The Imposter Bride (Natalia and Magnus) novel Chapter 407

Blood erupted from the wound, staining Hector's arm a deep crimson, but he didn't flinch. With practiced ease, he slit another man's throat.

"Son of a gun, they played dirty and tried to double-cross us. We'll take 'em down with us!" The muscle that the other crew had brought along bellowed in rage, charging towards Hector. Soon, the vengeful thugs nearly encircled Hector and Jackson’s little skiff.

Sensing trouble, Jackson stomped onto his own boat and barked at Hector without a hint of warmth, "If you don't make it back with the goods, don't bother coming back at all."

Hector offered no reply. His icy gaze was fixed on the knife-wielding attackers rushing at him as if they were no more than lifeless corpses.

The clash of steel slicing through flesh filled the air, and bodies plunged into the sea, turning the water around the skiff a gruesome red. The stench of blood hung heavy in the air.

Drenched in blood, Hector's own wounds gaped open. The flow of blood was unrelenting, but it didn’t stop him from snapping the necks of his assailants and tossing them one by one into the ocean.

The mob, once eager to overwhelm Hector with their numbers, now recoiled in terror, attempting to escape the devil that seemed to have emerged from the depths of hell itself. Their retreat was futile. Hector, his eyes red with rage, cared not who faced him. Any sign of life was met with a swift neck twist and a one-way trip into the sea.

Jackson watched from his boat, a chill running down his spine as he witnessed Hector’s mechanical slaughter. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure if turning Hector into a cold-blooded killer had been a mistake.

Weapons, after all, were meant to harm. In the right hands, they could defeat enemies; in the wrong hands, they could cause self-destruction. And Hector, with his chilling bloodlust, gave Jackson the unnerving feeling of a beast he could no longer control.

“Enough! They’re all dead; just leave their bodies intact and bring me that case!” Jackson shouted, his voice tainted with malice, halting Hector from twisting the head of another lifeless body.

Hector glanced at Jackson, his hands still busy. With a vicious yank, he tore off a head and tossed it carelessly into the sea, and kicked the body after it. He hefted the blood-soaked case and swaggered towards Jackson's boat.

At that moment, Jackson knew he had glimpsed a living devil. His own crew, their cries of fear echoing in the air, were clearly rattled by Hector's ruthless efficiency.

"Here's your case," Hector said, throwing the bloodied box at Jackson's feet, then, showing signs of fatigue, he lay down on the deck, closing his eyes to rest, and ignoring everyone else on board.

Jackson glanced at Hector, now alredy asleep, and then at his crew, their courage shattered by Hector's ferocity. A cold light flickered in his eyes.

"Set course for home!"

At Jackson's command, the boat turned back, leaving behind a sea littered with the lifeless remains of thirty-odd, mutilated bodies.

Back on the mainland, the first thing Jackson did was throw Hector back into confinement. He had seen the fear in his men's eyes; he couldn't allow such a threat to his authority to continue unchecked. As a pirate leader, he could not afford to show weakness.

Hector's presence had become a direct threat to Jackson’s leadership, and he couldn't risk an escape.