Chapter Text
1621
Those black-and-green shimmering flags on the horizon usually meant death.
For sailors, pirates, and unfortunate passengers alike, the large figurehead in the shape of a skull was more often than not one of the last views its spectators would get to enjoy before being taken by endless nothingness.
The Mar Vidal was a ship only ever whispered about—and only written about in obscure tomes tucked away in underground libraries owned by the richest and most powerful people on earth. Those who had gone looking for it had never returned, and those who wished to never encounter it had desperately screeched into the night upon its appearance.
But not Captain Magnus.
To him, the eerie green glow surrounding the Mar Vidal was like a bold X that marked the spot on his most valuable treasure map.
“Are you sure it’s him?”
Magnus’ second in command held out her hand for him to hand over the spyglass.
“Positive,” Magnus declared, never taking his eyes from the horizon as he dropped the telescope into Jen’s hand and she scrambled to place it against her own right eye.
Finally.
Magnus squinted at the nearly indistinguishable dot in the distance, now knowing it was the ship that had plagued his dreams for years. He placed one sturdy boot up on the railing and sighed as the wind played with his long brown hair, draping a single, gentle curl along his upper lip, giving him the illusion of a mustache. A predatory grin replaced the lock of hair that he pried from his skin with a sharp fingernail. “Captain Greenbeard and his crew. I can smell the stench from here.”
“Enemy ship!” Jen bellowed once she had confirmed the location of the Mar Vidal herself. She paced from the bow to the center mast, crossing the distance in no more than seven determined strides, and rang the large bell suspended from one of the wooden beams. “Enemy ship!”
Across the deck, a dozen eager sailors from Magnus’ pirate crew hurried to assemble in a neat line.
“Your orders, Captain?” shouted helmsman Alice from behind the wheel.
Magnus turned his upper body around, dropped his boot from the railing and swaggered toward his crew with a lazy, knowing smile on his face.
“Dead forward on the center line, Al,” he declared while strutting down the queue of pirates, looking them in the eye one by one. “As it is now time for one last story—one that will lock in your allegiance to me.”
“Aye aye!” Alice confirmed, firmly wrapping all fingers of her callused hands around the rungs. Magnus shot an approving look up at the helm, twirled around on the spot and unsheathed his scimitar in a flash of silver, aiming it at the large black sails lined with purple overhead. Several of the pirates winced at his lightning reflexes, tensing up in an attempt to remain still.
“Being a member of my crew here on the Scratch has always been a choice you were allowed to make out of your own free will, has it not?” Magnus aimed his scimitar at one of the taller boys, nudging it forward to signal he was expecting an answer.
“Aye, Captain,” the boy confirmed, dropping his gaze and locking his hands behind his back.
“Excellent, William,” Magnus praised him. “And on several occasions during the last twenty-nine years have I offered to dock the Scratch and let anyone disembark in favor of a life on land, had they wished to do so—have I not?”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Well—that freedom ends today.”
A silent gasp rang among the crew, in which Captain Magnus reveled as he swirled his scimitar overhead.
“Gather ‘round, my crew,” he commanded, jovially gesturing around himself. “For this mission will finally entail what I have prepared you for. It may be your last if you don’t pay the utmost attention to what I am about to tell you about that”—his scimitar swung out in the direction of the Mar Vidal, and the small, round gem on the blade glittered in the sun—“rotten rowboat and its cunt of a captain.”
With the enemy ship drawing nearer, Magnus drew out his story as if he had all the time in the world.
“A long, long, long, long time ago, this ship was inhabited by a lady,” he said, languidly spinning in the center of the circle his crew had made around him.
“A baroness,” Jen added from a few feet away, leaning against the mast with her arms crossed.
Captain Magnus did a bad job of hiding the scrunch of his nose. “A baroness,” he reluctantly admitted. “A spectacularly gorgeous specimen that had both sailors and soldiers dropping to their knees at the sight of her mere beauty—”
Jen cleared her throat and Magnus, again, barely suppressed a sigh at the interruption.
“Some of you may even remember her, but most of you couldn’t even tell the bow from the stern yet when this all went down,” Magnus continued, eyeing up a few of his youngest crew members. “One fateful day, the Mar Vidal decided to attack my precious Scratch. And…” Magnus took a dramatic breath before continuing. “And Captain Greenbeard took the lady. Her and her son.”
A loaded silence followed, broken by one of the boys speaking up.
“Did they…”
Magnus arched one eyebrow and ushered the boy to continue. “Did they what, Thomas?”
In lieu of finishing his sentence, Thomas used a finger to draw a line across his neck.
“Aye,” Magnus admitted, dropping his head while clicking his tongue. “Shark bait.”
A concerned murmur rolled through the pirate crew, no doubt wondering if anyone remembered this lady or her son.
Magnus thundered on: “And so, because Greenbeard took something from me, I stole something from him.” He looked around the crowd expectantly, wondering if anyone had connected the dots.
William’s gaze was the only one not fixated on Magnus himself, but on the scimitar clutched in his downward pointed hand.
“Smart boy,” Magnus pointed out, lifting the sword and balancing the blade on both palms to put it on display. The golden handle stood in stark contrast against the silver blade, which in turn caused the embedded purple amethyst to clearly stand out. “You have all witnessed the powers this weapon blesses me with…”
Magnus took another dramatic pause, leaving space for the pirates to remember every instance the Scratch had conquered an enemy ship before, usually lousy with scumbags—for some reason only and exclusively males—and fate had seemed to be on their side every single time. Whether the enemy captain had been injured prior to the start of the battle, the weather had favored them, or legions of bullets kept missing his crew no matter how many muskets were fired; something unnatural had always aided the Scratch. The ease and power with which Captain Magnus wielded his scimitar was unlike anything else, almost like the sword was an extension of not just his own limb, but also his mind and will. More so, its power extended even beyond just the wielder, granting special powers to his quartermaster and his helmsman whenever they required it in combat. Alice was known to become stronger and more agile under the weapon's influence; Jen got more courageous and her aim deadly.
“My suspicion is that this weapon’s powers come from this magical gem,” Magnus explained, enunciating clearly as he tapped his finger against the amethyst in the blade. “But as you can see here…” His finger glided down the silver blade, hovering over what looked like two empty sockets in the same shape as the amethyst.
“We know for a fact that Greenbeard has one of them,” Jen piped up from across the crew, peeling herself off the mast to walk in their direction. “And we’re done with him terrorizing the sea.”
“Our sea!” Alice joined in, stoically staring at their goal ahead. “He keeps taking what is rightfully ours!”
Magnus nodded his agreement, looking around his crew to scan for any uncertainty.
“B-but the Mar Vidal,” Thomas tried again to be brave. “No one has ever—”
“—seen it and lived to tell the tale? Wrong, boy,” Jen snapped, a malicious grin splitting her face. “Captain Magnus just told you! There is one ship mightier than Greenbeard’s wreckage of a boat. And it’s about to conquer it this second time.”
“We have a sturdier hull, a powerful weapon, and a better crew!” Alice roared, causing Jen to cackle along.
Magnus rose, his eyes shimmering with pride at his two most trusted mates. As he turned around and looked at the horizon once more, he could almost imagine the outline of Greenbeard’s figure in the distance. With a mix of excitement and confidence in his chest, he added: “But most importantly, my friends: we have a better captain.”
“Whatever you do, avoid the flying shadows it expels,” Magnus called out as his crew prepared the ship for the takeover. The closer they had gotten to the Mar Vidal, the quicker the weather had flipped into a collection of dark clouds and strong gusts of wind, causing the sea to become livelier and the waves deadlier. “We are not dealing with a normal ship here! Make you ready for what you never thought possible!”
His pirate crew sprinted across the deck, carrying ropes, weapons, and barrels of gunpowder, frantically stocking up the Scratch for the battle ahead.
“Captain, what should we do if we capture Greenbeard?” William called out as he loaded one of the frontal cannons. “Should we execute him?”
“No!” Magnus bellowed, making wide eyes at the sailor. “You leave him for me.”
Lightning flashed, and in the distance a dark, misty shadow rippled the sky. It flew toward the Scratch with piercing speed, coming to a halt in front of the hull, hovering eerily along with the ship’s path.
“That’s one of them!” Magnus warned the crew, pointing at the formless shadow. The sailors on the deck looked up and gasped in shock, never having seen anything like this before—and if they had, they had been too young to remember.
A hole opened up in the shadow, its shape resembling a mouth. “Turn away,” it rasped in a voiceless whisper.
“Never!” Magnus fired back, flashing his sword to show the enemy how unimpressed he was. “Onward, Al!”
The black sails of the Scratch flapped in the wind, as if letting Magnus know even they heeded his command.
“Sailing straight ahead, Captain,” agreed Alice. Even if every single sailor on the deck was already soaked through by the rain, Magnus knew Alice would steer them flawlessly in his desired direction without question.
At the lack of response to the shadow, it transformed into a cloud of mist and seared back to the Mar Vidal, evaporating into one of its sails.
“Look at that, it’s retreating,” Captain Magnus remarked, sheathing his sword back into his belt. “Like a dog with its tail between its legs! We will conquer this ship by intimidation alone!”
His chest filled with immense pride, both at himself and his trusted crew. It spread from his beating heart all the way into his extremities, fueling him for the battle ahead. Power sparked in his fingertips, the sword in his near vicinity making him feel more invincible than ever.
That feeling faltered immediately when the first flicker of the outline of a person appeared near the figurehead of the Mar Vidal—a tall, fearless looking being, one foot kicked up on the railing of his ship in a mirror image of Magnus’ often utilized stance.
He didn’t have to stare at it for long to know they were approaching the one person he had spent years looking for.
“Ready the cannons!” Magnus ordered, tearing his eyes away from the danger ahead. “Aim at the sails! I am positive that’s where its power comes from!”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” a chorus of voices dutifully replied, taking their positions on the ship.
“Leave not a chip intact,” Magnus continued, lowering his voice to a grumble. “The Mar Vidal sinks today.”
With a flourish of his coat, Magnus whipped around and strutted to the back of the ship. As he crossed paths with Jen, who pushed herself upright and uncrossed her arms in a display of readiness, he swirled his pointer finger at her to imply that she was to take charge.
They needed no words between them—not after nearly three decades of slaying scumbags together.
Magnus had only just climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck when he heard Jen give her first order of the battle: “Stand clear!”
Those around her who had loaded the cannons dutifully stepped back, lifting their hands to communicate they were at a safe distance.
“Fire in the hole!”
During moments like these, Magnus always preferred to cover his ears to protect him from the loudness and the violence of those first cannons blasting off. Yet he never did—not where the crew could see him, not with the crew working for him. Besides, few moments of weakness were not lethal, and today specifically was not the kind of day that permitted vulnerability.
As not one, but two cannonballs hit their target, slamming straight through the already rotten and splintered hull of the Mar Vidal, the crew erupted in cheers.
“That’s it, brothers and sisters!” Jen projected loudly, a victorious fist in the air. “Reload! Once more before we fire the grapples!”
“Aye, aye!”
Magnus watched the process repeat itself and calmly wrapped his fingers around the banister next to the helm, wordlessly joining Alice in overseeing his ship on its collision course. He studied her from his peripherals as she expertly steered the ship parallel to the Mar Vidal; the wood creaking and the sails flapping loudly as she navigated the less than cooperative weather.
The captain’s eyes found their way back to the enemy ship, now close enough to see multiple cloaked figures—allegedly part of Greenbeard’s crew—speeding across the deck. Whether in offense or defense, he couldn’t tell—the shape that he knew to be Greenbeard himself appeared to stay still, though the green glow around him brightened significantly.
They must’ve caught him by surprise. Good.
“Stand clear and—fire in the hole!”
Upon Jen’s command another set of cannons were launched at the Mar Vidal, only one of them hitting target this time and ripping a clean hole through the center sail.
“Ready the grapples!” Jen shouted to overrule the second round of cheers and the clattering rain. Then, she turned to the enemy. “Captain Greenbeard of the Mar Vidal: this is quartermaster Jen of the Scratch! Surrender, or prepare to be boarded!”
“No.” Magnus’ voice boomed across the deck like rolling thunder. Jen whipped around with her eyebrows raised high, but her expression softened when her eyes caught the captain’s. She gave a tiny nod in understanding and turned forward.
“Prepare to be boarded!”
Indeed. Surrender was no option today—Magnus was going to tear the ship apart if he had to.
Jen lifted both her hands to get the crew’s attention, taking one steadying breath in preparation of what they all knew was going to be their toughest fight so far. “And—fire!”
Two giant hooks propelled from the Scratch’s hull, finding merciless resistance on the banister of the Mar Vidal.
“Reel!”
Both ships groaned as they were now forcibly pulled together through restless waves and wind, not only the hulls but their fates connected by proximity.
Magnus briefly lifted his tricorn, wiped long and wet strands of hair from his face back with a flat hand, and placed the hat back on his head. His cheeks and forehead felt hot, even through the freezing water. A muscle near his mouth twitched as his hand landed on the scimitar’s handle, snug by his hip. It was more a reflex than a conscious decision, but knowing his weapon was ready to serve him felt like being blessed by a sense of protection and courage.
The more the Mar Vidal got pulled in, the more details of its still unmoving captain became visible. Bony knuckles wrapped around a piece of the banister that was still intact; his one good leg firmly planted on the floor, the fleshless fibula of the other now dangling beside it; one hollow eye, half-hidden behind dark, wet hair plastered to his face. Magnus didn’t need to see the covered part of Greenbeard’s face to remember what horrors it held.
He felt compelled to keep staring, but his attention got snatched away by two of his men gathering the gangplank from the center deck. It was heavy and cumbersome, and the one thing separating them from either a watery grave or victory.
The Mar Vidal was marginally larger than the Scratch, but that didn’t seem to faze his trusty crew. Like they had done hundreds of times before—because they had, even in worse weather—William and Thomas hauled the ramp up and across the railing, creating a bridge between the two ships and thus a gateway for the enemy to enter Magnus’ ship as well.
But his crew was trained, both by experience and by being forced to reflect on previous mistakes, so before anyone on the enemy ship could think to use the bridge, eight of his swiftest sword-wielders charged forward.
The sounds of the storm seemed to quieten, now subordinate to the deafening roars of both crews as they collided on the deck of the Mar Vidal. Finally, as Magnus’ crew started hacking into anyone they could reach, Greenbeard’s hooded crew members seemed to come alive and flash their own swords in an attempt to defend themselves. A cacophony of steel against steel and throats being screamed raw scratched through the thundering sky, which flashed again in an ominous warning that what had been started could never be undone.
Amidst the violence rising to a climax, Greenbeard stood, not twitching a single muscle as his crew defended the ship with their lives. His eyes were stoically fixed on Magnus, who fully turned his body sideways to face the enemy ship and spread his arms wide.
“Greenbeard, at last! Why don’t you walk across so we can talk?” he shouted, sweetening the invitation with warm tones in his voice he didn’t mean.
But not without reason—if he got Greenbeard alone, he could pry information out of him while the crew destroyed his ship, before ultimately being bound and keeled by Magnus himself.
Even at this distance, Magnus watched Greenbeard huff in disbelief. That, to his great frustration, was all the response he got.
“Will you keep standing there while your crew pays for your… little enterprising warfare? Ha! Some captain you are!”
Nothing more than a furrow of his brows gave away the fact that Greenbeard had heard Magnus’ provocations—he just refused to bite.
Something that made Magnus’ blood boil.
It was as if his arm acted for him, the reflex to unsheathe his scimitar completely omitting the neurons in his brain in favor of movement. He pointed the weapon at the enemy ship’s center mast and shouted: “COWARD!”
An unseen force, sourcing from the buzzing sword in his hand yanked him forward. It wasn’t until he got pulled up and suspended mid-air that Magnus realized he had always, and would still, trust the sword to take him where he needed to go—which proved right once more when it, after making an elegant arch through the air, dropped him right by the center mast on the Mar Vidal. Adrenaline spiked his focus and he pivoted, slicing the air around him as he made sure to keep the area around him clear while he searched for the captain in the crowd.
However, the spot that had been occupied by Greenbeard for the last little while, was now empty.
“Agatha Harkness,” sounded a raspy voice from directly above. Magnus snapped his neck up so fast it made him dizzy, and he squinted against the rain now dripping straight into his face. It took him a few seconds before he could make out what had caught his attention: high up, on one of the wooden beams near the crow’s nest, shone the flickering image of a haunched Captain Greenbeard. Lightning clapped again and lit up the half of his face that was a meatless skull, emphasizing the grimness of his slowly widening smirk.
“So we meet again.”