I've got to hand it to him; it was quite an entrance.

Sheira and I barely had time to figure out what the hell was going on before Shadow was forcibly reintroduced to the ground. Hard. Something snapped, and I couldn't be sure whether the decking or Shadow's spine went kaput. Either way, it was enough to make me wish I was still deaf.

Although at that moment, I have to admit, I wasn't that concerned for my friend (he'd live). I had something more important on my mind.

"Are you actually kidding me!?" I yelled as soon as he'd stopped wheezing on the floor. "Can you not count or what?"

He sat up and shot me a dirty look. "In my defence, it's harder than it looks!" Shadow snapped back.

"Uh, guys?"

Now I don't know if you know this, but crashing through a window ain't the subtlest way of getting around. It also seems to be a guaranteed hangover cure. I didn't need to glance over my shoulder for my worst fears to be confirmed. They were up. Not one, not two, all of them. Yes, they may have been pissed as newts, but I had a funny feeling their aim would be better than mine sober.

Oh, and one more thing. Our helpful dark cloud? That was just straight-up gone (funny what having your spine snapped like a twig will do). So we were exposed in the open deep into enemy territory, and one of us has just been well and truly defenestrated. And there was no way out.

Fun times.

With the smog cloud lifted, it became clear how truly screwed we were. We were in a valley, what type I couldn't be sure (sorry, Mr Davies), but what I could be sure of was there was water water everywhere. From here to shore was a good hundred metres at least, and for all I cared, it could be that deep (I can die in a paddling pool, so this was overkill). To the back of the boat was more Nick-eating river, and to the front? Well, that was a massive concrete wall. We'd hit a reservoir—no way of getting the controls and gunning it this time.

I sucked in a breath. This wasn't looking good, Spock.

Then, of course, there was the murderous captain who'd chosen to make himself known this very moment. Simon's horrible ratty face poked out from the gaping hole in the window. Last I'd seen him, I'd been a little distracted by Shadow having his neck opened like a fresh haggis to notice that Simon's nose had been well and truly smashed. And so had his jaw, eye and- well, you get the picture.

Homeboy's face was jacked.

His sneer twisted into a cocky grin, revealing two missing front teeth that made me want to set him on fire. Then put him out and then relight him again for all eternity.

"Well, this is a fine how do you do, isn't it?" By god was he slurring like no tomorrow. Not only that, but I was doing my damndest not to gag. The noxious waft of vodka was almost enough to overpower the constant stench of garlic. But not quite.

Sheira responded with a wicked snarl of her own. "I should've killed you when I had the chance!"

Simon giggled like, well, a drunk dude, slapping the now-empty window frame as he cackled. He actually cut his hand open on a piece of stray glass like Leo in Django Unchained, but he didn't seem to notice. "But you didn't, and now here we are. You even brought a new friend along." He pointed a bloody finger at Shadow. "You! You're weird. We killed you, and then you killed one of my men."

Shadow smirked. The million cuts he had crisscrossing his skin had just about cleared up, but he wasn't empty-handed. The bags were nowhere to be seen but wrapped around his arm was a delicate silver chain, and at his side was a very familiar leather scabbard complete with a flaming sword. "Two now. I got another one. He's on the staircase. I snapped his neck like a toothpick."

I wasn't expecting the man who turned his captain into a spit roast to be annoyed at the death of another crewmate, but today was just full of surprises. I swear I saw Simon go through all five stages of grief in about two seconds before he called down to his still-living crew. "Well, what are you waiting for? Someone go check, or I'll throw you to the sharks!"

Not realising that we were on a river in the middle of nowhere England, eight people fell over each other to get down the staircase. Two of them went down with a magnificent crash, which would have been hilarious if the rest weren't pointing harpoons at us.

Their boss, swaying like a withered oak tree, stumbled out of the bridge to a precarious position at the top of the stairs. "Y'know something- hic- you haven't been very nice. You should be thanking me."

I scoffed. "How'd you come to that conclusion, genius?"

"Because..." he said like what he was about to say was the most obvious thing in the world. "I could 'a just killed ya! I could've slit your throats while you slept, but I didn't! You wanna know why?"

"Not really," said Sheira. I saw her eyes desperately scanning the boat, looking for a way out. She could freeze us a path to the riverbank, but all it would take was one blast from literally anyone, and we were sleeping with the fishes.

"You're worth more alive than dead. A hundred thousand each, including your new friend over there." Simon grinned, "Molly's sure to forgive us after that. I turn you in and jobs a good'un. We'll be off the hook, and you'll be out of our way. It's foolproof!"

So I was right! The creep was working for Molly! Bastard. Screw setting him on fire; I was going to throw him into an active volcano (as soon as I figure out where the nearest one is).

One way or another, Simon seemed to have gone crazy. Granted, he might not have been as insane as his new boss, but the man was vodka drunk, and that's never a good look. Trust me on this one. Chip once snuck in a bottle of proper Russian stuff (the kind with a label you can't read), and I honestly don't remember much of the night. The only record was from Sophie's polaroid camera, and those pictures will never see the light of day again.

I suppose the point I'm trying to make is that Simon was about as predictable as an alligator on ecstasy. He looked all chill and loopy right now, but all it would take was for someone to breathe funny, and he's be screaming how we were aliens from the planet Zod coming to steal his kidneys, and he needed to kill us before we got the ice bath out.

Speaking of crocodilians and all their relatives, Simon's Beast (that now had a scrap of black fabric dangling from its rotten teeth. No prizes for guessing what got the jump on you then, huh, Shadow?) was lurking at the top of the stairs, oozing away to itself. The best way to describe it was sludgy, but it wasn't mud (an actual subgroup of Earth, by the way). Nah, it was too sticky for that.

And to make matters worse, I still had no idea what element Simon was. Wait. Sludge? Rotted teeth and the smell of garlic? Oh god, he's not a poison, is he? Godammit, I think that might be it!

Well, this is going to be fun.

Something buzzed against my leg as I realised the smugglers hadn't pinched all my stuff. I grabbed hold of the communication stone that had luckily fallen through the hole in my coat pocket as slowly and stealthily as I could without attracting the attention of old T-Rex eyes over there, who was now ranting to his crew about all the slow, painful ways Molly could kill us.

Shadow's voice rang through my head as clear as a bell. We need to get off this boat. Now.

Not taking my eyes off Simon, I thought back; We are all agreed on that part of the plan. Any ideas?

I've got enough strength to Shadowwalk both of you to dry land. If things go south, I'll grab you first.

Roger that. I gulped. How could this plan possibly go wrong?

Step one, get a distraction. Luckily, we had a Shadow for that. "You think Molly's going to keep you safe?" he scoffed, and Simon flushed red with rage. "Well, Simon- it is Simon, isn't it? Let me give you a bit of free advice. From one Army lapdog to another, Molly doesn't protect anyone. She won't hesitate to sacrifice you and your little friends here at the first sign of trouble. For god's sake, she'd throw her generals to the wolves if it would further her plan. Do you really think she'll keep a band of drunken scumbags around for bringing her a pair of kids? I don't think so."

That hit a nerve as Simon suddenly lurched forwards, jabbing a blood-dripping finger in Shadow's direction. "No- you listen here, you- you little freak. You're just jealous of how rich we're all going to be! You'll be rotting in a pathetic little cell, and we'll be counting dollars on a ship made of pure gold!"

He did know we were in England, right?

The wealthiest man alive just smirked. "Keep on dreaming, junior." Then he made a face. "But if you do become a millionaire, maybe invest in a breath mint or two."

While Simon angrily shouted at Shadow for daring to insult his halitosis, I hoped he couldn't see what I was doing with my hands. I may not have been able to talk, but I could still spell by god. I snapped my fingers to get Sheira's attention and, while not breaking eye contact with the still-ranting pirate captain and signed:

S-H-A-D-O-W T-A-K-E M-E T-O S-H-O-R-E C-A-N U K-E-E-P S-A-F-E?

The response came quickly.

W-H-A-T A-B-O-U-T T-H-E B-A-G-S?

Sheira, buddy, I wanted to grab the jar of hellfire as much as the next man, but even I had to admit the odds weren't in our favour, and we were on a decidedly tighter time frame than we thought.

N-O T-I-M-E.

Sheira sucked in a breath. Her eyes were still fixed on the window Shadow had crashed through. All I was thinking was, please, for the love of god, don't do anything stupid. We're surrounded. If you try anything, we're all going to die.

"Shadow? Shadow!" she hissed.

"What?" he snapped.

"Are the bags up there?"

A smuggler whirled around and drew his blade. My heart started hammering in my chest. "Who gave you permission to talk?"

Cold as ice, she ignored him. "Yes or no?"

Pupils dilated and drool dripping down his chin, the pirate lurched forwards. "Shut it, girlie, or I'll cut out your tongue!"

He meant it too. The hooked blade was aimed straight at Sheira's throat, and while his hands may have been trembling, he was at point-blank range. One false move, and he'd take her head clean off.

"Shadow, just answer the damn question!" I begged.

"Yes," he said, barely keeping the panic out of his voice. "Yes!"

That was good enough for Sheira, and I realised why she was eyeing the broken window. No way. She wouldn't do that. She couldn't; it was suicide! If it were me, I'd get it but not her. She's not that stupid. I'm the village idiot around here.

"Well, that settles it. Boys-" she flashed a wink in my direction, and my brain stalled. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. "See you on the flip side."

I went for her. Shadow went for her. The entire boatload of bloodthirsty pirates went for her, but no one was faster than Sheira. Quick as a whip, her hand was at her amulet, and with a burst of white light and a blast of cold that nearly knocked me off my feet, a familiar white snow leopard was leaping over the dazed crowd. All while I just stood there like a lemon, staring up in horror as the massive cat launched itself into the open window and vanished.

Well, that's not good.

"Smugglers! Kill them!" Simon's reedy voice screeched above the crowd.

So that's the 'you're worth more alive than dead' card out the window. The deck of the ship suddenly pulsed with energy. Blades flashed, Beasts snarled, and I suddenly had the urge to make peace with whatever was knocking around upstairs. Or down, for that matter (good to cover your bases, y'know).

But before I could meet the business end of an electrified badger, everything went black and no, I hadn't gone blind again. An all-destroying wave of blackness burst from the ground, scattering smugglers like a bomb had just gone off. It would've taken me down with it if a rough hand hadn't seized me by the collar and yanked me off my feet, accompanied by a thousand curses in every language under the sun.

"This is bad right?" I yelled as the still-swearing Shadow hauled me towards the ship's bow.

He skidded to a stop just long enough to send a scythe-shaped blade of darkness hurtling towards some poor sod's head. From the squishy sound it made, Shadow's aim was on point. "Yes. Bad. Very bad. We need to go now!"

"What about Sheira?"

He shot a worried glance towards the bridge that was now overflowing with smugglers. There were no signs of white fur or ice shooting into the crowd. Someone screamed in pain every now and again, but it was too far away to tell if it was her.

Half my body was desperate to leap into the fray and start blasting. The other half was more like, "uh, no. You'll die." I didn't always like that voice, but as a half-dead human dude with severe hearing loss, I wasn't about to fight on this one.

Shadow was fighting that instinct too. I could tell. It was written plain as day all over his face, but he had a job to do, and he knew it. That was why, with a shaky breath, he tugged at my coat sleeve. "I'll worry about her when you're safe. She can handle herself."

A cloud of snow burst from the open window as if on cue, effortlessly tossing three smugglers into the river with a medal-earning splash.

"Right. Yes," I said as another explosion rocked the boat. "Good plan. Take us out of here, Scotty."

Under normal circumstances, I would've been smacked for making a reference in the middle of a war zone. Instead, my extremely tolerant friend looped his arm under mine and dragged me to the boat's edge. Christ, he's really not in a good mood, is he? I squeezed my eyes shut, readying myself for the stomach-churning, post-Smiler riding experience that is Shadowwalking. Definitely not one of my favourite methods of transport, I mean, unless you like the feeling of your atoms being pulled apart, dipped in a bucket of water that had been freezing the Thing for a thousand years and then rearranged by a dementor.

Shadow shoving me hard out of the way of a lightning bolt as long as a bus was one way to shake me out of that particular thought train. It must've missed me by an inch at most, the air reeking of plasma as the box it hit exploded on impact. I cursed loudly and scrabbled to my feet. Shadow was already returning fire on the two elementals, who effortlessly deflected his dark tendrils with a burst of green light and a shower of leaves.

So we've got Shocky and Treehugger, huh? This was going to be interesting. I drew Incaendium because, hey, what else could I do? But almost immediately, I realised something was wrong. Yes, something new this time. My magnificent sword, which should've been blazing with the power of a thousand suns, had been reduced to a zippo lighter. It was a bit embarrassing, to say the least. Even the Plant was smirking at me.

That's why he bolted for me. Plants don't mess with Fires. Fire equals bad time if your shields are made of wood, but either he was too drunk to care, or he thought I would roll over and give up. He thought I was weak.

Hey buddy boy, this thing might be running out of juice, but it's still a sword! It was ridiculously easy. I stepped aside and swung upwards, the blade sliding through his torso like a hot knife through butter (or anything else for that matter), spraying blood and dislodging what looked like a chunk of his ribs. He howled in pain and dropped like a sack of potatoes. I kicked him aside, spinning just in time to catch the Lightnings Beast, a horse, in the leg.

Y'know, I always felt terrible watching horses in old war movies, even after Dad explained how hard it was to train them and how they were actors just like the humans. They were innocent; they didn't deserve to die. That feeling briefly flickered somewhere in my chest, but not for long. Before it hit the deck (literally, in this case), its body turned to dust; its master impaled on a jet-black spear.

I wish I could say that was it but no such luck. Suddenly my feet were yanked out from under me, and I was dragged across the deck before Shadow fired a blast of darkness, catching one smuggler full in the chest. The pulling stopped, and I jumped up, pushing Incaendium into her chest before she could recover. I had to hand it to her, though. Manipulating the mud stuck in my boots? Now that was clever.

But not clever enough, and now she was dead.

Time's weird when you're fighting. I hacked and slashed with all the precision of Incaendium's orders and Shadow's cold ruthlessness. Some were a challenge; some fought back, and others just crumpled like a burning sheet of paper. Maybe it was the Fire talking, but for once, all the death didn't bother me. I didn't care.

In the moments of quiet, I swear I could hear someone laughing.

Then came the crippling reminder of my own mortality. Ah, yes, that old chestnut. After just a few minutes, Incaendium could've been made of lead. Everything hurt; I was getting a freaking headache from concentrating so hard. All I could think was, please don't drop him, please don't drop him, it'll be so embarrassing if you do. I'd stopped hearing the beats between my pulse about a minute in, and my breathing was swinging wildly between no air and post-sprint up those stupid steps in Whitby.

Perhaps sensing I was one puff of wind away from keeling over, Shadow stepped in and my god, what a show it was. The man was a machine. Every attack was a scatter spray of death, catching five- no, ten people with every devastating blow, all while shielding me. Someone caught him full in the face with a lucky acid shot. In return, they got a free acupuncture treatment (next up, hot stone massage in Hell).

I could only watch his back, stabbing at anyone who got too close. Flame was next to me, leaping up and tearing at the nearest throat, but if I was honest, he looked just as bad as my sword. His enormous fiery mane was all but scruff, and I don't remember him looking that thin, either.

What did they say again? Beasts are supposed to be the catalysts of our power?

I'm screwed, aren't I?

Maybe that's why things were starting to go decidedly pear-shaped. Every opponent I cut down was replaced by two more, and they were getting angrier and angrier by the minute. Their attacks were getting wilder too. I barely ducked out of the way of a Wind who was trying to decapitate me with a rapier that was as long as I was tall and screeching like a deranged parrot. Shadow took care of that particular problem with a black whip that catapulted her over the edge (and might have broken her neck while he was at it).

But as powerful as he was, Shadow was just one dude. One dude who couldn't bring his army-crushing Beast out to even the odds in case he went crashing straight through the deck (pun intended), and let me say I was not in the mood to play Titanic. We'd fought bigger armies than this before, but on those occasions, they had been A) Dead and B) I had tapped into my alter ego as the human torch, not to mention we'd had backup.

Now we were alone, outnumbered, and I was getting sloppy—case in point, the wooden fist that socked me square on the jaw. I've got no excuses for that one; I hold my hands up; I just straight up missed it. One minute I was about to kebab a rooster that had been trying to peck me to death for the last minute, and the next, my brain was rattling like loose bolts in an empty soup tin. I went down just like Kesha said, the taste of blood bursting into my mouth.

Well, that's my equilibrium gone, was all I could think as the hundreds of legs swam around my vision. My left eye felt weird, everything was blurry, and I was about three seconds away from throwing up. Someone dragged me to my feet. In the carnage, I saw my lion ripping someone's arm off.

Next to my ear, a familiar voice sounded like he was on the other side of a bad dream. "Kid? Kid! You okay?"

Does it look like I'm okay to you, buddy? I tried to take a step. My leg wouldn't work. There was the laughter again. I swallowed down bile. "No."

Jesus, no jokes, Nicky boy? This is worse than I thought.

Cursing under his breath Shadow pulled me backwards away from the smugglers who were advancing on us like the hyenas that were about to eat Scar. I glanced over my shoulder and squeaked like a budgie in front of a tiger. We were surrounded. No way we were Shadowwalking out of this one. If Shadow sneezed funny, they'd be all over us. I gripped Incaendium tightly, but I barely had the strength to lift my sword, let alone swing it.

In the heart of the crowd was old garlic breath himself. I don't think I'd ever seen the man look happier. Made sense. If anyone wanted to turn my skull into a drumkit, it was that psychopath. Hell, I could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes popping out of his skull like some freaky cartoon. He was even drooling.

I may be an impulsive pyromaniac with a habit of wiggling his way out of most versions of certain doom, but even I had to admit this looked pretty sticky. Safe to say this couldn't get any worse.

"Oi, Captain! Over here!"

Never mind. I was wrong. So very, very wrong. I couldn't possibly get more wrong. Like I was an evolution denier, and Charles Darwin himself had just popped out of the great beyond to slap me in the face wrong.

It was like the wind had been knocked out of me. I wanted to run, but my feet wouldn't work. Even Shadow was gaping like a goldfish. "What the hell is she doing?!" he stammered.

Good question. Why on earth was Sheira standing on the roof of the wheelhouse, cut and bloody and bruised, holding something above her head? Something small and made of glass and oh what else...oh yeah, containing all the forces of hell inside it!

So good news, she's found the vial. As for the bad? Do I even need to say it?

The smugglers didn't. Simon sure as hell didn't. She was like Moses with her stick. The crowd didn't just part; they ran for it. Like the boat physically tipped as people tried to put as much distance between them and the vial as humanly possible. I swear I saw one dude leap overboard.

All except Simon. Fair dues to him, the maniac stood his ground. He put his hands up like he was being held at gunpoint. It was one way to sober you up. All of a sudden, he wasn't slurring anymore. "Hey, hey, take it easy there, sweetheart. There's no need to do anything drastic."

He stepped towards her, but Sheira just went for the cork. That stopped him dead in his tracks. The black mist started curling around my sleeve where Shadow had his hand on my arm. All this time, I was thinking, she wouldn't. She couldn't. Not while we're on board. She wouldn't do that.

Wouldn't she?

Simon looked around for backup but seeing as his crew were nowhere to be found, he carried on with a much shakier voice. "All right, I get the message; let's discuss this."

"You know what this is?" Sheira asked.

Simon nodded quickly. "Obviously."

"Then you know what happens when I drop it, right?"

"Regrettably, yes."

"So we have an understanding then." Her voice was calm, but I could see the whites of her eyes from way back here. "So here's how it's going to work. You let the three of us off your ship and never come after us ever again. You don't have any more problems with us. We wipe the slate clean and forget about you trying to kill us, and you don't hand us over to Molly, and you get to live. Sound fair?"

Any sane man would grab that offer with both hands and run for the hills before the scary lady with the bomb changed her mind. But Simon was not a sane man...Or a sober one.

"Pft." Always a great way to start a conversation. "You can't still be mad at that? The Maw was just business."

"I'm not talking about that. I'm on about you trying to break my friend's neck!"

"You set our base on fire!"

"And I'm about to do the same thing to your boat if you don't let us leave, and let me tell you, this won't be some pretty little campfire you can put out with a wave of your hand. I've seen what this does to people. It rips you apart from the inside out. It tears out your soul and tortures you for all eternity. Fancy that? You and your entire crew burning forever, wishing for death that never comes. It doesn't have to be this way. Just let us go, and nobody has to die. Please?"

I stared at Simon. Come on, mate, take the hint. She's literally begging you to walk away. He was being served a chance to escape with his life on a silver platter with all the trimmings he had to take it. He'd be stupid not to.

Then I caught a glimpse of his face, and my heart skipped a beat.

"You know what, missy?" His smirk made my blood turn to ice. Shadows grip tightened on my arm. "No. I don't believe you. I've seen killers. I know what it looks like when you're hands are so stained with blood it'll never wash off. I've seen the desperation that drives you to take another life. I can see it in your immortal buddy back there. Even your Fire friend has it, even if he pretends he doesn't." He shot me a smirk and then shrugged. "But you? You're no killer. You won't open that vial because deep down, you know you won't be able to live with yourself." He chuckled again, spreading his arms wide. "I'm calling your bluff, sweetheart. You don't have it in you."

I don't know what I was expecting after that. For her to look angry or shocked. I half expected her to leap off the roof and dropkick Simon in the jaw, but that didn't happen. Instead, she started crying—a single tear poured down her cheek.

Sheira smiled sadly at Simon, at us, at the entire crew. It was a look that said, I'm sorry. All at once every never in my body stood to attention. I couldn't help it; I started to pull towards her. But I was too slow. We all were.

"My best friend is dying. Don't you dare think I'm not desperate."

And she dropped the vial.