Nightsea Outlaw

Jean fiddled with the ruby-jeweled circlet in his hands as he stepped back into the snow from the tower. The treasure had been sitting beside the lever in the tower, and he had hardly even considered picking it up. However, leaving such a treasure there without being used would be a crime. Surely, the citizens of Diamond Peak would forgive them for taking it if they ever returned.

"A bright sunny day, how unexpected," he whispered as the sun's warmth touched his face for the first time since he had arrived on the island.

He quickly pulled back his hood and removed his goggles and scarf, relishing in the sun's bright rays. Eliza flowed through the world around him, her spectral form floating this way and that in the newly cleared sky. Jean smiled as he put the circlet on his head, the red ruby softly touching his forehead.

"If only I had been fated to be a king, I think it would have suited me well," he told Eliza as she floated past on her way down. "Of course, you would have been my queen, Eliza."

She swirled up his body, wrapping around him until she came to rest on his shoulders. Her empty eyes locked with his before she nodded at him. Jean smiled as he continued into the snow, following his path back toward the broken machine he had left after his fight.

It still lay there in the snow, broken and unmoving. Bits and pieces were strewn across the area, and Jean paused a moment to close his eyes and send well wishes to the machine in death. He had no idea if an automaton had a soul—he hadn't seen a sign of one when they had fought—but he was not one to not wish better on such a thing.

Crunch.

As he stood there, boots compacted snow nearby. Jean opened his eyes, and across the bridge, he saw a figure in a coat. Jean took a deep breath, adding fuel to his open gate as he squinted to make out the figure. As far as he knew, there were only six people on the island, eight if he counted the two automatons. No one should have been coming out to see him, and he didn't recognize the figure in the coat. Something else was happening, and he had no idea what it was.

"Hello, stranger," Jean called out to the figure as it approached the last stretch of the bridge. "I wasn't aware of anyone else on this island. Are you an automaton?"

Light gleamed off the figure's goggles as it looked over to him. It wore a grey coat, and its face was completely covered by its scarf, goggles, and hood. A chill ran up Jean's spine as the figure examined him. He felt like he was being assessed as a threat.

"I need you to come with me," the man said, his voice hard and bitter as the cold. "You are trespassing on my client's land; he doesn't want you here."

Jean weighed his response.

"You can hardly blame a man for wandering an island when no sign keeps him at bay." Jean chuckled. "People are fated to wander wherever they please, and there was no announcement or sign saying that I could not walk on this land."

"If you come with me now, it won't be a problem," the man said. "Make no mistake: I will take you in by force if need be. I am Antonio Fettucine, an up-and-coming bounty hunter."

Jean frowned. That changed things significantly. He might have gone with the man if he was a simple guard. He wouldn't mind explaining his actions to a local lord and would even return his ill-gotten circlet if it were noticed. However, a bounty hunter created a problem. A bounty hunter might recognize his face. Jean smiled at the invisible Eliza before he opened his gate further and embraced the chill of death.

"You see, that's a problem," Jean said as the figure continued to approach. "For, you see, I am an outlaw myself. You can call me Baptiste 'the Reanimator.' Spirit Swing."

Eliza sparked into sight with a purple glow, spiraling around his body in a long loop as part of the theatrics before resting on his shoulder. He reached out one hand, and Eliza put her own hand in his. Fettucine paused in his approach, his emotionless goggles taking in all of Eliza and Jean with an audible gulp.

"That complicates things," Fettucine said, shaking his head. "I want to get through all of this with my reputation intact. If you don't come with me, I will have to show you the skills that made me head chef at Lord Landry's manor!"

Jean raised an eyebrow. It was an odd thing to boast about. In his experience, being a head chef had little to do with fighting. However, if that were the man's battle cry, Jean would have to praise him for his uniqueness.

"Then let us dance!"

Jean let the aether flow through his body as he drove his gate further and wider open. He embraced the purple flow that shook through his limbs as he opened himself to the spirits. Eliza's form turned a bright purple as power flared from him and into her.

"Spirit Step."

He disappeared in a flurry of motion, instantly cutting the distance between him and Fettuicne. He reappeared behind the man, twirling Eliza in his arms and preparing her to lash out in a vicious kick to the back of the man's hand.

"Noodle Net!"

Fettucine spun on one leg, white ropes extending out from his coat's arms. They lashed together, forming a net between his hands as he turned. Jean was in the middle of releasing Eliza for her kick, and he had to pull her back with all his strength to avoid the clutches of the net.

Whoosh.

The net caught nothing but air as it sailed past, and Fettucine made a second spin as he was thrown off balance. Jean watched him, unsure of what he was dealing with. There were many kinds of curses across the nightsea, but he had never heard of a man cursed with the power to control noodles.

"Such a strange ability."

"It was perfect for my old job," Fettucine said. "Yet, I have also adapted it for the new. Where I once made glorious pasta dishes with my powers, I now use these tools to capture those who would defy the law. That is the zest of my life now! Penne Missile!"

Thwip. Crack.

Lines of light brown cut through the arm of Fettucine's coat as he held it pointed towards Jean. Jean threw himself to the side, balancing with Eliza's arm as they created a U-bend where he had once stood. Short, sharp lines of pasta shot through the air, whistling past him and toward the bridge. Though the attack seemed silly, the results were not. A line of pasta missiles stuck out of the stone construction, and several cracks erupted down its length from the force of the attack.

The right arm of Fettucine's coat was in tatters as he lowered it, a cold white whisp of air coming out from his scarf. He glared at Jean through his goggles. Jean brought Eliza close, pulling her skeletal torso into an embrace as he observed Fettucine. It would be wrong to say that his ability was strictly just pasta or noodles. No, it was more than that. He had to be using some aether to harden the pasta into a usable form. Jean suddenly doubted that he would have been able to escape the net's reach if it had managed to catch him.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"There is more to you than meets the eye, my friend," Jean said, his shoulder twitching as he began to tap his boot on the ground. "However, I don't think that is all there is to your ability. Surely, you come up against me with more than the power of pasta at your side. You are glowing with a fate much grander than that."

Whoosh.

"It may be true that I'm holding back." The wind blew past Fettucine's head, knocking the hood off and revealing greased-back blonde hair. "But that is only because I am uncertain of my new abilities. I have yet to try them against a strong opponent. My noodle web has been more than enough before this point."

"One doesn't grow strong by not testing themselves," Jean said, nodding along with his tapping footbeat. "The dance of fate requires you to push yourself to the limit to grow stronger. Show me your best, and I will answer with my own. That is all I ask of you!"

"Alright!" Fettucine said, ripping away his jacket to reveal a crisp white chef's uniform in the sunlight. "I will show you my power. Don't regret it!"

Jean smiled. The one thing he truly cared about, the one thing he wanted in life now, was the experience. He didn't want to live with any more regrets. If his opponent didn't come at him with the best, Jean wouldn't be able to be happy. It might sound foolish to those who cared about winning, but Jean wanted to know he was the best. He wanted to know what Fettucine was capable of. That would bring him the utmost joy.

"Noodle Armor!" Fettucine held up his hands as he sent strands of noddles out and around his entire person.

The noddles twisted and curled as they fell around Fettucine. They wrapped tight around his arms, legs, and chest as they formed into layers of lines. Sheets of pasta formed into plates around his chest, and curled spirals stretched between his limbs to connect them. On his knees, elbows, and shoulders, circular pieces of pasta formed, hardening into protective plates over the joints. In seconds, Fettucine had a fully formed whole wheat set of armor over his body, giving him a wide girth and elongated arms and legs.

It didn't make sense to Jean that Fettucine could move in the armor, but the man was full of surprises. He swung his arms out in quick jabs, stretching his arms as he tested how far each one would go with each punch. Jean watched, carefully measuring the length Fettucine seemed to be able to move.

It wasn't a new level to his curse but a technique. Of that much, Jean was sure. Whenever someone's curse ascended to the second grade, it burned brightly in the person's chest. While Fettucine was using a lot of aether to fuel his armor, it was nowhere near as bright as the second grade.

It was a pity. While Fettucine was certainly doing well with such strange power, Jean was confident he would win. Unless the chef had some secret weapon, Jean knew that his and Eliza's dance would carry him through. His foot stopped tapping for a moment as he prepared his attack.

"Spirit Step!"

Jean disappeared in a blur of movement yet again, reappearing with Eliza behind Fettucine. Fettucine was already swinging around with his long noodle-armored arm, the long strands elongating as he pivoted on one foot.

"Noodle Jab!"

"Spirit Battement!"

Jean spun Eliza down the length of his arm, more certain this time than the last of the distance for the attack. A spectral skeletal leg extended from Eliza's body as she rolled out the length of Jean's arm. Her leg blurred into motion as she kicked the air repeatedly, kicking up snow and dust with the wind from her speed.

Splech.

Noodle met bone as the fist connected with the flurry of kicks, and for a moment, Jean thought he had the upper hand. The noodles buckled under the attack, flowing back like water pulled away in a tide. It flopped backward before surging back in place as Eliza's relentless kicks continued.

However, it wasn't that simple. As Eliza's leg should have blurred faster and faster in a series of cutting kicks, they instead slowed. Lines of pasta wrapped around her leg, drawing further up the bone as they stuck tight around her limb. Jean's eyes widened as he realized the problem.

The noodles around Fettucine's body were sticky, and every attack he made against it caused the armor to wrap tighter and tighter around Eliza's form. Lines of noodles strapped Eliza into the armor, drawing her away from his arms and into the chef's sticky trap.

"What will you do once I take away your spirit, Baptiste?" Fettucine asked as a smile cracked his face.