The chilling laughter of Captain Haimon, Bloodsucker's leader still clawed at the silence in the timbers above. "The King's dogs are weaker than I thought!" he had bellowed, the sound vibrating through the very planks beneath my feet. And the sounds that followed—the ragged, desperate cries of the fallen marines—were a fresh wave, washing over the fear already churning in my gut. My gaze dropped, finding the cold, familiar comfort of the flintlock pistol clutched in my hand.
"Captain Darius," I whispered, the sound swallowed by the gloom. The sounds of the remaining skirmish were fading towards the bow, a messy, uneven rhythm of clashing steel and desperate shouts. But directly above, a different rhythm persisted: heavy, rhythmic blows, punctuated by guttural grunts of exertion. Captain Darius was still locked in combat with Haimon.
A stalemate, I thought, a fragile tendril of hope unwinding within me. He's holding him. He's still fighting.
But even as the sharp clang of steel rang out, a grim counterpoint to my fleeting optimism settled in my mind.
It's a tenuous stalemate, though. A matter of time. Captain Darius, likely wounded, certainly outnumbered in terms of crew support, would eventually succumb to Haimon's brutal strength.
I edged closer to the narrow stairwell, each creak of the damp wood a potential betrayal. I strained my ears, trying to decipher the brutal ballet unfolding above. The distinct sounds of two powerful figures locked in mortal combat were unmistakable: the heavy clang of steel on steel, the furious, guttural roars. It could only be Captain Darius and Haimon. But the sheer ferocity in Haimon's cries, the increasingly strained grunts that escaped Captain Darius's lips, painted a clear, horrifying picture. The stalemate was about to break, and not in the marine captain's favor.
"Wait," I told myself, my muscles tensing with the urge to recklessly charge into the fray. "Wait for the only right moment left."
I won't let it happen again. I won't just watch.
The memory, unbidden, flashed in my mind: a helpless figure, a cruel end, and my own frozen terror.
This time would be different.
An ambush was no longer just a possibility; it was the only viable option. If Captain Darius fell, all hope for any of us was lost. I had to act, and act soon.
Peering cautiously through a narrow crack in the deck planks above, my breath hitched in my throat. I could make out fleeting glimpses of the brutal dance. Captain Darius, his movements growing sluggish, his parries less certain, desperately trying to fend off Haimon's relentless attacks. The pirate captain, sensing victory in the air, pressed his assault with renewed vigor, his cutlass a silver blur aimed at ending the fight once and for all.
"He's weakening," I breathed, the words catching in my throat, a cold dread gripping me like icy fingers. "It's only a matter of time."
But I won't freeze. Not this time.
The other pirates were focused on mopping up the remaining marines, their attention, thankfully, diverted by the ongoing, but clearly nearing its end, clash between their captain and Captain Darius. This was the last sliver of opportunity, a fragile window in the storm.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I cocked the flintlock. The loud, sharp click seemed to echo ominously in the tense air, a stark announcement of my desperate intent. It was a clumsy movement, my hands slick with sweat, but the pistol was ready. One shot. That was all I had. One shot to make up for all the shots I didn't take before.
"For Captain Darius," I whispered, a desperate resolve hardening my will, pushing back the terror that threatened to consume me. "Before it's too late."
I won't be a ghost watching another fall.
Clutching the pistol as if it were a lifeline, my heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence I desperately needed. I started to ascend the creaking stairs, each step a groaning complaint that felt deafening. The smell of blood and sweat was thick in the air, a nauseating reminder of the carnage. The sounds of the duel were deafening now, just above me, a desperate rhythm counting down the seconds.
My hand trembled on the rough hilt of the pistol.
Just one shot. Make it count. This is for them. For him. For the me who couldn't act.
"Now," I muttered, my eyes fixed on the scene unfolding through another, slightly wider crack in the deck. Captain Darius stumbled, his leg buckling beneath him. Haimon's blade flashed dangerously close to his throat. The pirate captain roared in triumph, a guttural bellow of impending victory, raising his bloodied cutlass for the final, killing blow.
That was the moment.
With a surge of adrenaline-fueled desperation, I shoved the plank aside, the sudden splintering sound a violent punctuation to the tense silence. I burst onto the deck, the flintlock pistol raised in both trembling hands.
"Haimon!" The words ripped from my throat, a raw, desperate cry against the backdrop of impending doom. Haimon's hulking frame swiveled with surprising speed, his bloodshot eyes narrowing on me. A stowaway. A nobody. Wielding a pathetic-looking flintlock. For a heartbeat, disbelief flickered across his brutal features, a momentary lapse in his murderous focus. But it was quickly replaced by a murderous fury, a promise of a swift and agonizing end etched on his scarred face.
But that heartbeat was all I needed.
My finger tightened on the trigger. The pistol bucked violently in my hand, the roar deafening in the sudden, stunned silence that had fallen amongst the remaining pirates. A cloud of acrid smoke obscured my vision for a fleeting moment, but when it cleared, I saw Haimon stagger back, his hand clutching at his chest. A dark, crimson stain was blooming rapidly on his already bloodied coat.
A collective gasp rippled through the pirate crew. Their invincible captain, the terror of the seas, wounded? By a mere stowaway?
Instinct took over, a primal surge of survival.
This is it. I'm doing it.
I worked the flintlock with a speed I didn't know I possessed, my fingers fumbling but determined, frantically priming and re-aiming the single-shot weapon. Another deafening roar erupted from the pistol, and this time I saw the impact clearly, another dark blossom appearing on Haimon's already saturated coat. He roared in pain, a bellow of disbelief and fury, clutching harder at his chest.
The pirates, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of my attack and the apparent wounding of their seemingly untouchable leader, began to surge forward, a wave of cutlasses glinting menacingly in the harsh sunlight. "Get him!" one roared, his face contorted with rage. "Kill the little rat!"
Ignoring the advancing threat, my focus remained solely on Haimon. My hands worked feverishly, reloading the cumbersome single-shot pistol again and again, driven by a desperate, unwavering resolve. Each shot was a desperate prayer, a tiny spark of defiance against the overwhelming darkness that threatened to engulf us all. The pistol roared repeatedly, each discharge accompanied by a fresh stain appearing on Haimon's massive frame. He staggered, his movements becoming less certain, his furious gaze losing some of its sharp focus, replaced by a dazed incomprehension.
I'm not watching. I'm acting.
By the time the pirates were mere steps away, their bloodstained blades raised to strike me down, Captain Haimon was lying still. His massive form was riddled with dark wounds, crimson blooming across his chest and abdomen, staining the deck a sickening red. He hadn't just staggered; he had collapsed, his lifeblood pooling around him.
A stunned, absolute silence descended upon the chaotic scene. The advancing pirates faltered, their bloodthirsty charge abruptly halted by the unbelievable sight of their fallen leader. Their faces, moments before contorted with rage and bloodlust, now held a mixture of utter disbelief and dawning, palpable fear. Their seemingly invincible captain, the terror of the seas, felled by a desperate stowaway with a single flintlock he had somehow managed to fire repeatedly.
Captain Darius, leaning heavily against the blood-splattered mast, his own bloodied face etched with shock and exhaustion, watched the scene unfold as if in a dream. He blinked slowly, as if unable to comprehend the impossible sight before him.
I stood there, breathless and trembling, the empty flintlock still clutched in my shaking hands, the acrid smell of gunpowder thick in the air, stinging my nostrils. Against all odds, the seemingly impossible had happened. Haimon, the Bloodsucker pirate's captain, the terror of the seas with a 50 million bounty, lay dead at my feet, a gruesome testament to the many desperate shots I had somehow managed to unleash. The reign of the Bloodsucker pirates had just suffered a mortal blow. This time, I did something.
Ding! Congratulations, host get 50 simulation points the Life Simulation system has been activated.