Jason walked with a slight upturned grimace on his face. It was not from pain or heartache. It was from the simple fact that no matter where he placed his foot, there appeared to be some kind of mud—puddle, sharp rock or shit. He lost count of the number of different faecal offerings he had to step over. It must have numbered the hundreds. He almost turned around when he was about to lean against what appeared to be a boulder, but was in fact another faecal offering.

  Yemoja was dressed from head to toe in a form-fitting, robe-like design, which reminded Jason of the Middle East back on Earth, as she tutted under her mask. Headscarf wrapped around her head, her face mask showed nothing but turbulent waters. “If there is one thing I can not abide by, it’s shit. I know your paying us boss,” she said, the last word flippant, “and I will do anything for coin. Hell, I’ll murder for free, but if there is one thing I draw a line under is crap—turds—excrement—the brown sauce—butt nuggets—anal lea—”

  “Don’t be so childish, woman,” said Clarence. “You are employed by the Baldwin estate; be thankful that they deem you worthy to work for them. It is an honour and--”

  “Are we thoughhh?” she asked.

  Jason looked her way and saw nothing but calm waters. He went to open his mouth and looked to Otar, whose attention was elsewhere. “Of course we are. Do you think me foolish enough to venture into the Bleeding Peaks without the backing of my family? Although I do not need it, it is good to have.”

  Yemoja tapped her mask in that annoying way she did when she had something to say, but teased it out.

  “Come on Yem, spit it out. What have you to say?” asked Jason.

  The tapping continued as she spoke, her raspy voice low. “Just, that if your family knew about the location of this Ink, the final one, how come they have waited till now to go and get it?”

  “Well--”

  “I mean, why send you? Why send us? Why not send the family champion, Henry?”

  Jason thought back to his last conversation with H. Henry had bailed him out of the prison the Cloudwalker islands were holding him in, and gave him a dire warning. Do not seek the last Ink. Destroy it. Destroy it because nothing good will come from that Ink. It is evil personified. Normally, Jason would have brushed off his older brother's words, but Henry was serious—afraid. As the weeks and months passed, the only thing Jason could think about, is if Henry knew about the last Ink, why hadn’t he retrieved it for the family?

  Was it that dangerous?

  Nothing scared H. Nothing. Yet…Jason brushed the feelings of unease away and remembered the humiliation he felt at the hands of Isaac—Felicity looking down at him like he was something she stepped in.

  On the world stage for all to see!

  Him a laughing stock! They would fear the day—

  He snapped out of his thoughts and saw everyone looking at him. “The reason we are going and not H is because H, causes a scene wherever he goes. My brother is not the most subtle of people. We can go under the radar.”

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  “But we are still weak,” snapped Yem. “They are alright.” She pointed to Otar and Clarence. “Their Dukes, but we are still a Viscount and a Viscountess.”

  “Then you train,” said Otar. “Where better to improve and hone your skills than a place like this? We still have a week or two before we get into the heart of the Bleeding Peaks. I suggest we all level up. Clarence and I are still at the early stages of being a Duke. We are not fully into our power yet. You two need to climb the mountain to the next level before we meet Isaac and Co. And...”

  A group of men who looked worse for wear could be seen in the distance.

  Clarence sniffed the air. “They have been dancing in the flames. Interesting.”

  “They look homeless. What use are they to us?” asked Jason, turning to Otar.

  “Information. Information regarding the area—information about the people we are following, but more importantly, we use them as practice to level up. From here on out. Everything we can use to train, we do. We need to work as a unit, instead of four people looking out for their own self interests. That is why we were beaten by Isaac and Co. Not that they were stronger, but they operated as a unit better.”

  Jason looked at the ogre and nodded. “I could not have said it better myself. Well then, I guess we do as Otar says and get to practising.”

  **********

  Kneeling on one leg, Jason wiped his batons clean on the body at his feet.

  The group they encountered were mercenaries. Barely stronger than him and Yem, they proved a slight challenge to begin with, but the fight was not in them. They had been beaten psychologically long ago. Cries of zombies died on their last breath as his group made short work of them.

  Studying his batons, he frowned. They were a weapon he was used to, a weapon he had grown up with. They acted as an extension of himself. He always preferred hand to hand combat, but lately he doubted his weapon of choice. While fighting Isaac and Felicity, it became obvious that the batons lacked the cutting edge of a bladed weapon and the range of a bow. He needed something better. Something that he could use—

  “What’s the matter?” He looked to see Otar looking his way.

  “These,” said Jason after a long thought. “They are… limited. After fighting our foes, I realise how shortsighted I was. I had a pair like these back on Earth, and they suited me just fine, but here, where swords and magic and everything in between is real. I need…I need…I need something stronger. I need something else. Something versatile.”

  Otar nodded. “Then maybe it is time you solved that problem. You shall find nowhere in the Bleeding Peaks to buy a new weapon, but when we get to Base Camp, you may find something there of your liking.”

  “I always thought the baton was a noble choice, sir,” said Clarence in the background.

  Jason saw Otar restrain himself from rolling his eyes as Yem let out a bored yawn.

  “What were these fuckers going on about? Zombies, was it?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” said Jason. “I did not think zombies were real. The only good zombie I ever saw was Shaun of the Dead.”

  “Yeah,” said Yem. “That was a great game.”

  Jason paused as he looked the woman’s way. “What do you mean game? It was a--” Jason frowned as he stopped himself. “Yeah, game. When did you play it?”

  Yem waved her hand his way. “Oh, you know, when I was back on Earth.”

  “Earth…right. And where on Earth were you born again?”

  “It was such a long time ago that--” She stopped speaking as he looked off into the distance. “I think I hear something. I’m going to scout it out.” And she was off, sprinting into the bushes.

  Frown still on his face, Jason could feel Otar’s gaze on him, but he refused to acknowledge the ogre’s gaze.

  Jason watched Yem disappear and knew that he would need to formulate some kind of plan. If his suspicions were right, then she was a ticking time bomb ready to go off at any moment. With a stifled sigh, he filed it away with the many other problems he would have to deal with later.

  For now, he needed to do one thing. Get stronger.

  Strength was the only thing that mattered.