A dazzling-sun prospered over storm clouds, forming a beautiful sun-break. With hints written in them, one had to ponder, would these same clouds overtake skies again? A showdown between Skull-Brethren represented the same sentiment below.
Dark Cloud or Sunshine, who’d prevail?
“You’re makin’ a mess, o’ brother of' mine… What's th’ matter matey isn’t this what you wanted?” Sarcastically overseeing Sol clenching his chest wound, crimson ichor leaking between his fingers, barely managing to keep his balance on their fighting-grounds, atop their flagship mast.
A guttural snarling foamed, clenched teeth gave forth reply, “...I don’t understand, y-you falter and fail against everyone… But not against m-me!?” Blinded through sheer hallucination, his superiority, an actual ego of genuine perfection was him, nobody could prove otherwise.
History repeating itself Judas who enacted a betrayal before stabbed to Captain from behind, when this Seeker was his lowest, but he arose through maroon and ashes, bringing crushing defeat to the front. Silver-treacherous, was learning harshly this.
“...Ye b’ correct. I don’t often claim victory against many, merely I survive. However, you’ve awakened something inside me… N’ unfortunately fer you, it’s not below my waist. Also I’ve a track record of one you’ve witnessed first-hand. I don’t lose t’ demons or devils, I beat th’ living shite out of ‘em. Cause there’s nothing I pity more than an existence that only thrives to suckle on teets t’ get by. What’s Voidal can never beat someone who truly Lives. It doesn’t help yer scenario I know way too much about ya’. As lil o’ street urchins; like this. I know yer fighting habits, I’ve seen you, just as much; you’ve me… Except there’s a difference. You maliciously peer jealousy - while I admired. As you’ve said, you’re my senior!” The victorious seemingly-standing pirate reigned over with a definitive message.
Tugging at the conscripted ex-Garlean profoundly, overwhelming seething fury ate it. A realization he didn’t want to accept… More core side of him, somewhere harbored elsewhere, felt that genuine message, he was revered in his own-way and was enough, as himself.
Yellow hues betrayed the Raen for a moment, blinding-rage fumed up before raising up from his weakened posture. Tapping a part underneath his collarbone that activated surgical augmentation to accelerate his heart rate and rhythm to give him more stamina and a bolster of aether. Unfinished with this result.
Confused, Kuro, who was about to walk off, prepared himself back into battle-stance with a disheartening sigh.
“I-I will not lose. You’re the pathetic one! Unable to rebuild anymore! The Crew won’t ever return, you’ve broken and strung by fleeting tape. You couldn’t overcome the mental torment of failure.” With Sol’s remaining good-hand he withdrew a sheathed hilt towards a clan blade hidden between his back-buckle, his own Family Heirloom. Unlike traditional Hingashi katana’s, its blade opened with a pressing switch like an instantaneous box-cutter. A foul, malevolent, aether flux shrieked out, with a howling banshee scream that nearly pierced Captain’s ear-drums.
That malefic blade…Became corrupted, passed on through dynasty heirs traditionally. But Sol slaughtered his noble right’s to gain ownership turning something pure and sacred that once was prestigious held by a Samurai, to be an incarnation of evil.
To bring out such blatant lengths against Captain, really showed how far he was lost. Sol by no-means had expertise in using a sword but overcame his comfort against all his dismay, out of unbound hatred.
Disheartening, the Blackguard showed sympathy, frowning, and placed one of his own blades and shoved it into wood between his feet. Bringing an overabundance of confidence or wanting to play honor among thieves.
A pure formed sword-clash broke out, each of them using their strengths and full bodily weight while trying to keep composure of balance, they exchanged and teetered to one-end of the Mast to the other, both drawing close. Getting minor fencing cuts and stabs.
Sol’s blade even though he wasn’t a viable wielder, the weapon carried him with how much force it dealt. As a result he began winning the second-exchange tie up. Captain’s eyelids became startled, as he began suddenly seeing phantasms protruding from Sol’s accursed steel, a manifestation of malice. The form of Sol’s undoubted father in resemblance, who he somehow could even hear. <”Miserable thief… You’re UNWORTHY of carrying our last name! Our clan will be unrest until you’re taken to wretched Seven Hells!”> Raen was forming excessive sweat, that brand served against the possessor, weighing heavier continuously each swing. The malevolent spirit was actually squeezing and wrapping its incorporeal form around his wrist, searing his palm.
The Scoundrel witnessing this horrifying event, with Sol seemingly only feeling effects, it brought his concentration out of guard for a moment to see a specter like this in-the-flesh. He was improperly blocked with improper form. Causing his steel to break under the pressure and snap. This made Captain stumble off the mast.
Sol satisfyingly grinned but that feline rogue’s cunning tail caught his fall, third armed. Giving Captain enough time to swing with a momentum to athletically put a singular hand back on the top-mast.
Traitorous Sol charged forth, aiming to deliver one strike to decapitate Captain’s peaking hand, just needing a downward slash. More malevolent family spirit’s of Sol’s murderous transgressions began tightening around his wrists, Sister, favored child although younger was selected for being Heir, his Taoist Mother, and the rampaging dishonored Father who disowned his son knowing Sol’s putrid side. His Raen’s scale protecting him was melted, now felt real agonizing pain, adrenaline couldn’t suppress it anymore.
Captain wasn’t sure where or why those spirit’s could be seen, but he was engaged in battle, so took the opportunity to retrieve himself, with a swing and flip back atop from a pull-up. He ran a full dash-sprint, leapt off the hilt of his old discarded blade from earlier and round-kicked Sol’s own blade flat-blade. Which saw him tumbling backward, falling on his rump and becoming disarmed.
Trying to fetch composure and stand up, but Captain awaited with his finishing new technique instinctual given birth… They started on here with rock-paper-scissors who’d rig, and it’d end this way with a killer-combination.
On Sol’s come up, Scissors came by, a double-poke gouge to eyes. That had him screaming howling, defensively blockading being hit like that again a natural response to someone untrained, and left his chin-exposed. Rock followed-through; a gnarly uppercut with Captain’s pent-up temper. That saw the Raen upchuck his saliva in disbelief, his world-rocked, unused to being physically dominated, he fought like every other pain-staking coward who hid behind range only in a battle or with explosives with attacks from stealth that often were set on always winning. Lastly was the ending blow, his heel’s teetering on the mast’s edge, tail-attempting to redistribute his weight, pleading that Raen squealed, “W-WAIT!” Before Captain ceremoniously unleashed an open-palm, Paper to his torso with a formidable shove.
Spilling off, although before plummeting below into the ocean awaiting judgment for treachery, surprised mercy came with Captain grabbing his wrist.
“Damn your insufferable pity, you’re saving me now!? – I hate you! I’ll kill you! Including everyone we know! Now, let me GO!” Still unbelievably, rage overtook the spiteful Raen. He kept swinging back, flailing trying to make Captain’s sailor grip-loosen.
That brash pirate with warmth surrounding him gave a crooked golden beam. “...Aye. Upon land their denizen’s taught me, even though we’ve prone t’ know on sea, we herald their methods inferior, that compassion. They’ve normalized and made sibling squabbles natural, they disown each other too. …But their resolve is commendable, even if it takes time to mend through vile animosity. ‘Cause they’re solely, blood-bound they don’t give-up on another! We’re th’ last two-alive from our former Crew… Should yer path b’ Destruction. Then I’ll just become stronger than you, and provide Restoration. Ye b’ right-about many things, I did fail Crew, n’ ye, as Captain. Me not having an ambition even if out-of-reach or attainable, to have something to ascend towards; makes one aware how to grow forth. Now, I’ve a direction… I can raise higher t’ the standards you set, n’ expect. C’mon, surrender!”
Sol’s resenting and resilience gave a sudden pause, irritation quelling, but it was a calming facade. “You actually think… That trivially, I’ll concede!? Your kindness will ruin you again. And when it does, mark my words, you’ll become, no-better than me, blight akin to myself. All the preaching of goodness, light you bring… those accursed eyes… Constantly shining against darkness. Will collapse, you’ll be confronted with the forces we ran to maintain freedom! That we both know, are impossible to overcome. Irrefutable tides, power-beyond-power, none can oppose, and it’ll come for your sanctuary. When it does, either you’ll be at the forefront butchering to survive; thrive. Or die empty, as nothing! Screw your PITY!” He’d oppose it with a devastating omen. Captain felt a disturbing tingly sensation, in tone and mannerism, at this point, Sol’s characteristic traits in this manner were predictable, malicious-intent was expected.
Sol in his crafty dialogue, took a stray-bullet, often his final-gambit, holstered on his pant’s leg, and curled it around his tail’s tip expertly used it to fling, with velocity at speeds, towards Captain’s visage looming over, to hold, it carried enough force, for puncturing. This gave Kuro no choice, to relent.
Granting the Raen what he wanted, relief, a submersion into the waters, despite knowing he couldn’t swim. Something would’ve been expected but his other natural-state was uncaring, never wanting to learn or commit, expecting things handed, always looking for ways around thalassophobia flaws, perceiving them as his qualities. Actually, stupid-luck was his treasure, about to run dry.
Struggling, splashing around like a fish-out-of-water only making his distress begin sinking him, disgruntled waves swayed against his mismanaged energy. Soon he’d join the fellow sea-bed Brethren of their Goldbrand and die. In his final-moment’s everything was becoming extinguished. Perhaps his real motive was just to create a new monster, or break Captain with his demise, or somewhere internally wanted this painstaking defeat, to empower the Seeker’s betterment it seemed, his confidence was showing again. If it wasn't noticed; it could be-said all these transpired in Sol’s fragmented madness.
“FOOL!” The Seeker gave an upsetting roar. The same scar-over his eyelid reopened by the bullet shredded against flesh, blood coursing down, his Star-Sight capturing the projectile barely with a knick. Never letting his impeccable Miqo’te instinct’s be second-guessed against Sol, it saved his life this time around. But vaulting a projectile only dampened the initial impact from fatality, this still would blind Captain to use an eye-patch to recover the damage of using this technique, used rarely to overcome viscous battles. He shot the projectile out by reopening the star-gate pupil, but coldness lingering in his body with sharp spasms, something wasn’t right. Another poison ran its course, draining him.
…So he was supposed to just give-up and allow this be how it ends? Despite standing a chance to rescue a Crewmate for once, to decide an outcome, act heroically and slice through fate’s string. “Fuck yer way!” He said callously before brazenly jumping off the mast, swan diving after his drowning fellow… <’Nay, matey. I’ll sail this black!’> Went in his mind, his own-daughter’s voice carrying him, <“Dying isn’t suffering or learning mistakes, like Living through them is! Knowing difficulty, repenting harshly.”> She mercilessly sentenced upon his dead-beat ass, so Sol wasn’t off-the-hook.
He swam to the bottom in pursuit to depths, Sol fading in consciousness, but the Seeker latched, grabbed and secured his arm over his broad shoulder. The moment he connected, his strength, adrenaline, everything was dampening. His vision, completely dissolved, lost obscurity. All his senses lost underwater, only touch; feel left. Mind fogging rapidly, holding his breath. He hadn’t any boundless strength to swim and lift them out of this peril, not in this condition.
Instead of panicking, in the deep. Not contesting the current’s force and wasting his reservoirs, he noticed above the surface-water before his dissension below, his Tricorne floating, that catalyst way to commune.
Praying to Gods, often weren’t associated with his brand of outcast pirates.
But no choice, to submit, faith and fate was the only solution,
Otherwise they’re hopelessly dead.
With feel, to grant communion alone, his aether pulling outwardly a light-source, his soul creating noise. <Saltsong. I’ve a request. I hate to sound like I'm ushering command over you. A sea cannot be; I need, desperately, a tide of fortune, of yours. I’m supposed to exterminate Scourges that may pollute these waters… Please understand, I cannot do it with this one, they’re the closest to an actual sibling I've ever had. But I’ll become his Order.”> A favor asked by an Oceanic Kami’s chosen, surrendering to his burdens and markings.
The sea's held emotion’s bound and moved, transmuting the message throughout the great-blue, beyond vast fathom. Captain’s body laxing, nearly about to relinquish.
Silence seemed to dreadfully be answered, before panic settled-in, a reply came, miraculously waves swept up, rushing rumbling and back, with ferocious current, swinging them forth and around with gyrating whirls, before a huge tidal met them and washed the pirates forcefully onto the deck. His infamous Hat alongside them. Their old pirate’s flag they once resided under fell under the pressure. Renewal was now, Sunshine claimed this climactic fight.
Upchucking water in lungs, recuperating from hitting the lower-mast hard, he sprawled on elbows and gave everything in strength, to give rough compressions and revitalize Sol, once breathing returned to his feline-hearing, the brutish Seeker collapsed on his back. “Thanks, Sea… I ow–” The poison appeared relative to a tranquilizing shot, finally claiming the scoundrel.
The Worldly Finder left aimless sailing with no manning. It’d prove too dangerous unless a force gave intervention, the vessel’s direction suddenly shifted towards a storm over yonder distant one that’d brave forth with fair-wind to the nearest shore, a sensational, tide rushed outward a precursor, that voyage of Captain’s journey stirring only up.
What exactly, and who he served to be was almost uncovered. Suddenly able to see-the-unseen. Ability to commune with greater-spirits, to traverse spiritual consciousness, manifest and change his soul-alignment, alongside transform, fighting styles adaptive, alike nature itself. Or drawing the abundance of various diversities into company. There was one explanation, all linked to these phenomena.
Perish his other-half, spiritual guide butterfly, told him the answer lies where he untraveled, never thinking it was important, but by never applying questions, answers cannot exist, especially where your actual-self resides, placing forever a piece of identity into limbo.
His journey called out to return where it should’ve begun. With his Shadowy Father to figure out who exactly indeed, was his Mother.
Sequential, learning himself.
♫Sail into the Black♫ - Reference - Last Chapter
Mention: @the-littlest-kojin (With their incredible, Saltsong)
