At World's Beginning

The End of All Things

By the time the battle was over, night was retreating and dawn had begun to make its approach. And what a bloodied dawn it was.

Ona sucked in a sharp breath as she was forced down onto her knees, her shins hitting the deck and sending a jolt of pain up her legs. But she didn't make any other noise of complaint, glaring through the strands of her loose hair at the twisted, mutilated crewman as they walked past her.

Norrington was thrown onto the deck to her left, his back hitting the gunwale hard enough to shake it. He groaned low in his throat and rubbed the side of his head. She examined him visually, satisfied when she ascertained he wasn't injured too profoundly. He was a decent fighter as she had just witnessed, and if they were to get out of this alive, she would need his skills.

She next surveyed the rest of the grisly scene. Bodies littered the deck, all of them belonging to the Mariner's Lament, and the wood was slick with crimson. To her right, the survivors had been forced into a line, sitting or kneeling against the gunwale, their faces slack with shock or bloody with injury.

Someone caught her eye, and she released a breath of relief. Franklin, too, seemed gladdened to see her alive, though his eyes were narrowed, as if it was difficult to focus on her. She noticed then that a trail of blood was leading from his left ear, and her heart pained in her chest.

Thump-clack. Thump-clack. Thump-clack.

The odd, rhythmic sound drew Ona's attention upward, and she stared at a man, if indeed he could be called that, as he sauntered past her. He wore a heavy dark coat, a large black tricorne, and a leg she, at first, thought was a peg-leg. On closer inspection, she realized it was a pointed claw. Like at the end of a crab's leg.

But by far, the most startling thing about him was his face. Smooth, nose-less, and ringed with writhing, grasping kraken-like tentacles. There was no doubting this was the infamous Captain Davy Jones.

The cursed captain paced slowly in front of the line of prostrate crew, his arms behind his back as he appraised them with cold eyes the color of icy waters. She noted then, too, that one of his arms ended in an enormous crab's claw.

He was the boundless, raging ocean personified. As he began to speak, a collective shudder moved through the crew.

"For those of ye who don't know me, ye may have taken heed of the unfair rumors that I am a cruel master. Without rhyme or reason, I am as faithless and unpredictable as the sea. But this is untrue."

He paused with a mocking, thoughtful expression, his eyes twinkling with sinister delight. "I am a fair captain, a merciful captain... even to those who have in their possession something that belongs to me."

Without warning or any signal Ona could see, two of the Dutchman crew grabbed Norrington and dragged him to his feet. He snarled the words, "Unhand me!" but they ignored him and held him upright, as if presenting him for inspection.

Jones stalked across the deck, his boot mere inches from Ona's knees as he came to a halt. She tilted her head upwards, trying not to draw attention to herself, and watched as the captain confronted the man who had once been his commanding officer.

"Greetings, Admiral," Jones said with a tone of spurious joy. "I've missed ye terribly."

"The feeling is decidedly not mutual," Norrington answered, his jaw clenched as he glared at the captain. Jones didn't seem to take offense at his hostile words, and instead released a booming laugh.

"I've missed that razor-sharp wit of yours, too. You may not believe me, but I am truly glad to see ye alive. Although..." he paused, rubbing a tentacle finger across his tentacle jaw, "I've yet to reach an understanding as to how ye survived that unfortunate goring."