Nightsea Outlaw

Whoosh.

A cold wind cut through the air between Baptiste and Antonio, and Antonio smiled. He had his opponent right where he wanted. The troublesome spirit was captured in his armor, and Antonio could take his time binding and breaking the outlaw down using his powers.

People thought less of him because of his power. They thought he was weak. They thought he could do nothing. He couldn't spit fire or shoot out light beams; he could control noodles. Those people were wrong, and Antonio knew it in his heart.

Noodles were the strongest power—stronger than any sword, gun, or weapon that mortal hands could bring to bear. That was why Antonio would succeed at the end of this day.

That determination was how he bound the spirit to himself. The sticky nature of noodles, combined with the aether in his curse, allowed him to bind things constructed by curses. Not only that, but opponents couldn't call the construct back so long as his noodles bound it. This was his secret to taking down cursed people while bounty hunting; it was how he had made a name for himself.

He might be the disgraced Head Chef of Lord Landry's manor, but he was no slouch.

"You might as well give up," Antonio said. "I have your spirit bound, and soon I will bind you. You don't stand a ghost of a chance against me."

Baptiste chuckled, and Antonio had to take pride in that. His pun was truly exceptional.

Snap. Snap.

Baptiste snapped his fingers in a steady beat. Antonio furrowed his eyebrows. Baptiste was too confident in his position. Antonio was sure that it was a bluff. He had the spirit under control. All he needed to do was trap the man.

"You think that I only have one trick?" Baptiste asked as he continued to snap his finger. "That's where you're mistaken. Spirit Shroud."

Purple light flickered over his body, covering his coat and pants as it sparkled over his limbs—a long purple suit formed over his body, with a yellow shirt beneath it. The same light ignited from his fingertips as he raised it to his head, forming it into a long hat that he pulled over his head with a yellow feather sticking out from it.

"You have your armor, and I have mine," Baptiste said, continuing to snap his fingers as he began to circle Antonio. "I am sorry, my beloved, but you must wait while I take care of this ruffian. He should know better than to separate two dance partners."

"You will take me seriously." Antonio growled as he raised one of his noodle arms. "I'll have you encased in noodles when I'm done with you. If you so much as touch my body, you'll end up the same as your spirit."

He drew a deep breath, focusing on his open gate. His noodly powers wrapped and corded through his body more and more. He raised one hand as he stepped forward, the noodly armor around it sluffing with it as he aimed his punch.

"Noodle Cannon!"

Antonio slammed his foot down on the snow in front of him, throwing his hand forward in a punch. His noodle-covered arm shot forward, stretching beyond his reach and flying right toward Baptiste. Antonio smiled as he noticed that he was right on target.

"Spirit Step."

Baptiste disappeared, and Antonio reflexively ducked the kick he thought was coming for his head. However, the kick never came. As his arm stretched to its limit before snapping back toward Antonio, he searched the area around him. When his arm returned to him, he rolled with it, spinning around to face the man standing in the snow behind him.

"Have you ever played 'kickball?'" Baptiste asked as he stood in the snow with one foot on the head of a machine. "Every child at some point plays some game where they kick a ball, whether there are formalized rules or not. It is an experience to relish as a child because you can never truly experience the joy again."

"When I was a kid." Antonio lined up his next shot. "Doesn't everyone have some sort of game they played as a kid? Don't think you can distract me from this fight. It's not like we'll break out in a game while you're losing to me."

"I always liked playing it as a child," Baptiste said. "It was a simple thing. Just you and a few friends running through the street until sunset, kicking a ball back and forth with each other. I always loved those games."

Antonio had no idea where Baptiste was going with his prattling. There weren't any balls around. For a moment, he was sure that the outlaw was insane. He focused on what he had come to do. He needed to defeat Baptiste and bring the man back to Bibi. Then, he could escape the island and be free from this wretched situation.

"You talk too much," Antonio said, holding his fist back before lunging forward with a second strike. "Noodle Cannon!"

"Spirit Piourette!"

Even as his arm shot out, Baptiste kicked the machine head up into the air and began to spin. He rotated faster and faster as Antonio's arm shot forward. Antonio smiled at first, thinking he had a sure shot. However, then he noticed that the wind from the spinning threw his punch off course.

Thump. Crack. Thump.

His noodle arm fell in the snow, but the machine head came down in range of the twirling Baptiste before he could pull it back. With a solid crack, Baptiste landed a kick on the head, sending it careening out like a bullet right toward Antonio's face.

Antonio didn't have time to dodge. In his armor, he gave up speed for the power of his noodles. With a solid thump, the head cracked into his face, and darkness consumed Antonio's vision. He fell backward into the snow, the power of noodles fading from his consciousness as cold embraced him.

The last thought to cross Antonio's mind was that he would remember Baptiste. Someday, he would find him again and beat him. He would rue the day that he belittled the power of noodles.

Jean reached out a hand, calling Eliza back to him as the noodles faded from around her. She jumped into his arms, wrapping around him with her light purple light as his suit faded away. Jean exhaled as he closed his eyes and released his hold on his curse.

"You should rest, Eliza," he said as he closed his gate. "You've been through much today."

He stared into her hollow black eyeholes as he closed his gate and let her fade away. Again, he wished he could bring back more of her. He wanted to hear her voice again. He wanted to feel the soft caress of her fingers across his face.

Maybe when he was stronger.

He looked down at Fettucine's body in the snow and sighed. The man's face was purple with a large bruise, and his nose was bent at a crooked angle. His eyes were open, but only the whites of the eyes were exposed. It was sufficient to say that Jean had won by knockout.

"This is why you don't separate me from my partner, friend," Jean said, reaching down and grasping his legs.

It took him a few minutes, but he dragged Fettucine to the tower and deposited him inside. As much as he had angered Jean, the man didn't deserve to die unconscious in the snow. When he was done, he made his way back to the bridge, making a decent pace back to the keep. The sun above renewed his strength, and he was no longer focused on sightseeing.

That was why he was surprised when he noticed the metal slipship cutting through the air from over the keep. It took him a moment, but he recognized it wasn't the Robin. Jean paused on his bridge as he saw the ship make a dipping pass near the start of the bridge by the keep. Two figures in dark coats dropped down there.

"Looks like we're at it again," Jean whispered as he started forward down the bridge, ready to fight.

He opened his gate, and a cold, chilling energy filled his body. He remained adamant in his words. He would let Eliza rest. Instead, he would focus on his own dance for this fight. He wasn't ready to call out his full power yet; that would depend on how strong his opponents were.

Lines of purple energy ran off his body, so thin that they were barely visible. This was the first iteration of Jean's curse, Spirit Strings. His Spirit Shroud was his best version of the technique, wrapping the strings into a battle suit that allowed him to move freely with the power. Beyond that, his second level centered on Eliza and their dances in tandem.

"You fools found your fate on this bridge," Jean called out as he approached the end of the bridge, where two men stood in the archway, rifles in their hands. "You may run, you may hide, you may fight, but every man finds his fate ends the same way someday."

His words had the chilling effect he wanted. The rifles came up, training on him. Jean chuckled, manipulating the strings before him into a lattice structure. He was already prepared for his first move.

"Stop where you are! Do not resist! You are under arrest!"

Jean did none of those things, walking forward with his hands in his pockets.

"Fire!"

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The remaining snow across the bridge jumped up in small bursts, drawing lines toward Jean as they cut through the snow, shot by shot. Jean raised his hand, drawing his strings tight in a practice motion he hadn't used in ages.

"Spirit Wall."

The lines drew tight, forming a barrier between himself and the soldiers. Bullets crashed against his barrier, but they only slowed and rolled after they failed to penetrate his defenses. Jean shook his head as he couldn't help but grin.

All he had to do was wait.

Click. Click.

Both men's guns clicked empty, and Jean released his hold on the technique. Stretching one hand wide open, he sent out long lines of spectral energy to grab onto the men's coats. Each one took four, connecting to their limbs to link them to himself.

"Spirit Parter."

With a pull, he raised their arms into the air, their guns flying from limp fingers as they both raised their hands to the sky. Jean casually strolled toward them, snapping his finger every other step to a beat that was only in his head.

Snap. Snap.

Jean rarely used these techniques, mainly because they weren't his style. He preferred the fun of dance over the use of strings. However, that didn't mean he hadn't taken the time to figure out interesting ways to use the first level of his curse.

"Now," Jean said as he stood before the two men. "I'm going to find my friends. When you wake up and your comrades retrieve you, remember why you shouldn't shoot at strangers. Think about your fates in your dreams."

Thwap. Thwap.

With two kicks, he released his hold on the two soldiers, who fell into clumps in the snow. This time, he didn't bother putting them away. The ship circled above, and he figured that the men's superiors would come and get them soon.

He had already guessed that it was a Military Police vessel. The large MP on the side and their symbol were more than enough to guess that. However, Jean had no idea how the Military Police had followed them all to the island. He had far too many questions to answer alone, and he could not fly to get up to the ship.

Jean strode for the keep, watching the ship as he moved. No more soldiers dropped down. He quickly made his way to the keep, entering through the wide northern doors to check on Erin. Whatever was happening with the ship above, they needed to regroup. He only hoped his friends were alright.