“Oh, this is nice. I come out, and my body isn’t torn up. The fool must have gotten in over his head before he realized it.”

I look around seeing the blood, viscera, and plethora of dead Spaniards. That’s all fine and dandy, but I see at least 20 sacks of blood looking at me, with sweet murderous intent in their eyes. Oh these cute little men think they have a chance. Then the door of the Captain's quarters burst open, and an older man with silver, slicked back, hair stroll out onto the deck.

He points a beautiful rapier at me from about twenty feet away. He starts yelling at me in a Spanish accent, “Who do you think you are? We are apart of King Phillips royal navy, do you think the King will let a slight like this pass?”

I burst out laughing, “Do you honestly fucking believe your stupid little king will ever hear about this failure of yours? Oh, I find is so cute that you think that I will let a single one of you leave here without me being able to witness the blood leave your veins. You may not know this, but you all are nothing but a means to extend my time on this plane. I know your simple 18th century minds might not know what I am saying…” I pull one of my khukri from behind my back, “But that is of little consequence.”

“Talking to me like a peon? The force of the Royal Spanish Navy will cru…”

I casually toss a spare knife with my free hand, hitting him just below the sternum from around 35 feet. He’s trying to talk, but that just causes his diaphragm to spasm. He looks confused as he looks down at the blade sticking out from his body, but it gets so much sweeter as he looks at me with a questioning look before he falls face first, driving the knife hilt deep. His men are left speechless at the sight of their captain lying in a growing pool of blood.

I throw my head back in laughter as I pull my other khukri out, “Are you measly soldiers left broken by the sight of your illustrious captain so easily defeated? Oh, I will take pleasure in breaking each of your spirits. I look forward to leaving one of you as a babbling, shell of a man. The pleasure of breaking egos is much too shallow if there isn’t anyone to find my work.”

At that, several of the men scream Spanish slurs at me before charging me. Six men try to surround me with bayonets fixed on their muskets. If they would have synchronized their charge, they might have actually wounded me, but the slight delay was all I needed to start my masterpiece.

Two men reach me a second before the others, and with some gentle nudging from my blades, they run each other through with their own bayonets. It causes the other four to falter for just a moment, and I take that moment to lunge at the closest, slicing his leg cleanly through his knee joint. I see his hand tensing as he falls, and with some slight direction, he ends up shooting the man trying to shoot me in the back. The final Spaniard jumps back, trying to get some distance between us. He points his musket at me with, probably feeling confident he can’t miss at this distance. I juke to my right just before he fires, and then jump back, the lead ball whizzing by me.

Once the smoke clears, he realizes that he missed me. The color drains from his face, and he just drops to his knees, staring at me. I walk up to him, keeping his body between me and the other soldiers. I kneel beside him so I could whisper, “I see you are the first to accept your fate. I will reward your instincts with your life.”

As I stand up, I see hope in his eyes, “Oh, I can’t have that. Hope has no place in my art.”

I kick him in the chest, sending his sprawling on his back. Then, with the backs of my khukris, I shatter both of his kneecaps. He screams in pain for a moment, then passes out, “I had to leave you with something… just to make sure you don’t forget lil’ ole me.”

As I look around, I feel the power seep into the nooks and crannies of my psyche. I can’t describe the power you feel as you dominate your fellow man. I just killed trained Spanish soldiers completely by myself. There are no words to describe how powerful I feel… how powerful I am. You see people killing dozens of people in movies and anime, but actually doing it yourself feels… right. I feel as if I was made to do this. An extension of one man’s pain, I was made to dominate his fellow man… and what better way to dominate someone than to cause utter despair before silencing them forever.

I look over to the Going Swiftly, wishing they would come pick me up. Think about it… I could turn on my friends and comrades, and destroy each of their psyches before finishing them. The blood that would be spilled would be… positively exquisite.

Although, I simply cannot recall the sign to be picked up that Utah discussed with them. I feel as though it is right here in my mind, but I also feel like it is be completely against my nature. I look around one more time, and I feel the euphoria start to culminate. The feeling starts to become too much, and no matter how desperately I try to hold on to them, my weapons slip from my hands. Then, darkness overtakes me.

----------------------------------------

The relief I felt from most of the men making it back to the ship was short lived. I watched Utah lead the troop, I watched him command them perfectly… but then I watched what he warned me about come to fruition. The men started to think they were invincible, and they began breaking rank to finish off the pompous Spanish soldiers. For a moment I felt pride at how well I had raised my crew, giving them the strength to take advantage of the enemy’s weakness. Then, I had to watch them get crushed under the foot of a more disciplined force. 

If it wasn’t for Utah covering their retreat, I’d probably not have enough men to make it to port. But, somehow he got most of the men back on board. For that I will be eternally grateful, but I’m not sure what to do about what I’m watching unfold. I thought that Utah was sacrificing himself so we could make our retreat, but I saw something change in him. He let a darkness out much like the one I use to protect the crew, but his has no form, no direction. It’s just a consuming darkness, and my crew and I are watching as that darkness is swallowing the Spanish crew. 

Utah isn’t just winning, he’s breaking the men aboard the opposing vessel. He’s ripping the men apart in such a way that the other men can only wait their turn. Some of the men haven't accepted it, and they are fighting back. Although, the majority are just standing in horror. I think our only saving grace on this side of the carnage is that we can’t hear what Utah is saying to them. I honestly thought after everything I’ve been through, I was past being afraid of being swallowed up, but I’ve also never seen a man capable of torture during a fight to the death before... and there aren't many names more feared than Captain Zijde in the Caribbean.

I watch for a few more moments, and Utah finishes killing the last of the soldiers on board. Then, it looks like he’s doing some kind of goofy monologue for a few minutes before his weapons slip from his hands and he hits the deck.

”Well boys, I suppose that we should probably go pick that crazy bastard up. Unfurl the sails!”