Free Blackjack Wayward (The Blackjack Series) by Ben Bequer Page A

ourselves was becoming zero.
    My fellow crew mates were oblivious to the danger, or perhaps the alcohol was augmenting bravery. The chant had grown louder and louder, now just a long droning snarl as opposed to an actual word, and the continued banging against the gunwales was leaving their surfaces slashed and scuffed, with chips of wood flying with each successive slamming of the crew’s weapons.
    I caught Darmelia staring at me, and she smiled and shouted at the top of her lungs; “We’re in good hands, boys! Blackjack is going first!”
    That was our strategy: me first. Send in the big guy and hope he could withstand initial, most vicious salvo. I admit it bothered me, being the meat shield, but between the yelling and hollering, and the pumping of blood pounding my ears, I had no time to reflect on my situation, to consider how mindlessly I was being used. We were moments away from impact, the distance shrunken to just a few dozen yards and closing. Darmelia took my arm and guided me to the edge of the railing overlooking the bowsprit mast, now cleared of sail, yards, or rigging, and now resembling a long spear stabbing out toward the enemy vessels. Beside me, several men readied grappling hooks on long ropes, to tie the two ships together. I went to draw my swords, but the orc woman checked my arm and shook her head.
    “Not yet,” she said, with a bare whisper meant only for me. “You’ll need both arms free to climb across.”
    I nodded, taking a firm grip on a gaffing hook that jutted from the gunwale.
    “Grab onto something solid,” Zann shouted, warning us of the imminent impact, which would be a bone-jarring crash given how fast we were going.
    I held on to the railing, and to my surprise, Darmelia grabbed my crotch and buttocks, flashing a wide smile.
    “Solid,” she said, gripping tightly.
    I barely felt the collision; shards of wood and the strange alabaster material of the Vershani ship exploded through and around me, showering me and the crew with debris, as we were jostled like small children in an overturned school bus. Darmelia kept her grip tight, her eyes boring into mine as we flew up, down, and around, kept in place by my hold on the railing. Several crewmen lost their hold and were thrown about, and one man, a smallish fellow whose grip failed, fell overboard to his death. Our first casualty.
    I hardly noticed, my attention on the lovely orc-maid who suddenly made my blood pound for different reasons. One look into those sapphire eyes made me eager to finish the fight quick so we could start celebrating.
    When the impact had settled, grappling hooks went across the gap between the ships, and Darmelia squeezed my genitals and slapped me on the back.
    “Here you go,” she said, and I hurled myself over.
    Something happened to me the last time I visited Shard World, when I was in proximity to one of the great masters of this place, the Lightbringers. Just being near this creature had boosted my superhuman strength, agility, and toughness to another level, as great as any of the so-called supermen who were almost worshipped on Earth. Maybe even to the level of men like Lord Mighty, Paladin, and Epic, a man whom I had beaten in single combat. The Lightbringers were the source of power that had turned Dr. Retcon and the Original Seven into living gods, and those that followed, like myself, into demigods.
    Before meeting the Lightbringer, I was told I had Class-A strength, which is the second highest classification of power that we recognize on Earth. Class-Zero is reserved for the fellows named above, and, of course, those of the Original Seven who showed physical prowess, like Valiant, Retcon, and Apostle, now dead, and Global, the last remaining of the Seven. After my encounter with the creature, I’d say I’m close to that bunch, especially after the beating I gave Epic.
    So when I hurled myself across, I didn’t just hop over and scramble across: I flew through the air landing on the