51 - Mermaid

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The sea raged beneath a sky heavy with storm clouds, casting an eerie glow upon the ghostly ship that sailed through the darkness. "Queen Anne's Revenge" moved with unnatural grace, her tattered black sails billowing without wind. This was no ordinary vessel; this was the floating nightmare of the great pirate Blackbeard.

At the bow, a grotesque sculpture of human bones loomed, a skeletal sentinel with hollow sockets that seemed to pierce the souls of those who dared cross its path. A silent witness to centuries of slaughter, it exuded a malevolent presence, whispering tales of bloodshed through the howling wind.

Inside the ship, horror dripped from every shadowed corner. Severed heads hung like grotesque lanterns, their lifeless expressions frozen in agony. Some gnashed their teeth in silent screams, while others bore twisted grins, as though mocking the living. The stench of death clung to the wooden walls, sinking into the souls of those who walked its cursed decks. Every inch of the ship reeked of despair, a floating tomb for the damned.

Despite the brutality of its crew, none had ever laid eyes upon Blackbeard's true face. His presence was an enigma, his voice carried through the mouths of his first mate and the grotesque reanimated corpses that prowled the decks. These lifeless soldiers, bound by dark sorcery, moved with a stiffness that only deepened the unease of those who served under him. Their glassy, vacant eyes saw nothing, yet they obeyed every command with unwavering loyalty.

The pirates feared their captain, but they feared his legend even more. To them, he was a phantom, a force beyond mortality. Doubts may have whispered among them, but none dared voice them—for defying Blackbeard was an invitation to an end far worse than death.

But even terror has its limits.

One fateful evening, the silence was shattered.

The heavy doors to the captain's quarters burst open with a force that sent the entire ship into a frozen hush. A deafening bang rang through the air, the wooden boards trembling beneath the sudden violence.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, merciless.

From the darkness emerged a figure that made even the most hardened cutthroats shrink. Blackbeard. His face remained shrouded beneath a thick, unkempt beard, but his eyes burned like smoldering embers. A single glance from those cold, piercing orbs sent a shiver through the crew, their heads bowing instinctively, as if to meet his gaze was to invite damnation.

Without a word, he flung a glass bottle to the deck. It shattered, shards scattering like tiny daggers of light against the gloom. Silence stretched taut over the ship, the tension thick enough to choke.

Then, with a deliberate slowness, he unsheathed his Triton sword.

The blade caught the dim light, gleaming like a sliver of moonlight on steel. A cruel, deadly whisper.

Without warning, the ship lurched forward, moving at an unnatural speed as though the ocean itself recoiled in terror. The sudden acceleration sent men sprawling, cursing as they scrambled to steady themselves. Chaos erupted on deck, but it was swiftly silenced by a voice that cut through the din like a guillotine.

"Stand up, you miserable wretches!" Blackbeard's voice was a roar dragged from the depths of hell. "From this moment forward, we do not stop."

A trembling pirate found the courage to ask, "C-Captain, where are we headed?"

A reanimated corpse answered in his stead—with a whip. The lash cracked through the air, wrapping around the man's wrist before snapping away, leaving a raw, bloody wound. He collapsed, gasping in agony, while the others stood motionless, too afraid to react.

Blackbeard's voice thundered. "East. We sail east, and we do not stop unless I say so!"

Bad news had reached him.

A corpse sent to guard his daughter had returned bearing ill tidings—Jack Sparrow and Angelica had been captured by a mysterious wizard.

If Blackbeard wanted the Fountain of Youth, he would need Sparrow. But he was not a man without contingencies. From the depths of his coat, he produced a small, delicate puppet—an effigy of Angelica, crafted with dark sorcery. As he whispered an incantation, the puppet trembled, its head turning sharply to face east.

His path was set.

Elsewhere, the British Navy under Hector Barbossa and a Spanish fleet raced towards Whitecap Bay, but none arrived before Wes.

The sun stood high in the sky, casting its golden glare upon the restless waves. Aboard a modest ship, Jack Sparrow leaned against the railing, watching the horizon with practiced nonchalance. He had not rested since the night before, yet fatigue seemed to bounce off him like rain off a slick deck.

"Mermaids hunt at night or in fog," he mused aloud.

With a casual stretch, he added, "Dock the ship."

He had earned a moment's respite, and he intended to enjoy it. Thanks to a special potion, exhaustion remained a stranger to him.

Angelica scoffed. "Are all pirates as reckless as you?"

Jack turned to her with a smirk. "Who knows if I'll be alive tomorrow? Might as well make today count."

As dusk fell, Jack emerged from the cabin, looking refreshed. Angelica shadowed him, her expression unreadable.

"So, how do you plan to catch these mermaids?" she asked.

Wes, standing on deck, offered no reply. Instead, he silently lowered a small boat into the water and placed four scarecrows inside. They looked ordinary at first, but as he whispered an incantation, they began to shift and grow, taking on the lifelike forms of pirate decoys.

He stepped onto the boat, the enchanted figures surrounding him. As they rowed in eerie synchrony, a lantern in Wes's hand cast a dim, wavering glow upon the water.

On the main ship, Angelica turned to Jack in hushed urgency. "Jack, let's escape while we can."

Jack's gaze flickered between her and the dark sea. "And the witchcraft on us?"

"My father can remove it."

At that, Jack let out a laugh. "Blackbeard? Love, I'd sooner trust that wizard."

Before Angelica could argue, a song drifted through the night air.

Soft, beckoning, haunting.

A siren's melody, weaving through the darkness like silk on skin, seeping into bones, whispering promises of warmth, of love, of peace.

Wes stiffened. "They're here."

A mermaid surfaced, her ethereal beauty framed by moonlit waves. Her delicate features, her luminous eyes—enough to steal the breath from any man.

But Wes was not any man.

Without hesitation, a scarecrow lashed out, its grip tightening around the mermaid's throat. Instantly, her enchanting guise melted away, replaced by monstrous fangs and a guttural snarl.

The water churned as more mermaids attacked, their lithe bodies darting beneath the waves. Ropes of seaweed lashed out, dragging scarecrows into the abyss—only for them to reveal their true nature too late.

Wes's hand brushed the water. Frost spread instantly, locking five mermaids in a prison of ice. They shrieked, pounding against their frozen fate, but the sea no longer answered them.

Without remorse, Wes produced a glass bottle, tapping it lightly with his wand. The mermaids were sucked inside, their bodies shrinking as they thrashed in vain.

He tucked the bottle into his coat with quiet satisfaction.

"Five should be enough."