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As it is known, Pirate Pete was a man like all the other men he had known. He could do everything.

This was the motto he had taken with him before his last adventure, his last delivery of justice, his final quest. Ever since, he has questioned everything he thought he knew.

He had witnessed death, failure, despair from his few friends, and the light of the gods that shined upon him was one he thought may be blinking from existence as if never there in the first place, created from his own mind to justify his actions, actions that he questioned now that seemed like the logical step forwards way back then.

He had given up on his questing, he had laid down his will to fight, he had sealed his weapon under the ocean's own natural lock and key. There was nothing for him to do but live out his days amongst the greenery and shrubs of the vast fields that had surrounded his final residence, the hills of a world on the edge of the known worlds, far beyond the turning, churning, grinding cogs and gears of his home's chaotic symphony of work, battle and tedium.

This place was calm. This place was safe.

Then, there was a letter.

Pete had not seen one in many years, it had been the first time he had seen paper not his own since he was scuttering around his long-dead rival's home, peeking through the crack in the door of a cupboard. Watching. Waiting. The letter was properly sealed, tight with a ribbon, red wrapped round the fair white of the paper.

He held the letter between two of his fingers as he went to unwrap the bow that sealed the contents within, inspecting it for any clue to it's sender. The casing was left blank, as he had discovered after a moment of tilting, and by the time he had thoroughly scouted out it's surface the ribbon was undone. He would pry the letter open to examine the newly found note inside.

He had almost dropped it in a moment of shock.

The note had been scribbled with an insignia, a diamond's shape with a skull etched into it's middle, one eye shown set within, the quality of it's glare seeming as though it was peering right at him. His face showed complete horror. He knew these shapes in this arrangement well. After all, the engravings of a nemesis since birth would be scraped into anyone's mind. BadGuy was back, and he wanted Pete.

In a rush, he had looked up to the skies to check for his safety. All was still clear, yet he was sure, if he did not make his move now, they would be so for long. Immediately, he went to his cabin, snatching a box of ammunition from the dresser to his bedside and it's respected partner, the glove to it's hand, his custom-built revolver, just next to it. From within the cabin, however, he could hear scraping along it's walls. Typically, at this time of day, no wild beasts of the land would dare wonder out to hunt, however, it seems that his paranoia and frantic sprint had brought something to him. It's growl rumbled from behind the logs that made up the walls, as Pete hid under the window, it's wrinkled, fleshy green hand slowly reaching over. Pete was turning the chamber as he loaded it, the five of six bullets he had spinning around until they were in place to make sure any sudden moves would not punish him too greatly.

As soon as it began to sniffle against the glass, Pete ran for it to the other end as the creature smashed down the wall, letting out a mighty battle cry. The creature, as it got up onto it's two hind feet for it's roar, partially exposed it's open ribcage piercing through it's lime, scaled skin, it's red jewel-like eyes staring down Pete as it slammed it's front legs back down to the ground, sprinting at full force as he struggled to build the courage to even aim.

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In a moment of frantic readjustment of train of thought, Pete rolled out of the way from this monster's wild charge, taking the brief moment of safety he felt to collect himself to be able to point his hand at it, quivering from his heavy breath. In it's slow turn towards him, he fired a single shot right between it's eyes, brain matter spewing along the walls of the cabin, it's hulking green belly flopping to the ground as the bullet ripped through, crushing the floor beneath the titan's weight.

Pete released a sigh of relief.

"Good there isn't any more of them." he told himself, a moment later a single board from the ceiling falling onto the pile of debris created from the beast's entry. Pete stared down the chamber as he opened the gun. There were only four shots in reserve from when he had last visited another world, when he had first found this planet. He had to make sure he would expend no more for when the time came where they would come searching for him.

They should be a while.

He should be safe.

He should only have to worry about patching up this wall, and making preparations for their arrival.

Then, in that moment, a growl thundered from outside, a familiar growl, like one he had just heard, yet somehow different. He would have to be hasty, grab whatever he would need that was still within the cabin, and make his way out to locate his blade's burial site. There was no time to waste. In a rush, he searched for the door to the second room of the cabin, slamming it shut and moving a book shelf in the way to at least slow the creature down. Immediately after sealing off the entrance, he searched for and grabbed a sack of potatoes he had managed to harvest earlier that day, left on the side of the table that obstructed the middle of the room. After emptying a few out, however, he began to hear footsteps from within the other room, joint with the sniffing and groaning of the beast that lied within. His time was limited.

If he didn't hurry his search of the room, he would be either ground to mincemeat or would have to expend ammunition for a shot he was not sure he would hit. His aim had been shaky last time, it was a miracle he had managed to hit anything. Or perhaps it was dumb luck, miracles by the second were seeming less plausible. Digging through the sack, however, his finger was pricked by something shining through the muddy vegetables that surrounded it. A knife. He had made it to make cutting through his crops far easier, as shards of metal were much harder to handle and usually led to some form of harm to himself. He even still had a scar from trying to wedge one into a particularly aggravating-to-cut carrot. Or, at least, it was similar enough to a carrot.

He could still hear the creature stalking the room nearby. His breath was getting heavier as he dragged out the knife from the sack, readied in his left hand as he grasped a stick of meat haphazardly in what little space he had left in it, shoving it in the sack. Louder, the growls got. Pete was looking desperately for where he had hidden it. They got louder. He opened one of the drawers at the back of the room, snatching a sheet of paper as the door burst down behind him from the force of the creature's arm slamming downward against it. In that moment, Pete's heart almost skipped a beat, him dropping down under the table as the beast searched along the room systematically. It knocked down a cupboard eight meters away. Then knocked over a glass at six meters. It smashed against pots and pans roughly four meters away, sweat drooling down the side of Pete's face as it got closer. It was three meters away from him.

Then Two.

It scratched along the surface of the table, sniffling. Pete would swallow his fear, yet it would still eclipse him in entirety. It's hand was gripping on the edge of the table, over his head, as it was slowly turning around it. In that moment of panic, the knife came slamming into it's hand, as Pete begun sprinting as fast as he could down to the other end of the room, grasping at and dragging the potato sack along with him. The behemoth of a being screeched out in pain, Pete bolting through the busted down door and out into the fields that surrounded his home through the broken wall, trampling over the corpse of the other lizard-like being as he did. The autumn winds slapped his cheek as he made a run for it, dusk setting in along the horizon.

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