Headed by a Snake

"Oy," Stickyfingers jammed his elbow into Catshit's ribcage-area, "Da f*ck you wai'ting on?"

"Oh, f*ck me," Catshit rolled his head, "OPEN FIIIIIRE! FIRE AT WILL, Y'DUMB F*CKING GITS!! F*CKIN' SHOOOOT!!!!"

Stickyfingers leapt out of the way, opposite the others.

He didn't want to get shot. Getting shot hurt like all get out.

Bang bang. Dakka dakka.

The sound of a hundred or more guns going off was... musical-- beautiful, poetic discord.

Doc was crying. He'd be fine, though. He was also low-crawling through the mud like a slithering eel.

Catshit was shouting orders. Real pompous of him, but in all honesty, it was probably for the best.

Stickyfingers was having the time of his life. He was in his happy place. Everything was fine and dandy.

The sweet scent of Orcish sugar filled the air. Danger was every which way.

Chaos reigned.

That meant no one could be bothered to pay him any attention.

"⌈Crack DA SHELL!!!!⌋"

That was P.O. Bob, shouting bloody murder.

One good swipe cracked one of the giant crab things about in half.

The elfy on top of the thing was too close to the impact. When his or her ride got shook, so did their insides-- so they fell to the dirt, deader than dead.

It was absolutely f*cking glorious.

A lot of the elfies were screaming in panic, getting shot up.

A little while back-- before Stickyfingers and the boys approached the elf named King, he and Catshit stationed the gunnery squads on a ridge.

The high ground was always best for things like that. It was basic strategy.

In a minute or three, the shooty boys would have done their jobs. Then, everyone that wanted a stab or a chop would drop down and get the rest of the job done.

Sure, they could have arranged for a straight fight. Even ground. A clearing free of trees and cover.

They'd still win... but it would be a hard fight.

Stickyfingers hated hard fights.

It wasn't enough that the Coral Boys were victorious.

They were better than that.

They had to brutally crush their opponents.

They had to break their formations. They had to make them turn their backs-- to make them run like their lives depended on it.

Stickyfingers wanted more than a win and a share of the loot.

He wanted to taste despair.

There were more than trained marksmen and fighty boys posted in the hills.

Each and every single one of them was a professionally trained murderer.

They were the Royal Marines.

Worse still, they were Sea Wolves, the craziest f*cking Marines in the Royal Navy.

The leader of the dark elfies-- Bistol or whatever, he was fighting Catshit.

Catshit wasn't the best fighter among the Boys. But despite letting his feelings get to him real good, he wouldn't die so easily.

He was getting cut up real bad, though. The elfie was quick with the curved sword. His squinty eyes darted around, always checking for danger.

Catshit f*cked up so bad, he got his wrist slashed, and his handaxe fell out of his grip.

Stickyfingers chuckled to himself. If the Bosun saw that, there was a 50:50 chance Catshit would've been put in the hotbox for it.

Regularly, a lad couldn't even hold onto their cock with that kind of injury.

To the Bosun, that was just a shite excuse.

Royal Marines are held to a higher standard. Sea Wolves, higher still.

Still... being the benevolent and selfless Coral Boy that Stickyfingers was, he leapt in the shadows just behind the dark elf.

It wasn't too much trouble. Anyroad, he wanted to show off his new knife.

"⌈Shadowfang Strike.⌋"

It was one of the first things he learned from the Bosun, walking through the shadows quicker than the eye could see. He slid through the dirt, steadied his legs, and rotated his entire body for a good swing.

The knife sliced right through Bistol's try at a block.

The upper end of the blade flew up and away. It sparkled in the moonlight like a star before sticking in the dirt.

The elfie gave him a look of shock and awe, "Th-that dagger."

"I looted it," Stickyfingers grinned, "from a bloody corpse."

It was a job well done. Without a weapon, the leader-elf was as good as dead.

That meant that any of the angrier boys, Catshit or Bob especially, would be able to finish the job.

While they were doing that, Stickyfingers could take his time, picking and choosing the best bodies to loot.

"I'm not impressed," Quick as the wind, the elf stabbed forward with what was left of his broken saber.

Stickyfingers was surprised but he didn't need to think clearly when it came to murdering.

He was just as professionally trained as the other Marines... and just as f*cked in the head, too.

He shot his fist forward, over the elf's arm. Then, he rotated his blade down, his looted knife cutting deep into Bistol's wrist.

It was a little bit like what happened to Catshit... except Stickyfingers did it better.

Catshit got a little cut. The elfie lost his whole hand.

"ARRRGHHH!" Bistol screamed as he staggered back, "NOT. ENOUGH!! ⌈WIND BLADE!⌋"

With a burst of green, flashy bits, a sharp-looking mana weapon appeared out of the elf's severed wrist.

That blade... it was real fast. And it was headed straight for Stickyfingers' throat.

It was a hard fight.

Stickyfingers hated hard fights.

Dying didn't seem like it was all that fun.

Just at that time, a sound echoed in the back of his head. He was expecting the sound of his neck getting cut and blood shooting out like a waterspout.

--but it wasn't that.

It was the sound of a snap.

"⌈Death!!!⌋" Catshit yelled.

"DESTRUCTIONNNN!!!" Shouted Bob.

He had torn off a leg and claw of one of the giant spider crabs. With a tremendous swing, he struck down five elves-- the force enough to break bone and smash their guts to paste.

"Total annihilation."

The two-sword elfie-- the fellow that liked to be called King, he did some sort of weird wind-blowing thing that dropped a dozen of his knife-eared compatriots to the ground.

The other Coral Boys saw the opportunity, though... and with axe and dagger, they got to bloody work.

Someone had activated a Skill-- and it sounded like Catshit.

...but from what Stickyfingers knew, only the Bosun could use that Skill?