Lights Out: Bury Your Regrets, Chapter Two

Saltwater in her lungs, burning.

Her muscles scream for her to give it up here. Just close her eyes, roll onto her back on the soft sand, and let the waves drag her back out and under to a quiet grave.

Would oblivion be so bad?

Her vision blurs, but next to her, she can see Ava’s blonde hair, splayed out, sodden, as she clutches a rotting plank. For a terrible moment she doesn’t move… until a deep, ragged breath pulls her chest up and out, and she coughs, and twitches.

What a fall it had been. Just a month ago she’d stood on the gleaming, polished deck, one foot braced against the heavy cannons, and raised a glass to the two queens of the sea. Golden treasure so heavy they needed three galleons in their fleet just to carry it all. Black sails unfurled, the banner of Ava and Alessia striking fear across every island, every port, every drinking hole from the dirtiest saloon to the Governor’s palaces. The greatest captains since Hook sailed these seas, however many years ago.

Then two upstarts sailed up, caught them unawares, and now their glory was rotting at the bottom of the ocean. The once-queens now lay on dirty sand with nothing but the rags they’d worn in the last fight, scorched by gunpowder and torn by cutlass blades.

Is this where their story ends, then?

A brief, glorious ascension, swept away by a new tide?

Left to drown, quietly, out of sight?

And all of a sudden, Ava reaches out, and her hand finds Alessia’s arm, and with a deep groan of pain, hauls herself over, and starts to drag her to her feet.

Come on. Up you get.

I’m so tired, Aves. Just let me-

Nope. You’re not dead yet. So you can still fight.

You go on. Just leave me.

It had been her watch, anyway. She was the one who missed the sight of the moonlight glinting off sword-blades, the prow of the ship peeking out from behind the island. She’d sailed them into the ambush.

She’d fought hard. Tooth and nail, like always, ‘till she’d fired every shot they had. But a terrible part of her wonders if it’d been Ava on deck then…

It’s all my-

Ava slaps her across the face, hard, and Alessia spits out a glut of seawater all over the sand.

Shut up.

OW! Ava-

I don’t need you feeling sorry for yourself. That’s not going to help us get off this rock.

I don’t want to.

Yes you do. We’re going back.

The familiar determination, blazing in Ava’s eyes, and almost without thinking Alessia finds herself back on her feet. Ava’s grip digs into her arm.

Maybe it’s better if-

Nope.

Not without you, Lessi.

Never without you.

Ava turns, pointing up inland, where about fifty feet away a sheer cliff face stands watch over the lonely beach. Following her arm, Alessia spots a small crack.

Tide’s coming in. Gotta get up. Nothing climbable, so let’s try our luck in there.

Everything in Ava’s body feels heavy. It even hurts to speak. Her tongue is impossibly dry. But she has to push them both on. And slowly, as they pick their way up the sand towards the cave entrance, things begin to loosen out again.

Inside, it’s blessedly dry. Alessia’s the first one to spot a crack of light glinting off the metal lock of a wooden chest, with a Royal mark on it - must’ve fallen off a ship, washed up here. And although their legs feel like they’ll snap, the women kick at the rusted iron bar until it snaps, and lifting the lid, retrieve two swords, a lantern, matches. Almost nothing. Less than they even had when they first sailed in, fresh-faced and hungry.

But as they lift the blades, feel the weight in their hands, and strike the lantern with a new flame… well, it feels like a start.

No time to dawdle, though. The dim light from the lantern reveals a slow slope upwards at the back of the cave - barely wide enough to fit through, but leading deeper up into the island. They press on, as sand turns to jagged rock, avoiding the sharp outcrops and hanging stalactites, in silence, watching.

It shouldn’t take this long. Even from the cove they washed up in, they could see there wasn’t much to this place. Just a rock in the middle of nowhere, a steep rise crowned with a few scrubby trees, a bush or two. But it feels like they’ve been climbing for twenty minutes when at last the narrow passageway opens up… into a yawning, echoing cave. A hundred and fifty feet across, or more, roughly round, with a huge ceiling over the top. And… painted?

The lantern just about highlights the very edges - curved, swirling patterns, like scrolls, twisting and diving, reds and greens and oranges. Almost glowing, faintly, in the light. Alessia feels the unease rising in her gut. Places like this, sites of power, were dotted all around the ocean in the Never Never. Plenty of stories and shanties about them. None good. She takes the lantern from Ava, bends closer to examine the markings…

Ava’s hand closes fast around her wrist. Alessia spins. In front of them, at the edge of the light, a familiar red-headed woman, in a heavy captain’s coat and the glint of a wicked blade-edge.

You should have drowned.

Their hands move in sync, the rasp of two blades drawn echoing around the cavern floor. The pair take up fighting stances, but the woman just laughs.

Too little, too late. They were all right about you. Flashes in the pan. You’ve thrown yourself into this tournament for what? You want to-

Ava roars as she swings, cutting down on the woman’s face… and straight through, ‘till it clangs uselessly on the floor. The woman’s image shimmers, but doesn’t break.

Stupid. You don’t think. You rush in. And now a better team are champions. You-

SHUT UP!

Oh my God, you never stopped talking, did you?

Yeah, we lost. So what? We’re still the same Ava and Alessia that beat the Malvados, beat Chris Page, won the Bash, that Terry Marshall picked to rep him in Wargames. Titles change hands. Talent doesn’t. You were just too busy blowing smoke up your own arsehole to see what you had in front of you.

The woman snarls and thrusts, Ava slips back, flicks her wrist, parries it aside.

So what if we’re back where we started? We’ve done it before. We’ll just earn it all back again, and more. And then you’ll all see just how tough we are.

And maybe, some of you, will finally - she lifts the sword - shut your Gosh Dang mouths!

Ava springs forward in a flash, a downward stroke clanging off the phantom’s blade, pushing her back, stumbling, towards the centre of the cavern.

Alessia… thinks. The image isn’t real, but the weapon definitely is - as Ava slips out of the way of a cut, the blade whistles through the air and tears a strip of fabric from her shoulder. But something about this, the markings on the wall, rings a bell in her mind. Was it-

LOOK OUT!

A reflex fires somewhere deep inside her and she dives, rolling across the stone, as behind her a club smashes into the floor. Her head whips round to see a huge hulking figure stepping out seemingly through the cave wall, in canvas breeches and a torn vest, and a familiar mask over its face.

999, Max Stone’s twisted self, who dealt her her first loss, who ruined her debut.

The phantom roars, raising its club again, but Alessia pops up to her knees and rolls, the wood once again crashing uselessly to the floor.

Little help here?

Hang on-

Ava twists her wrist and locks blades with the phantom woman, and with a flourish pulls back, whipping her opponent's weapon aside and to the floor. The woman’s eyes flare with anger, but Ava’s already spun, running towards Alessia, pulling her arm back for a wild swing…

WHAM!

A ghostly fist connects with the side of Ava’s face, whipping her neck round, sending her sprawling, skin tearing open on the stone floor. She rolls to her back as Alessia desperately catches a clubbing blow on her blade, grunting and sweating to hold back the masked ghost’s strength.

Ava’s vision swims, but even in her stunned state she recognises the lean figure standing over her, dressed like a Spanish buccaneer. The so-called War Queen, who cost her the biggest prize of them all when it was almost in her grasp.

Behind her, the woman’s picked up her cutlass, and advances towards them, slowly. The lantern, sent flying as Alessia dived out of the way of the vicious club, lies at the base of the wall, picking out the sharp edge as she raises it to bring it down on Ava’s neck.

The ghostly Leah doesn’t smile - she’s impassive. Like she said before Night of the Living Dead. It was just business. Nevertheless, she steps to the side, allowing the redhead to raise her sword high…

Time seems to slow. Alessia, teeth gritted, muscles glistening with sweat, holding back the club, looks over… and, with a burst of strength from somewhere primal, somewhere deep inside her, throws 999’s weapon up and away. The spirit in the mask roars with anger but there’s no time to hear it, as Alessia spins, steps, dives out, at full strength, throws out her arm…

And just as the sharp sword drops towards Ava’s exposed throat, Alessia’s blade catches it, blocks it. The woman screams in frustration. It’s all the time Ava needs to lift up her own arm, take the edge and throw it back, sending their trainer off balance. Leah’s face is calm as ever.

Alessia and Ava scramble to their feet, shoulder to bloodied shoulder, holding their weapons up. On guard, they step back, slowly, as in front of them the three ghosts drift into a line.

Wait. Is that-

Oh, of course he’s here, too.

Behind the three, the first they see is the grinning white teeth, as slowly the form of Alexander Marshall coalesces, in a fine silk peacoat, with a mahogany and silver flintlock. He raises it directly at Ava’s forehead, smiles wide, as his finger tightens on the trigger…

Then, out of nowhere, a flash of blonde hair, and a fifth phantom coalesces, swinging… but at Marshall! The ghostly figure of TPW’s ex-owner barely has time for the surprise to spread across his face before a fist crashes into his wrist, sending the arm spinning out. Reflexively, his hand twitches, and a gout of flame bursts from the end of the pistol as a crack echoes round the cavern. Ava closes her eyes…

And opens them, to see the phantom of Leah Aguero drop wordlessly to her knees, and dissipate like fog across the floor.

Alessia laughs as the furious phantom Marshall spins, to see a ghostly Khloe Cox standing there, defiant.

I knew we weren’t alone.

Sometimes it pays to make friends, Ava supposes.

Cox winds up again… then her mouth opens as the ghost of their trainer thrusts her sword through her neck, and much like Leah, she dissolves. But the moment of distraction is enough for the old songs to click into place in Alessia’s head.

I remember these places.

Old trials, for those about to set out on their own. Rowed to lonely islands, to face themselves, and see if they could come back. Where your failures would haunt you, but likewise you might find unexpected allies.

Always thought it was a figure of speech.

Rowed? Then there’s gotta be an old boat here somewhere. If we-

The woman’s sword whistles down between them, as Alessia wheels to the side.

Let’s handle this first, yeah?

Ava nods. The strategy’s clear. As Marshall reaches into a sash around his waist and withdraws a silver stiletto dagger, she runs, past the masked 999 and at him. The hulking brute roars, both hands tight around his club as he turns to swing it at Ava’s spine… and with a smirk, she drops.

The picture-perfect look of confusion on Marshall’s face makes her giggle to herself, as his jaw goes slack, half a second before twenty kilograms of thick, gnarled wood drives it back up into his skull. He flies backwards, dissolving into nothingness before he hits the wall.

Meanwhile, Alessia’s sword flashes and clangs, a furious duel with the enraged woman. She’s frothing at the mouth, angry, driving her back and back, but for the first time today Alessia’s mind is clear. She blocks, parries, dodges expertly, as the woman’s frustration builds, her swings getting wilder, more angry. On the other side of the cave, Ava ducks and weaves around 999’s heavy, arcing swings, kicking up chunks of stone every time they land, but never coming close to hitting her.

Alessia focused, Ava laughing. Everything falling back into place, as they lead their targets on a merry dance, back towards the centre, thudding clubs and metallic rings soundtracking their deadly rhythm, until they’re back to back. And with a brief look back over their shoulder at each other… they smile, and duck.

A club whistles through the air, and crunches into the redhead woman’s ribs. A cutlass-point drives forward, and finds the gap in 999’s mask, right into his skull.

Suddenly, the cave is silent. It’s just Ava and Alessia’s breathing.

The woman looks down at her shattered chest. Her hand goes limp, drops to her side, as the phantom 999 keels over, and melts.

She falls forward, to her knees. Looks into the eyes of her former protégées. Her face is a bizarre mix of twisted rage and utter incomprehension.

She tries to scream in rage, but all her crushed lungs can muster is a rattling breath.

And she disappears.

And with a rumble, stone at the back of the cave shifts and cracks, and a shaft of light spills down carved stairs.

Ava and Alessia look at each other, and with a grin, start to climb. It’s only a minute or so until they emerge into the dappled sunlight, and the trees that looked so scraggly and pathetic from down below now seem green and bright. Laden with fresh fruit, too, which the pair gratefully set on. It’s still not far across, and it only takes a minute or two of searching to find an old rowboat, rotting on a beach in a cove on the other side of the island, but this time a gentle slope lets them get down. And although the timbers creak, covered in seaweed, when they try to float it it just about stays above water, with a pair of old oars still jammed into place.

As the island disappears over the horizon, Ava rowing slowly, still nursing her skinned shoulder, Alessia frowns.

You know, as much as I hate her, she was right. We’re a long way off the top now. Maybe we should’ve given it a break before going back into the fight.

I mean, if we want to even earn a shot at being queens again, we need to take down everyone else here. And there’s a lot of big names in the Cup. The last two winners, Never//More, the Malvados-

Who we already beat-

The Gangsters of Christ. JMont and Vaughn-

TERRIBLE vibes in that dressing room, by the way-

Seriously, Ava. We’ve got this piece of junk, a couple of weapons, and the clothes on our backs. Think we could’ve built up a bit before we-

SAIL!

Alessia follows Ava’s excited point - there, over the horizon. A sloop with familiar green sails sits at rest, rocking in a lull in the wind.

I recognise them.

The young captain Pan. New to the region, but already making quite the name for himself. And his new partner, Luis Arroyo - untested, but looking dangerous. Under the wing of such a dynamic daredevil, Alessia was sure he’d be something to be wary of.

Looks like our first opponents, then. Get them out of the way, grab their ship, and we can start our rise again.

Are you crazy, Aves? They’ve got-

Nope. Have to start somewhere, right?

Alessia gives Ava the old familiar frown she’s so used to.

Hey. I don’t underestimate them. Pan’s not been here long, but he’s looked impressive in all of his wins. Keeton, Williams? No joke. That boy flies like a hawk when he wants to.

On the other side, we’ve got Arroyo. Unproven, sure, but if Pan thinks he’s good enough to train, then I’ve got to respect him too.

Alessia’s pleasantly surprised by how seriously her partner’s taking this-

Also they’re both, like, distractingly hot.

There it is. She slaps Ava on the arm, who shrugs and laughs, but settles back into it.

Yeah yeah I know, not that way. Serious, though. This isn’t a pair we can split apart. They’re in love. They’ll go to the mat for each other.

And so will we.

And suddenly, that fire she felt earlier, in the cave, the spark… it’s starting to grow back again. Her speech gets a little faster, a little more insistent.

I’ve known you for years, Aves. I’ve lied for you, fought for you. I drove you to the hospital at three AM the night after your first deathmatch, and stayed with you in A&E for six hours. We don’t break easy.

True. We’ve seen each other hurt bad. Who knows if when Pan sees Luis locked up in the Agony Angel, screaming his head off, whether he’ll be able to stop himself throwing in the towel to save his lover.

And we’ve got a point to prove, too. Everyone out there - Alessia gestures to the pale blue horizon - thinks we’re done. They saw us sink out of sight at the hands of Rogues’ Gallery. They’ll have their eyes on how the current champs are doing, whether the Malvados can take it back…

And thinking that we look weak. Broken. On a cold streak.

Exactly how we like it. Our four biggest wins - the title win, retaining in the rematch, you in the Bash, you against Page, no-one thought we’d be in the picture. Then we won. The worse the odds, the better we fight.

And that pretty much settles it - the decision is at once silent, instant, and mutual. Alessia grabs the swords to hide them under the gunwale on each side, as Ava turns to begin rowing towards the ship. Classic deception, pretend to be marooned sailors, let them take pity on you.

As they approach, Alessia smears a little of the seaweed on herself to muddy up her clothes, while Ava makes sure her shoulder wound is on full display.

I kinda wish it wasn’t them. They’re a promising pair. Seem like fun, too. A deep run in the Cup could be just what they need to really prove themselves. Instead, they’re going to go out in the first round, and end up being a footnote in Lights Out’s big comeback story.

Ah, well. They’re young and talented, they’ll have more shots in the future.

Maybe we’ll buy them a beer to say sorry after we beat them. Or wait, is Pan legal to drink? Like, he’s however many years old, but he’s a kid who never grows up…

Ava lapses into silence, pondering that as they approach the boat. Soon enough, they’re in sight - there’s a shout from the crow’s nest, a flurry of activity, and a voice calls down from the deck.

Who goes there?

Poor stranded sailors, wrecked in a storm. We ask your help. Just to the nearest port.

A few words back and forth, hushed, on the deck.

We’ll work for it, don’t worry.

Another quiet conversation. Then, at last, with a thunk a rope ladder is thrown over the side. Ava smiles to herself.

Lucky we lost a couple to scurvy and need replacements. Come on board.

Surreptitiously, Alessia and Ava tuck a sword each behind their belt and begin to climb, making a show of looking weak, their grip nearly gone. Ava almost topples off, before a strong hand catches her and pulls her over the railing, followed by her partner.

Now, what’re your names, sailors?

Ava and Alessia look at each other, grin, and draw their swords.

Your new captains.