howling wind as they strapped down wooden boxes full of supplies. Hands gripped the rig to brace them from waves crashing over the bow.

On this merciless arena of war, Raven Alistair's voice pierced through the tempest—the valiant first general.

"Take down two jibs!" He hollered at Louie. "Bones! Steer to the left!"