( THE PRIEST SANTA MARIA ) - [ CHAPTER FORTY ] - { PT. 3 }

{ PT.  3 } -  

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THE PRIEST OF SANTA MARIA - [ CHAPTER 48 ] - { PT. 7 }

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  { PT.  7 } - Kristoff's eyes widened; his black dilated pupils covered their entire sockets. He raised the knives in the air. The reflection of the flames set the blades on fire. They flickered in his eyeballs. This kill is sanctioned by God. You carry an abomination, and you must die. Angelica maintained her composure, her fearless gaze focused on eyes that looked like empty sockets, ablaze. She looked across at his hands futilely quivering with determined force, yet Kristoff's arms remained suspended in the air. He stared at them as if they were alien, trying to move them with all the strength he could muster. He turned his dumb-founded gaze on Angelica. What are you? he managed to say before he found himself taking off through the air. Firmly attached to his hip was Christiano, ramming him with all the might of a bull. They landed several feet away on the sloping ground and wrestled in a tangled embrace as they tumbled down the deck. Christiano! cried Angelica, watching he
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  { PT.  8 } - It's going to get rocky. Frya blocked the door and made her way to the helm. The next explosion tore the ship in two. The screeching metal carcass careened to an extreme angle sending cargo containers the size of coaches spilling into the sea. Frya frantically pumped the release lever, and the lifeboat slid off its davits. It nosedived into the water like a playful whale, submerging into the sea and causing crashing ripples around them before it sprung to the surface. It danced on the stormy waves as Frya steered the boat like a native seaman, taking them a safe distance from the swirling vacuum. Only the four of them had made it to safety. A tortured Angelica rose from her seat and pushed her way past Achilleus. She pulled the door open, slumped on the flood and looked towards the sinking mass before her. The ship's mast, now a flaming beacon of the ship's existence--the rest of its body submerged beneath the ocean. Christiano, she whimpered unable to steer
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  THE TWO MEN ROLLED -  ( CHAPTER  49 )  -  { PT.  8 } - like tumbleweeds down the sloping deck, speeding through fore and knocking against sharp, unidentifiable obstacles--both maintaining their grips like two vices. Their descent to the ocean depths was shielded by a large cargo container loosely hinged in mid-air. It creaked beneath their weight as if this one more pressure was just too much to bear, and at any moment it would plunge into the sea and take them with it. Both men were indifferent to the danger. With Kristoff pinned to the ground, Christiano had the advantage; his hands clamped around his neck in an indomitable grip. The assassin's hands were cemented to Christiano's wrists, pushing against him with all his strength. The sweat on their bodies sizzled. The heat from the scorching fire was hazardously close. The groaning cargo container continued to hinge up and down like a seesaw. Each movement threatened them with imminent death. Sweat dripped from Christiano&#
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