Chapter 83: Careful with Those Fireballs

Raising the lantern to my lips, I sprayed out a forceful jet of raw moonshine at the Dreaded Pirate Robertson. The stream of pure fuel ignited immediately as it passed over the lantern's flame. Like liquid turbulence, deep reds and yellows bloomed surprisingly far out, exploding like pure death from my lips and engulfing the Dreaded Pirate Robertson.

"Fireball! Fireball!" I shouted, bringing the bottle back to my lips for another giant sip. 

I sprayed out another gout of flame, covering him with more of the potent moonshine.

“Fireball!”

His clothes, bandanna, and eyebrows all ignited at once. Even through the rain, the alcohol continued burning white-hot. The Dreaded Pirate Robertson screamed in baritone agony.

My cue seemed to do the trick, fortunately. The momentary lapse from everyone being caught off guard wouldn't last long. But it didn't need it to. Shivai was in place, right behind one of the goblins when I yelled fireball for the first time.

And when I yelled fireball the second time, the first goblin had already fallen. A knife ran across its throat, and it collapsed without a chance to light its dynamite.

The second one got the fuse lit, but it fell, too. Shivai's arm was a blur pumping viciously a dozen times before the spurts came. A petite mort indeed.

I didn't even have time to appreciate it for what it was. Or to feel disgusted, also for what it was. I was too busy doing the next thing.

Pulling out the stoppered bottle strapped to my waist, I held the lantern flame to the rag. Water and alcohol soaked the fabric, which struggled to burn in the heavy rain. Patches of dark spread across the makeshift wick stopper. A second passed. Then another. The little tongue of flame licking the wick did nothing to light it.

I didn’t need it, though. All I needed was a bit of flame to catch the moonshine inside on fire when it got released. And unfortunately for my target, it was already on fire. The subtle white glow of an alcohol fire wreathed the Dreaded Pirate Robertson like a cursed halo.

The last time I hit a pirate with a bottle, the glass didn't shatter. It might've dented the dude's skull, but it stayed perfectly intact. For this, I needed the glass to break. My target should make that easy—if I could aim.

No matter. It was time to talk shit and see if I could redeem myself with a better quip.

"You should’ve known better than to mess with a bartender." I smirked, praying for a natural twenty on my aim. "I make a pretty mean Molotov cocktail!"

I hurled it full force at the oversized target right in front of him. The bottle tumbled end over end through the air. The telltale crash of shattering glass told me I'd struck home, sending shards flying into the Dreaded Pirate Robertson. It hit the Zweihänder he held out in front of himself. The moonshine followed, spreading over him like a miniature tidal wave of infernal terror.

"Fireball!" I yelled again, this time just for good measure. I was kind of drunk, so it felt good to lean into it. “Yee-haw!”

The goliath dropped his sword. It clattered to the ground with a wet thunk, and his knees followed shortly after. Blackening fingers scratched all over his body, trying to tear his clothes off. Burnt remnants of fabric pulled away from his skin, taking some of his skin with it.

Even in the heat of the moment, I had to look away. Without a doubt, this would scar him for life. Unfortunately, I was pretty sure it would scar me too.

Lady Talia took her cue to advance on the merfolk warrior. Her sword twirled expertly in her hand, showing off her lifetime of practice. With a few well-practiced swishes, I could immediately tell that everything she’d shown me on the beach was slow-mo for my benefit.

The merman steadied himself, then stomped the group while snarling. If I had to guess, I’d say he was trying to do a haka rather than start a fight.

Yet the moment the constable struck, he moved with the fluid grace of a river. A splash of water burst from where their weapons met. To my surprise, the watery trident held solid against her steel. He met every swing of her blade with a splash. His body moved with smooth power, letting him parry and dodge without wasting a footstep.

With the Dreaded Pirate Robertson writhing in agony by my feet, I went to join Lady Talia. 

I moved to her side to help, staying just out of reach of the warrior’s magical, liquid weapon. Since he had range, I played to my strengths. I sucked in another mouthful of moonshine to spit another fireball.

But I sucked too hard. Half of it went down the wrong pipe. It burned in my stomach and my lungs, and I coughed out another plume of volatile spray, which caught fire over my outstretched candle.

I could barely wheeze out another, “Fireball!”

The merman ducked it, but just barely. Flames singed his flowing fabrics, and he hissed a guttural warning at me.

From behind him, Shivai darted in, slipping a dagger between his ribs.

Or at least, that’s what I thought she did. Yet although the angle was perfect, her blade slid right through as though he were made completely out of water. Sea spray spattered the wet ground where I would’ve expected blood to land.

He roared in pain. So, neat trick, but apparently not neat enough to render her attacks harmless.

In a blink, he shifted positions, like a vortex of water warping to the side. Empty space taunted me from where he’d just been standing. He coalesced right next to Shivai, shoving her with a powerful hand. As she went sprawling, he raised his trident high overhead, ready to bring it down and run her through.

I chugged another mouthful to fireball him. But I was too slow.

He’d reached the apex of his wind-up. As if in bullet time, I could see his muscles flex, tightening, thrusting three points of death toward my beautiful demonkin.

My mouth burned, filled with flammable fuel, but the lantern was still too far from my lips for me to blast him. All I could do was scream internally. Fireball! Fireball!

Brilliant flames exploded with a glittering, whitish intensity. They engulfed him, coating him in a radiant, platinum-golden fire that sparkled and cracked like fireworks. The force of the blast knocked the merman sideways, and his watery weapon splashed harmlessly onto Shivai as though he’d just spilled a cup of water on her.

Weakly, I spurted out my alcohol onto the howling merman. The extra stream fed the fire, buying us time to exchange exclamations.

“Holy shit! What was that?” I wondered out loud.

“That… was a fireball,” Lady Talia wheezed. “It felt like I was vomiting out my soul.”

The constable sucked in heavy breaths next to me. She looked sickly and pale. A small cough escaped her lips, and a sparkling spurt of flame came with it.

Okay. She was dragonkin. So, probably a breath weapon. Maybe it was just fire, but it had to be exceptionally hot. Magical, too. How else could it burn a creature that appeared made of water during combat?

His eyes burned with fury and disbelief. He looked around wildly, taking stock of the situation. His two orcs had never shown up, both dead by my hand. The Dreaded Pirate Robertson was a motionless, barely breathing lump in front of us. Behind him, the fallen bodies of his two goblin compatriots darkened the ground, still holding their munitions.

Then, the long wick of one stick of dynamite finally reached the primer. Remnants of ex-goblin burst everywhere, bathing the scene in gore.

Wynnie stopped her gyrations. “What in tarnation are you all doing over there?”

“Kicking ass.” I motioned for her to come over. “Want to join?”

She wrung her hands nervously. A lifetime of conflict passed across her eyes. In an instant, it was gone, replaced by sheer determination and protective energy.

“Oh, shucks. I guess I can freeze his nuts off.”

The merman extinguished the last of the flames licking his skin. He backed away, glancing at the four of us. It was already clear that he could do magic, and now he was showing off his math skills by reading the odds. He was outnumbered four to one, and none of us posed an easy target..

"This isn't over. I'll be back." His eyes settled on the burning inn, and a hungry sneer curled his lips. "Your town may be spared for now, but soon, this kingdom will be in ruins!"

I blinked. “Huh?”

“When the Tidebringer returns, we’ll rule the Silver Coast with an iron fist! This pathetic town will starve. We’ll see to that!”

Lady Talia’s voice was resolute. “I won’t let you harm another soul here!” Her sword was a blur as it struck out toward the villain.

Wynnie conjured several shards of ice out of the rain, sending them flying at the warrior. She cried out with as much anger as I’d ever seen her wield, “You’re a real rat, mister!”

Shivai one-upped her on two counts. First, she flung a dagger. Second, after a tame, “This is my home, asshole!” She called him several choice words that could get a guy canceled if he made the mistake of putting them on social media.

Before I could register what I was doing, I reached into my waistband and pulled out a dagger, unsheathing it with surprising fluidity. Smooth, confident, and without fumbling at all. Maybe it was practice, or maybe it was like playing pool after a couple of drinks—suddenly you get into the zone. I gripped the blade and threw it dead on target.

A splash of water sprayed everywhere like a wave crashing against rock. The merman disappeared, but his scream echoed through the air. It was like a ninja throwing a smoke bomb—there one second, and gone the next.

But where had he gone? And had any of our attacks hit?