Thanks guys! That means alot to me
Sorry this took so long... hit the infamous wall of writer's block. Fortunately, I came up with something...
Again, be aware, this chapter gets a little graphic after a while - proceed at your own risk.
Paradise of Afflictive Euthanasia
1
The crew was strangely uneager to continue on to their destination, actually unaware of what and where it was. They had been sailing for well onwards of a few days, with no sight of land, or life, for that matter. They took turns hanging themselves over the side of the Crows Nest, looking for anything that might catch their eye. It was futile, they all thought - but they saw it as a way to keep them from spiraling in to a depressive state.
They hardly caught a glimpse of Delmaria these past few days. Only ever so often did he come out of his cabin, whether to instruct Lawrence on direction, inspect the state of the ship, and in his most frequent and patterned case, to eat. He would reside with them for ten minutes, at the most, collected and calm, until slithering away back to his room. He sternly ordered them to not enter, as he was "tending to private matters." Still, he anticipated they would try to sneak a peek at what he was doing, so he lowered the curtains all across the room, and kept a board sternly connecting from the door knob to the floor, preventing it from opening.
Delmaria was doing something he dared never let his crew see - he was reading. Yet, instead of common literature, it was a Bible he looked over, which he had "appropriately" stolen from a superstitious sailor who happened to leave it out in the open on one of the crates of the Tortugan dock. He sailed his eyes through page after page, story after story, teaching after teaching. He had no idea why he was doing this, only that it felt as though he had to. He sensed a vibe, a vibe that warned him of the comings of demons, mindset on brutalizing him. Demons, which could only be defeated if something relatively close to divine nature were on his side.
Of course, Delmaria himself did not believe in evil. From his experiences, he had learned that evil was only a state of mind, where those who are evil are simply those who go against the wider-practiced beliefs of society. He often connected himself to an old story he remember from his childhood - the one thing from it he still wanted to remember. The story foretold a witch, who flew throughout Britain, terrorizing it's people with her crafts and spells, until she was finally slayed by Arthur and his Court.
Yet his mind still wandered on his tale - who was this witch? Was she really evil? Or did she simply decide to walk the other way in the bureaucratic, systematic workings of everyday society? What was her story? What did she stand for? Was she really evil, or misunderstood? Are people really born wicked - or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?
Darkskull laughed at how deeply he was cutting in to his thought process. Yet, he felt that that laugh was simply how he had adapted to his environment - while his heart told him to stop, his mind pushed him to go further.
2
Nothingness was the only word that could describe what surrounded the crew. An ungodly thick blanket of fog encircled them, passing slowly in all directions across their near-sighted vision as they tried to peer onward. It had grown on to them to the point that Delmaria, who stood at the edge of the second deck of the War Frigate, could just barely make out the outlining of the main deck.
Before they had entered the wall of mist, it was the usual night in the Caribbean - a warm, slightly humid, still air sitting across the ship, an over light of thousands of glittering stars sparkling overheard, the bright, crescent moon acting as it's elegant centerpiece in the sky's lavish dinging table. The light it all blasted provided a relatively strong light on the deck, illuminating it to the fullest, getting even in to the small jagged patterns on the walls, used to represent the clatter and crash of the ocean.
It was due to this beautiful, natural nightlight that the crew had decided to stay up later that evening, as they sat across varied positions along the ship, whether on top of crates, over the railing, or atop a cannon. Even Delmaria took the time to come out from his studies and gaze in to the mystery of the night. He swooped his head back in to the night of the Caribbean, closing his eyes to take in the peace of the moment.
But this peace was only broken by a loud shout from Andrew, who had taken place up in the Crow's Nest (the crew often joked that he needed to be up there, as he was so short he couldn't see anything.) "Captain!! Fog, dead off the bow!"
Delmaria, perused by the rest of the crew, ran up the flight of stairs leading to the helm, next to where Lawrence stood. He looked outward, and was met by a huge wall of mist, heading at them as they enclosed on it. There was only about a kilometer between it and the ship, as it slowly engulfed the waters in to the abyss.
"Excellent! Just as we planned!" Delmaria hopped up and down excitedly, but the rest of the crew just pondered at him as if he were insane. He explain as he leaned eagerly over the rail, "I was told there was a huge cloud of fog surrounding the island - this must mean we're closer than I expected!"
Lawrence persisted, "Captain, we have no idea what's waiting for us there... Shouldn't we at least wait until dayli-"
"No, no!" Del shouted in the most disappointed tone. "The breeze only pushes the fog out at night! Continue forward!" Lawrence grumbled cautiously as he held the wheel still, as they began their journey in to the unknown.
It was a few moments of silence, before, CRAM!, the crew was thrusted forward in a sudden jolt of energy. Delmaria, not expecting the commotion, was thrown over the banister of the second deck, to the main area below. We fell to the noises of terrified shrieks, and heavy thuds.
He threw his body while in the air, flipping himself, and catching himself on the floor by clamping both feet and hands on the wooden deck. He stood up shaken, pulling a splinter out of his left hand. He shouted out to Andrea, who was staggering over from the bow of the deck. "What the 'ell was that!?"
She panted as she made her way closer. "We...e crashed in to something... go see yourself..." Andrea threw herself to the wall that sat behind Darkskull, taken a moment to collect herself.
What Delmaria met at the bow was, to say the least, surprising. They hadn't hit a rock, a cliff, or gone too far in to the shallows. The War Frigate had sailed itself directly on top of a half-sunken dock. The entire crew was stunned by the event, heading off to the very point of the ship to gaze over it. Darkskull simply ran to snag his cutlass, which was hung in his cabin.
He entered the room very quickly, for one of the first times, not even bothering to close the door to his room. He passed the clutter that surrounded his room, and picked off the golden sword from his desk, neatly keeping the same old, bloodied rug around the handle. He nearly trugged away, before he stopped, and took a moment to return to the desk. He pulled out of his pocket the book he was holding before, and laid it solemnly in front of him. He ran his fingers across the simple, leather nature of the cover, before running out of the room.
3
The crew's heavy leather boots crunched against the semi-gravelly sand that sat beneath their feet. They danced their way around huge pieces of driftwood that stuck out of the ground, attempting to protrude through them, as they walked out of the shallow waters of the beach. The shore in itself was not far in length, but wide, leading off at their right to a narrow passage, sitting in between two massive, jagged cliffs that reached far skyward, blocked at the front by a small makeshift barricade. The wall of protection, crudely thrown around, meaning a sign of previous destruction, was made of badly burnt barrels, tables, and wooden planks, plowed through in the center as a means of entry.
The twinkle of the stars overhead led the pirates against the dark obsidian streaks that reflected out against the regular black, dark rocks that surrounded them. They walked very wearily along the path, keeping an eye on all that went behind them, above them, and, especially, in front of them. A few ravens’s soared over them, scaring a few of the crew. Still, Delmaria trugged slowly onward.
The pass led the crew in to an opening that was only more cluttered than what they saw before. Rambleshaked houses were tossed against the large, tall walls of the circular area. The ground rose steadily towards the back, where heavily burnt trees gave way to a tall tavern-like building crumbling down at its side. On the opposite side of it, was a small shack, supported by what remained of a few support beams that raised it off the ground, tilted to its left by the slope of the ground. They stood in between another disheveled barricade, with a dark-gray, rectangular stone building of to their left, with a small yet numerous holes lining the front wall - almost like a jail, Delmaria thought.
Delmaria stepped forward in to the small place, looking around under the guidance of the moonlight. Yet he misplaced his footing, and his right foot plunged in to the rib cage of a skeleton, laid out on the ground, covered by a mound of dirt that had blown on top of it. He jumped back in terror, and caught himself before he fell over backwards. "Bloody..."
He was only thrusted back forward by a loud shriek that came from behind. He turned to face the rest of his crew running in horror towards him, as he pushed forward to see what was going on. At first, he could only make out a dark area in front of him.. yet that didn't last as he got closer. His stomach turned in to a knot, punching him to his knees.
It was Andrea. She was laid out flat on to the ground, her hair torn over her blank face. A stream of blood ran down in every direction, with gruesome cuys running across her body. She was twisted in only the most awful manner, as if she was simply thrown across like a rag doll.
She was dead.
Grace let out a terribly mournful cry as she sobbed heavily. Wisdom and Dead went to comfort her, while Bunk stepped forward to inspect his fallen friend. Andrea and Bankok were a tight-knit group aboard the ship, like peas in a pod. The sight of her laid out like that was too powerful to imagine for him. He ran his hand crazily over his face, and took a deep, shaken sigh as he let out "My God..."
It was only the least of their problems, however. A red glow began to emanate from past Andrea's body, standing over her in the most savage, triumphant manner. Slowly, a pair of legs began to form... then a torso, arms, until finally, a fair of dark, red eyes... no face, or hair. Just eyes, that peered through the pirates as if they peered in to the soul, so blank, with no direction, that it was a trial of will to not look away in fear. Drips of blood ran down its semi-palpable body, it's hands gripped in a tight fist. It spoke in a deep, satanic tone of a voice, mumbling far words of witchcraft. Its head twitched tightly and spastically as it examined the crew.
It took no hesitation for Buck to draw his old, rusted cutlass and charge head-first at the figure. "BUCK, DON'T!" was all Darkskull could force out before Bankok thrusted his fury of blows in to the ghost. The figure showed no sign of pain, it just stood there, as Buck connected hit after hit. Light streaks of fears rolled down the pirates face as he thought of his friend, but to no avail was his effort.
A sudden movement of the ghost was all it took. It outreached its blood-red arm, gripping Bankok's bicep, and squeezed, delivering a frightful crunch. Buck screamed, and as the ghost let go, he fell to the ground in pain, clutching his broken arm as he flopped next to Andrea. The figure slowly dragged its feet towards the disabled pirate, who could only think that death was upon him. Delmaria acted in instinct.
He dropped the rag around his blade, once again bringing the burst of bright green back in to his vision. He ran forward and pushed the ghost with his hand, although it was much, much heavier and dense than he thought it was. He stood over Bankok protectively, not allowing another mate to succumb to the eternal sleep. He turned around to look for support from his crew - but they weren't there.
The captain returned his vision to be met with a stern clock across the face, sending him over towards the jail at full-blazed speed. His body passed through the dark stone wall, and tumbled on to the cobbled floor. When he managed to recollect his thoughts, he was unaware at what he was surrounded by. The jail contained a few empty, rotted cells, wood and metal tossed around inside, and the doors either rusted in a locked position, or thrown completely off, across the room. The roof of the building was nearly crumbled, letting in massive holes that gave view to the stars above. Yet the most ominous feature was a strange, blue aura that danced around the room, almost as though the air had become visible. It was cold at the touch, and he scampered up to get away from the stuff.
Only to be pushed back down again. He hit the floor with a heavy thud, sending the golden sword out of his hands, skidding across the floor. He looked behind him, to see the same ghost again. He attempted to skitter across the floor, towards his blade, but the ghost fell on top of him, punching blow after blow in to his face. He tried to cover himself with his arms, but the ghost easily slapped them away, and continued his assault. The pirate felt all hope was lost, until he heard the door to the jail open.
The ghost looked up from his pray, to an awful sight - for it, at least. It ran back from the sight, but was too late - the object had caught up to him, splashing him at his back. He let out a terrible scream, throwing a fit as it bounced around the room, as if it were a slug that had salt put on it. It finally crumbled down on to the ground and great burst of light cracked from where it had sat, destroying it. The ghost had been killed by water.
4
Delmaria sat by the fire as the strange man draped the cloak around him. "Th-th-thank you, mate... I can't thank you enough for saving me."
The man walked over back to his seat, adjacent from Delmaria, and sat down. "Ah, anything for the Liberator himself, mate!" He chuckled as he plopped down on to his log. He was a thin, tall man, barely any facial hair, with a handsome, caring face. He boasted an athletic build, clearly having being strengthened by some form of exercise. His black hair hung carelessly in bangs that separated in to wild, free bands, curling freely down at his eyebrows, with the rest of his hair hugging his head. His dark brown eyes laughed very welcomingly - ironic, for his surroundings.
They were sitting in a small stone courtyard somewhere on the western end of the island, one of the last remaining areas of a recognizable town. A stone wall enclosed them, holding in it only a single double doored, Spanish-style home, and a small fountain off to the side. The entrance to the courtyard was littered with Indian-styled objects, feathers, beads, and all that stuff, meant to ward off evil spirits.
"The Liberator?" Delmaria tilted his head at what the young man called him.
"Ha, I suppose you haven't heard of any word?" He swirled the wine in his wooden cup. "Well, mate, just because I'm isolated from the rest of the world, don't mean I hear things! You and your crew have become quite a talk, taking that sort of action against Ambrose on Royal like that - a fine job fer us common folk, indeed!"
Delmaria winced at the mentioning of his son's name, but he couldn't help but become interested. "Have you heard of anything else that happened.. after I left the Port?"
The man looked outward, past the entrance of the courtyard. "Eh... well... 'hat Ambrose fella, he doesn't have the best of moods right now. For one thing, the man lost his hand, God knows how. But, believe it 'er not, he blamed it on you! He said you were the reason for his 'disablement,' and put a hefty price on your head.. 'course, everybody hates the guy, Ambrose, so I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."
Delmaria's attention shifted, as soon as he realized what was going on. "MY CREW!" he shouted, nearly scaring the man. "My crew... they're... gone! Where could they have gone!?"
"Uh oh... well..." The man hesitated, taking a minute to ponder if he should say anything. Darkskull looked stern, so he sighed. "Mate, I don't know how to tell ye, but.. I suggest ye don't get yer hopes up."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN!?" Darkskull stood up in protest.
"Easy, mate... The last fellows who disappeared on this island, they got taken to..." he shivered. "The mines..."
"Alright, then where be these mines?! I need to find my crew!"
"Not such a good idea, mate... The mines aren't the best place to go... trust me, I know myself."
"Well I can't just abandon them, now can I?!" Delmaria cried. The man just shook his head in persistence. "I'll get you off this place! Please, just help me!"
The man was shocked, and suddenly, a grin reached across his face. "Well, if you insist...." He reached out, and shook Delmaria's hand. "Looks like we got ourselves a deal, mate. Oh.. and, 'he names John."
Delmaria froze for a minute. His old name was John.
----------------------------
Nothing against you personally, Andrea, but I had to take somebody out. Sorry!
Well, be sure to comment and critique, mates! With a short work week this week, I can hopefully guarentee a new chapter next weekend. Thanks!