Blood of the Liberated

[Captain Del]

Ahoy there mates!

With the completion of "Those Condemned to Freedom," I have decided to turn my creative abilities towards a new project of mine, one of which I've been wanting to tackle for a while now.

For a long time now, you've read about the current events that have surrounded the hero of our story, Delmaria Darkskull. But not much is known about his past - even my oldest installments, which covered his uprisings, were short, less-than-detailed, and limited. So, I have taken on myself to detail to you the story of how Captain Delmaria Darkskull, became a pirate.

Unlike my previous stories, this story requires no prior knowledge. So, whether you've followed me from Day 1, or this is your first time with me, all of you can jump right in. So, without further adieu, I present to you all, the first chapter of "Blood of the Liberated."

In The Beginning

April 4th, 1702
St. Joseph's Cove, Britain
8:45 AM

"Someday, my son, this will all be yours." His father echoed to him as they walked atop the cobblestone path that ran along the edge of the hill. He reached out his hand, pointing out to the small yet bustling port below them, filled with the cobblestone streets and stone buildings that ran down in to the harbor, where the merchant ships small and large alike pulled in and out of port from the long, wooden docks. The air breezed on them lightly as the sun slowly rose to greet the morning. The sky was a clear, beautiful blue, sparkling alike the glistening bay.

"Yes, my son, you will inherit all of this not long after I'm gone. It is such a beautiful town, is it not?" The tall man smiled in approval.

"Yes, father, it truly is." John smiled, standing alongside his fathered as his loose linen shirt flapped in the wind. His short, golden blond hair whipped like fire in the wind, picking up off his brow. His blue eyes shimmered as he looked all throughout the town below them, fascinated by the livelihood that surrounded their everyday lives. It was magnificent to take a moment to see how the world looks like from above.

"This day marks one of your steps in to becoming a man, and you should be proud. You're entering a very profound bloodline, you know. All my achievements and my riches will fall in to your hands, and I can only entrust that you will keep them with the upmost enterprise. Do you understand?" His father said as he walked past John. The boy turned around and caught up to his father, as they walked slowly.

His father continued, "I'm going to be going out on another trading voyage soon, to a city along the coast of the Spain. I would enjoy your company, as perhaps I could teach you the ropes of how to be a real business man. You wouldn't have to worry about leeching from my fortune when you're older, now won't you?"

John was instantly ecstatic. "Really, father? A-are you sure I can join you?"

His father turned to him, stopping their walk once again. "You're fifteen now, my boy. I cannot afford to hesitate any longer in keeping you out of my wingspan. That mother of yours has sheltered you for too long, if you ask me. She's always so concerned that you'll perhaps be killed by pirates out on the open sea... ah, she should know better... If you ask me, this port is more vulnerable than anything."

John seemed to be confused by that remark. "Father, no means of rudeness intended, but could one honestly believe a town like this would be ransacked by pirates?"

John's father's eyes seemed to drift off for a moment, back towards the rolling hills that rose up on their left, behind the madness of the town. "Oh, surprised you would be, my son... but enough of this talk for now. Come, we must not keep your mother waiting home. Today is a day of celebration."

1

April 4th, 1702
Balnette Residence, St. Joseph's Cove
10:50 PM


"Adam, you surely can't be serious!" Amelia whispered sternly as she turned around to her husband, running her hands furiously through her apron. "He's much too young to be harbored around the world like a business associate of yours!"

Adam, who was sitting sloppily over the small wooden table in the middle of the room, slammed his mug down on top of it as he rubbed his hand over his forehead. His face was roughly unshaven, and his brown hair was messed. His ruffled shirt hung loose, as he slid his feet out of his heavy black boots. He turned to her, distraught. "And what do you expect me to do, let him stay here as a shut in? Sooner or later he's going to have to be brought in to the family bu-"

"Don't you dare call your dishonorable occupation anything a sort of a 'family business!' You'll be disgracing my name if you do!"

Adam stretched out his hand, frustrated, but trying to calm the situation. His wife looked as him as if he was crazy, but the feeling was mutual. "Look, all I'm trying to say is that if we don't tell him now, it will only be a bigger shock to him-"

"When WHAT?! When you're having a public hanging out in the fort a few towns down? By God, Adam, if you hadn't dragged me in to this, we wouldn't be here right-"

"DON'T, put the blame on me on this, Amelia. You knew as well as I did how I made a living, and you weren't in the least ashamed. I've gotten you everything you've ever wanted, by putting my neck on the line, so that better be good enough for you, damn it!" He bursted out, slamming his fist on the table.

At the top of the staircase that led to the second floor, John peaked down, out of sight from his mother and father. He knelt silently, trying to make sense of anything they were saying. He held his breath as the two before him sat silent, his father leaning back in his chair, and his mother leaning back on the counter in the kitchen. Finally, his father gathered to his feet, causing John to shift a step backward. As Adam put on the tricorne on the table, he turned to his wife. "I need to head down to the docks at once. There's a shipment coming in that I've been expecting, and I shant be late for such a deal." He turned about once more and walked over to the door, opening it up in to the crisp night, and shutting it behind him.

John slowly crept back silently, unsure of what had just transpired. He stood up and rubbed his chin, as he walked slowly back down the hallway. His eye caught the window that sat at the end of it, open just a tad to let in a nightly breeze. He looked back over his shoulder, and tip-toed silently over to it, preventing himself from making a sound.

Looking through the window, he saw one of the wider streets of the port that ran perpendicular to him, the right of it leading down the rest of the town, and to the bay. He peaked out his head, and was met with an easy, nightly breeze, that blew the bangs of his hair. He saw his father make a turn from the house, and walk down quickly in the direction of the bay, gripping on to his jacket to keep himself as warm as possible. As his father faded in the distance, John looked downward, right below the window. It was only a story down, leading straight in to a small dirt garden. He looked back over his shoulder once more, and very cautiously put himself over the sill of the window.

Unfortunately, he wasn't too skilled in the matter of sneaking out. He ended up toppling out over the window, slamming back-first down on to the harder-than-expected dirt. He struggled to keep himself from shrieking in pain, pounding his fists on to the ground to release some pressure. As his body untensed from the fall, he took a huff, made sure nobody was around, and rolled on to his chest, pushed himself up, and walked in a hunch down the cobblestone street.

Thoughts raced through his mind as he walked at a terrified pace down the dark street. It was his first time ever being out so late, and alone, and he was afraid of what lurked in the shadows around him. Even such a small port as this was bound to have a few robbers and thieves, waiting to plunge their knives in to the pocket of an unsuspecting victim. He also took in to account why his father of all people was going to make a trading deal at such a late hour, when he had the power to simply delay it for the morning, or even send somebody for him. An eerie presence on an eerie evening, indeed.

Finally, John slid down a narrow alleyway, which ended between two buildings at the base of the dock his father used. John always sat here as a child, playing an imaginary game of hide-and-seek as he watched his father go about daily routine - whenever he was around, of course. Being a merchant, he was hardly ever home - perhaps a few days every month or two. It was heart breaking, but John still loved to see him whenever possible.

He could make out on the base of the dock six figures, three with their back's to John facing the other three, who were walking back down the dock, off a very small galleon ship that parked itself right on the left side, it's back to the port. They each carried three large crates, which seemed heavy by the way they wobbled towards the group. They placed the boxes on top of a few others that were already waiting there in a pile, except for the largest one, which was popped down in front of the man in the middle. The crew from the ship stepped back, as the man bent down to take the lid off the small wooden box.

After a brief moment, the man grunted, and stood back up, holding what seemed to be a previously concealed miniature barrel. The man held it between his hands and privately examined it for a minute, twisting it around in his grip to make sure nothing seemed out of order. Then, pushing the container to cradle it in his left arm like a baby, he reached back with right and pulled out a small dagger. He brought the barrel back in front of his chest, and plucked off the top of it with the blade.

The man instantly thrusted his dagger down on to the dock, it clattering softly on the wood, and dug his free hand in to whatever was in the container. He seemed to shift his hand around in it for a moment, before slowly raising it up. John could barely see it, as the figures themselves were but mere silhouettes in his vision, but a dark substance poured slowly through his fingers, smoothly, back in to the barrel. As it finished running off his hand, he grabbed it firmly, shook it in rage, and threw it behind him, splashing up in to the waters.

The man standing opposite him looked over the side of the dock in outrage. "What is this?! I delivered your order precisely as you wanted it!"

"This isn't the cargo I asked for. It's much too rough to be of Spanish quality - all you're trying to do is con me, and my good sir, I am no fool." The man in the middle echoed. Although the voice was faint by distance, John knew without a doubt that the man who had spoken was indeed his father.

The three men who faced his father on the dock were silent, frozen in a stun. John's father huffed, and abruptly reached to his side. Much to everybody's surprise, he pulled out a small pistol, bringing it's barrel right before his opposition's forehead. "Now, am I going to be reimbursed, with extra, or not?"

The trader who had been talking shook his head. "You shouldn't be doing that, mate." The two men at his side then unisonally drew their own guns and pointed them at John's father. John's heart started racing in fear, not knowing what to do. He could vision himself running out to the dock and distracting them long enough for his father to escape, but that would simply kill him in the process. His legs quaked with fear, as he inched forward a little more against the barrel to see what was going on in a clearer line of view.

Unfortunately, he accidently tripped over, pounding his chest hard in to the keg, and toppling it downward. The heavy object crashed with a thud on to the cobblestone before him, alerting the two groups on the dock. John's eyes met his father's, whose widened in disbelief and concern. But before they could say anything, the man across from his father drew his own pistol, and aimed it straight at John. "Kill the street rat!" he shouted.

John didn't have any time to study the scene further. He turned about in a shake and sprinted back down the alley, his feet nearly slipping on the moist ground below his feet. He heard a shot ring out behind him, and threw his hands up over his head, as if it would do anything. But as he felt nothing pass by him, he threw them down and continued at his run as he broke out of the narrow path.

He made a quick left turn right out of the alley and sprinted down the street, whirling by the nearly identical stores and homes that whirled by him. He tried to shout for help, but his breathing was too heavy, and even the slightest of moments to stop for help may be his last. His legs started to slowly becoming aching and tired, and as much as he pushed them, they began to shut down on themselves, refusing to move any faster or further. He was becoming desperate and crazed with the thought of being captured, or even killed, but nothing could go beyond his body's limits. He had trapped himself.

As he paced towards an intersection of four streets somewhere in the farther side of town, he started to feel safe, as though he had finally outrun his aggressors. But as he trudged out in to the crossroads, his body was suddenly flung to the right, after a tremendous, sharp force had rammed him in the left. His body twisted through the air, until he landed down face first on to the stone, at least two meters from where he had stood. He could feel a warm trickle on blood run down his cheek, as he tried to push himself up with his arms.

Instead, his support was swooped out from under him, and he crashed to the floor again. He felt his legs being scooped off the ground, and then being carried backwards, dragging him along the ground. He had just enough time of realization to begin kicking wildly, trying to free himself. But as he fought, he heard a loud pounding sound of from his right. He turned, and had just enough time to see the bottom of a large, black boot bring itself down on his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can expect a new chapter from me... well, I'm going to keep that a secret. It adds to the surprise of a new chapter if you don't know when it's coming, aye?

Tell me what ya think, mates. Love it, hate it, DESPISE it? I'm waiting to hear.

Thanks for reading, and see you soon!

[The Stealthy Pirate]

OoOoOoH! I can tell this is going be good Del!!

[SEAKING23]

Yay! more death and ambush XD

[Captain Del]

Thank you both! And yes, plenty of death and destruction in this story, too

New chapter, as promised, mates! I hope ye all like it! But enough of my blabbing - read it for yerself! So, I present to all of you, my fellow readers...

Captured

April 5th, 1702
Somewhere off the British Coastline
11:50 AM

A warm, dingy air plastered itself against John's cold skin as he slowly regained consciousness. The world spun rapidly around him, though his eyes were still shut tight. He could feel his body laid out restlessly on what felt like a wet, hard wood floor. He rubbed his hands on the surface, trying to get a feel for where he was, as he struggled to open his eyes, and push himself up.

The edges of his vision were dark, but it receded the more and more his eyes throbbed in pain. He saw himself facing a darkly shaded wooden wall, that was dressed in a scraped, green fungus. The floor below him was just in the same condition, greasy and moldy to the touch. He instantly threw him hands up, disgusted by the contact with the floor, and stayed sitting on his knees. He coughed a few very dry, painful coughs, before looking at the rest of his surroundings.

At his sides were the bars of jail cells, which another wall of bars behind him. They gave way to the two other cells, one on each side of him. They were empty in terms of people, but they were filled with mis-cared-for barrels and boxes, thrown roughly in to a pile in to them. Turning around, he saw the rest of the room - the opposite side of it was lined with huge crates and boxes held under netting, with only a narrow path to walk down between the cells and the containers. To the far right of the room, a wooden staircase raised itself up to an aura of light.

John's eyes widened with fear as soon as he realized where he was. He jumped to his feet, and ran towards the bars of his cell, to try and peak out the window on the opposite side of the hull. Yet as he got close to the bar, he felt his leg tugged back in a violent pull. He nearly skidded to the floor, but caught himself as he looked backwards. He saw himself chained to the wall of the ship, at his ankle.

He instantly began jiggling and twisting his foot, trying to slip it out of the imprisonment. It's rusted paint scarped against his leg, which hide under the bottoms of his frayed linen pants. He tugged and tugged with all of his might, but nothing managed to free him.

Suddenly, his spine quivered at any unexpected sound. He heard off to the side the heavy thud of a man's footsteps, pounding downward towards him. He turned abruptly, backing away as he did, to the sight of a large, grizzly man. A long, rough beard sat below his old, cracked face. He had to have been quite old, judging by the kink in his walk and the cracks on his face, but nonetheless, he was muscular, and daunting. He was decorated in an unusual manner - he was draped in heavy, murky clothing, as though he was trying to both flaunt his wealth, and shield his body in the most chaotic and flashy way. Nothing matched when it came to his large layers of shirts, his large, tanned overcoat, his long, silky pants, and his thick back boots. He was both scary, and laughable in sight.

"Whataya' doin' frettin' about, boy?" the man said in a raspy, angry voice. "Nothin' you could do can set yer foot free."

John was frozen in fear. He tried to say something, but his throat was hard-pressed to make any sounds. Finally, he petered out in a weak voice, "H--h-who are you..?"

"Who the 'ell are you, is the question! Damn street rat, meddlin' in other's business. Who sent you here?! The Francs, it was, wasn't it!"

"I-I--I, what?! No, I have no bu-"

"DAMN right ye don't!" The man then reached to his side, and pulled out the all-familiar pistol. He shoved it right through the cell bars, inches away from John. "Why, I oughta blast yer brains out..." Then, almost as if he was going against his will, be pulled it back. "Unfortunately, me mates back on the shores won't like that.... Not yet, at least." The man pocketed his gun, and turned away, to walk back up to the surface.

"Oh, thank god, I thought you were gonna eat me." John chuckled to himself, trying to make himself smile.

Unfortunately, the man caught ear of that statement. His face clenched in unruly anger, as he twisted around. He reached at his side and pulled out a long, heavy, rusted sword, carrying a thick silver blade that reached down the length of his leg. He swung it back, and swooped it down over his head to crash in to the clunky metal lock that was nailed to the door of the cell. It dropped to the floor in a snap, but the man had his arm around the door before it even hit it.

John started to stumble backward, trying to flee as the massive aggressor gained on him. But he was trapped, and the huge man broke in to the cell, and planted a massive hand on the boy's blonde hair. John shrieked in pain as he felt the chain at his feet being cut, and his body being forced out of the cell.

The man whipped the boy around and then tossed him down to the ground. He hit the floor with a painful boom on his back, trying to scratch his way back to escape. The staircase leading above was sitting behind the man, on the other side - there was no escape.

Suddenly, a flurry of shouts started to erupt from the deck of the ship. The air above their heads became filled with the drowned sounds of men barking battle orders, and the deep, blasting sound of cannon fire. John has always wondered what it sounds like - even living in a port, he had never heard a cannon release it's load. It was tremoring, leaving you wondering where it was gonna land. It was terrifying, almost.

The man whizzed around to see what was going on, standing in his same spot, but shouting profanities at the staircase. John took the moment to study his surroundings, for a way to escape - when he saw it. The metal lock to the cell had landed right by his foot, sitting their with no purpose. But Balnette knew he would find it one.

In a dash, John threw his body forward, scooped up the heavy, metal object, and scurried to his feet. By the time his opponent had turned around to see what happened, the lock met him square in the forehead, delivering a painful crunch. John watched as the man jiggled backward, before slinking to the floor in a heap, blood pouring from his head.

John was frozen by the thought of killing somebody, but he knew he had to run if he wanted to survive. With a finally curse, he took the lock and tossed it at the man's body, jumping over his corpse, and running up the staircase.

1

John walked out in to the blinding sun, to see what was going on. He instantly looked off the sides of the ship, where, to the right, a long, elevated coastline ran from the ship, perhaps a kilometer away. He realized he was aboard a roughly medium-sized ship - a galleon, judging by the shape of it at first glance - but it was packed with a lot more action than one would suspect.

Bodies of dirty, raggedy looking men lined the deck, small swords and other cutlery sticking out of the bloody punctures in their bodies. The ones that were alive were in a line - roughly five sailors - on their knees, surrounded by a group of men cloaked in red uniforms, a group three times theirs. They carried large bayonets, which poked at the throats of the crewmen. They were stern, but showed no emotion as a man, obviously their superior, looked over the crew. Soldiers of the British Royal Navy, they were.

"EY, ANOTHER!" A man pointed from the side of the Officer. As all the soldiers turned their heads, he raised his bayonet, preparing to fire. John raised his hands above his head, as he slowly knelt to his knees.

"Hold, hold damn it, hold!" The Officer shouted. He seemed in shock, as he rushed around the crowd towards John. "Can you not see he is not only a boy, but not one of them!?"

As the Naval man stood before him, John put his hands over his brow to block the sunlight out, and get a clearer view. "Captain Rutherford!?" John exclaimed. "My God, thank you so much sir, thank you!"

Captain Rutherford was on of the Navy Officers who were in charge of doing patrols of St. Joseph's every week or so. He had known his father well, as his father was one of the usual men you would see out in the bay, whenever he was not out traveling the seas. "What in God's name are you doing aboard a pirate ship, boy!?"

"Pirates?!" John gasped. Why would my father have any business with such ruthless dogs?, he thought to himself.

"Yes, pirates. Spanish mercenaries, if you want the truth of it. Hired to do business in these waters, ferrying the profits back to a higher crime lord somewhere in Spain. Why are you here?"

"I was... wa... captured..." John blinked. He was still wondering if this was still just a sick, twisted dream, that he might wake up in his home.

"Captured? From St. Joseph's!?"

"Yes, captain! They were at the docks, and I spotted them... and... yes!"

Rutherford rubbed his hand on his head. "Men, help Mr. Balnette here on to the ship. Oh, and disperse of the flotsam."

As John rose to his feet, the wall of Navy soldiers rose their bayonets in a simultaneous action, and fired them unmercifully in to the surrendered pirates.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

See, I'm getting better! No unbearably long chapters.... yet!

Please be sure to comment, rate, and review, mates! My ears are as eager as my fingers!

[Tiberius Fireskull]

Del, I'm going to start following this story. Its very good... everything. I especially love the language that you use. Its very... formal, but easy to understand. You're writing is very good. Expect me to comment frequently.

[SEAKING23]

You should publish your stories Del! They are that good

[Christopher]

WOW Del! This story is incredible!

[AdmiralSavvy]

Great story, Del! Absolutely wunderbar. :] You're a natural at story writing, undoubtedly. I'll be following this story.

[Hookshot]

These are very well written del. I love the plot so far, though developing I really can't wait to see what's next.

[The Stealthy Pirate]

I love the introduction of John into the story.

Im gonna guess he is you?

[Mr. Skiperdoo]

Awesome story! Love your writing style, you have very detailed descriptions, and you greatly show the characters emotions.

I'm definately gonna be checking up on this thread every once in a while.

[Crestshot]

No unbearably long chapters YET, huh Delmaria? Hmm... I'm waiting. HAha, fantstic job, mate.

[Captain Del]

Oh my! Well, that's certainly a record for the most consecutive comments for a chapter of mine - thank you, thank you!

I think this one is a little longer than the others. Whether that's good, or bad, you decide! So, mates, without further adieu, I present to you:

The Red Skies of Dusk

April 5th, 1702
Somewhere off the British Coastline
9:40 PM

John made himself comfortable as he leaned back in to the cushion chair, trying to conserve his body heat to warm himself. The crew had supplied him a change from his humid, dirtied clothing in to some clothes that they found aboard - a stark white linen shirt, with a black outline along a V neck, and loose, red sailor's pants. He tucked his hands under his armpits, as he looked around the room.

He was sitting inside a comfortable captain's quarters, shadowed by only a single candle on the hand-carved desk before him. The room was covered in maps of all the channels and waterways in England, with tapestries hanging down regally by the two windows on the opposite sides of the room. He listened to the creaking of the ship as it sailed through the nightly waters along the British coast, burrowing back in to the tower, red-cushioned chair he took home in.

Captain Rutherford walked to the back of his desk as he smoked a short Alderman pipe in his mouth, blowing out short strings of smoke. He slipped easily in to the chair opposite John, where he leaned back to make himself comfortable. "We should be arriving back to St. Joseph's by tomorrow afternoon, so long as we don't have another malfunction with our sails like earlier." He took another puff from his pipe, before taking out of his mouth, and swirling it around in his hand.

"Captain, do you believe everything in the port shall be.... as we found it?" John perked, sitting up slightly in the chair.

The captain followed the same motion, interested by the question. "I do not see why not.... why do you ask, boy?"

John scratched the back of head. "Well.... to be honest, I'm still concerned as to why those men were in the port. It doesn't make me feel as... secure, as before, you can say?"

"I'm sure that their stop in St. Joseph's was only a minor passing through - perhaps as a point of rendezvous so that the Navy wouldn't be on their tails - but, as you can plainly see," he smiled deviously, "the Navy pays no pardon to any trouble."

"I understand that Captain, but I have to... respectfully disagree. Wouldn't it be possible that these gangsters of sorts were simply trying to establish their own base here in England? And what if they already have in other ports? Certainly if the Navy was actually able to pursue their covert affairs efficiently, they would have anticipated them being there."

Rutherford's face tensed as he became increasingly frustrated with John, taking his pipe and throwing it at him. John took cover, and swatted it away with one hand, as the captain shouted "Shut up, you jail dog! So long as you are aboard my ship, you will respect my authority, and my service name!" John hushed, as did the room, tense under the moment. Seeing the sad defeat in John's eyes, the captain cleared his throat, straightened his back, and continued. "Now then. You'll find that the crew has fixed for you an empty hammock in the crew's quarter's below - poor fellow that slept there passed from sickness a few days ago. Now, leave me to my night - we'll see you in the morning, unfortunately."

1

April 6th, 1702
Outside St. Joseph's Cove, Great Britian
7:00 PM

The red skies of dusk were blocked out by a blanket of dark grey clouds, dubbing over the normally magic whisper of the transition to night. The dark shadows that lingered over the light fog on the waters cut off much of one's farther vision, as it whipped out to you a sharp wind in your face. The bleakness only became more and more prevalent, as the small aura of the sun that shined through the clouds slowly descended to the horizon.

John waited off in the middle of the small English Galleon, as the rest of the crew lined the sides of the ship, staring off the bow to challenge the mysterious feeling it gave off. He had around himself a light, weak blanket that flapped it's ends in the wind, in a desperate attempt to keep his shivering body warm. All he wanted to do was to hear the port had been reached, so he could depart from the ship and return home, away from this ungodly weather. He could feel the warm embrace of his mother just away from his reach - he was eager beyond bounds to see her again.

"There she is! I can see the docks, Cap'n!" one of the younger soldiers shouted back to Rutherford, who was pacing back and forth on the deck. In haste, he hurried up to the bow, brushing violently past his men to see for himself that they had returned to the town. Interested and excited, John stood up from his seat by the mast, holding the blanket around his torso, and walked towards the bow of the ship.

He could peak just over the shoulders of the group of men, down in to the fog that lined his view. He could just barely make out what seemed to the be the docks of St. Joseph's, low and shadowed, and what seemed to be a few ships lining next to them. Yet these ships were different - they were larger schooners, the sides of whom were tilted inward to face the town itself. Their sails were closed, but they were in no way attached to the dock - as though they positioned themselves like that, just to look at the port. An eerie silence fell over the seas, as no man dared to breath, blink, or make any sudden movement. This mysterious presence had offset them all, and they were unsure of what would happen next.

Suddenly, a bright, loud explosion rocked the sides of the schooners that faced in towards the town. It was like a tremendous fireball, shooting out in a brilliant burst of energy that struck to you both awe and terror. John's eyes widened, as his eyes were forced to turn away from the deafening blast. He could feel the outer remnants from the heat of the eruption wisp across his cheek, like the tips of it's fingers just grazed his face.

As the blast receded, the men returned their vision to the ships, to a terrific sight. The blast had come from the broadsides of the ships, which were now unloading mercilessly in to the murky city. Rounds and rounds of lead shot in to and over the first row of buildings that lined themselves before the docks, cracking and rumbling them as they were pummeled over and over again. Rutherford stumbled back, horrified by the unexpected occurrence. He shouted, "Ah, AH! Ca-call to arms, all of you! Load the ca-c-c-nnons! NOW, NOW!"

While the captain roared, John could feel his heart sink to the depths of his chest. His spine ran cold, at the thought of his home being attacked so ruthlessly - images of all those that he made ever met and loved flashed before him, as though they, like the visions, were flashing before his eyes. His head felt light, and his hands shook with anxiety and worry. He knew that he was watching everything he ever loved die before him, and he wanted to be with them when it happened.

It only took an impulse for John to throw his blanket on to the deck, and run towards the side of the ship. Before Rutherford or the crew even had a chance to respond, John had rammed himself in to the banister, throwing himself off the ship. As the shouts behind him screamed, and his feet slowly left the security of the ship behind him, John could only repeat to himself how truly defective his decision was.

His body slammed itself chest-first in to the ice cold waters, submerging him in a swirling whirlpool of what felt like frozen water. His head felt as though it was chilling right atop his body as it poked out of the surface, dripping water and exasperated. He splashed around, trying desperately to find direction, when he caught eye of yet another broadside. He steadied himself in the water, trying not to go completely still. His muscles were already clamping and numbing in the waters, so he knew every motion mattered.

He began to paddle towards the outline of the town, trying to remember vaguely where he could reach land. Fires that had begun to spark on the forefront of St. Joseph's made his target much easier to view - a small strip of sand that acted as a small beach at the very end of the town, where it's limits reached a steep cliff that ran along the coastline. He was breaking his journey back home in to smaller objectives - and he was in the stage where making it to the shore alive would be an accomplishment.

He finally flopped on to the small sand patch, nearly tossing himself in to a large fire that started next to it to warm himself. He could feel his blood slowly pouring back in to his limbs, giving him back his flexibility. He gasped for air heavily, but gratified himself for being able to pull through swimming through something just short of an arctic ocean.

He slowly jiggled to his feet, and gained speed as he stumbled up the street that hugged the cliff that ran at the edge of town. It was a narrow street, just longer than an alleyway, but he slipped through in quickly. He reached on the other side of it a long, wide road, that ran down horizontally the length of the port. John looked down it, to analyze the scene beyond the front lines; people poured out of their homes, carrying children and prized possessions, weeping as they dodged the fires and ammunition that consumed their homes. Some men were brandishing large muskets, preparing to defend their town in the event of an invasion - to the death.

John ran down the street as fast as his ailing body allowed him, juggling around the chaotic people that zoomed by him, as he passed building by rubble, child by mother, and fire by rubble. The breath of the fires breathed heavily on his neck, but he tried to escape them, his legs moving faster and faster, as though he were being motivated.

Just as he reached the street that ran back up through the town, towards his house, John realized he and the townspeople were not alone - gruesome, raggedy men, gripping large rusted swords were running about, pulling people of all ages out of their homes, and torturing them. Balnette timed it just so that he witnessed only a few dozen feet away from him the beheading of an entire family - children as well. The sight of their headless bodies nearly made him turn away, but he knew he could not abandon his family now.

Against all of his thought, he sprinted with all his might up the street, avoiding any closeness towards the demonic men that taunted him on the sides of the street. He tried to pretend they were not there, but it was hard to block out the image of the devil from your mind. His ugliness, the sheer cruelness of his smile, burrowed itself in to your soul - he brought with him things that could never be unseen.

Finally, he reached the small side street his home sat on. He ran right around the corner, where the door of his house waited, facing in to the street. John didn't take a breath to go full speed in to the door, outreaching a stern arm and blasting through it.

He walked in to the dark, small kitchen of his house, the normally quaint table in the middle of it violently tossed over. In the middle of the room, standing over some sort of bundle, was a lanky, shaggy man, that turned to John as soon as he walked in. He had in his hand a bloody dagger, that he licked almost seductively the blood from. His face was unruly, disproportional, and of all things, disgusting. He smiled a yellow teethed smile "Hello."

John couldn't take it anymore. He clenched his face and let out a ferocious scream, charging right towards the man. It took a few steps for him to sweep the man of the ground, slamming his back in to the wall that sat near the staircase. As he felt the two of them stop, Balnette unleashed a remorseless flurry of punch after punch in to the grizzly man's face, splattering blood and snot all over his fists. The man's eyes closed in pain, but John only pounded harder and harder, leaving a blood stain on the wall behind the man as his lifeless body slinked to the ground.

As John looked over his victory, his senses reawakened, alerting him to a heavy, shallow wheezing noise behind him. John turned, and nearly cried instantly at the sight. A woman, stabbed in the stomach roughly eight times, was lying out right on the chair, her eyes shutting and blood pouring out in to her plain cloths. Her beautiful face was covered in tears, and blood.

"MOTHER!" John shrieked, nearly collapsing to his knees in shock. He crawled to his mother, his arms shaking violently with each palm on the floor. He scurried next to her head, and scooped it up in to his lap.

His mother was breathing sharply, and violently. Her head and neck rocked back and forth as she tried to speak. "W--wh--wh-whe-eres m-yy-y-y ba--by....." she gulped, swallowing a mouth full of blood.

John was exasperated in grief, as though every emotion that had ever poured in to a situation with his mother was returning. "OH, I'M SO SORRY!" he screamed at her. His head turned down towards her, touching his forehead with hers. "I LOVE YOU, I'-I'M S-S-SH-SH-SO SORRY! I NEVER- I- I--"

All his mother did was smile, as her eyes closed. "My b-b-b-bab-y-y..." she whispered "H-he's he-r-re.... I l-lov-love..." Her body went in to a final quake, jumbling back and forth in John's arms.

"NO, YOU CAN'T DIE, NO!" He yelled at her, as her body slowly seeped itself to peace. "NO NO NO, NO NO! PLEASE!" he cried out, his voice quaking hysterically as tears poured down his face. "DON'T LEAVE ME!"

John felt his arm pits being scooped off the ground, pulling him back and up. He could feel Captain Rutherford's arms wrapping around his body, as he pulled him back towards the door. "COME NOW BOY, THERE'S NO TIME LEFT!"

John hunched in the man's grasping, kicking and flailing towards the dead body. "NOO, NO!" he cried out. "SHE'S G-HONE! NO!" his voice cracked, as his body gave way to the captain's grasp. He continued sobbing heavily and loud, as his feet were dragged backwards, away from the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This chapter was particularly painful to write - it was really unbearable to ever think I could lose my mother.

Tell me what you think mates - let's hope I get as many comments as the last chapter, aye?

[Crestshot]

Wow Del... That was.... Jeesh. I can only imagine how that was to write, but you did it beautifully...course, that's not talking about the whole beheading, blood on the dagger whatnot. I'm eager to see what John encounters next.

[The Stealthy Pirate]

Yikes.... Tragic yet awful.


One of those things that you dont want to read but you cant stop. I cant wait to see what happens.