Who Shall Not be Returning? (Captain Salazar x OC)

Aislamiento

"Death, in itself, is nothing; but we fear, to be we know not what, we know not where." -John Dryden

            Time passed differently here. There was no sunlight, no stars, not even wind penetrated the fortress of the damned. Compasses and equipment were no more than paperweights. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days, then the days regressed into hours, the hours into minutes until the concept of time was beyond all recognition. The dismal environment was invariable, never-changing. The only sounds were the squawks and croaks of the other monstrosities and undead creatures of the triangle.

            Salazar ordered an inspection of all that was left of the Silent Mary. Everything below the main decks was a hollow, skeletal mess. The thick curved framework was exposed like bone, shattered and splintered in places, leaving sharp edges of timber gaping like a cavernous maw. Panels of brittle wood still clung to the ribs of the creaking vessel. Above the ship's hollow underbelly, the ship's mighty forepeak, bowsprit, and figurehead remained, like a haunting sentinel ever watchful at the bow, spear in hand. The captain's quarters, quarter galleries, and uppermost levels of the ship were shells of their former glory. The four watchtowers to the bow and stern still stood, their metal roofs left in ruins with panels missing and broken, allowing a view of the starless cave ceiling. The railings of the ship were fractured, fragments of the ship's walls had been blasted to smithereens, unable to withstand the pressure the explosions produced. The top of the mizzen mast was nowhere to be seen, the spanker sail yards were cracked where they attached to the mizzen mast, now holding only the burnt and ragged remains of the spanker sail. The foremast and its yard remained relatively unscathed, only the surface faced the brunt of the explosions, leaving patches of black and grey, the wood suffering a few fissures and splinters. The foresails and jibs attached to the bowsprit were burnt to shreds and threads. The main mast endured the worst from the disaster, split at the base like a lumber tree and suspended over the ship's starboard side, the main topsail yard sticking out of the cloudy depths, the mainsail decorated with the emblem of the great España now floating listlessly in the water. No surface of La Maria Silenciosa was untouched by the flame's hungry fingers, save the ship's cannons. Now exposed without gun ports, the number of cannons balanced precariously on planks of timber, their metal surfaces rusted and worn from the fire, but otherwise undamaged.

            He then ordered a count off to assess what was left of his crew. It seemed all of them had survived, or rather, had been resurrected, he corrected himself. He felt relief, which then quickly devolved into guilt. Guilt that he had failed, guilt that he had condemned innocent men, guilt that he had singlehandedly wrenched eternal salvation away from the hands of virtuous men. God is not here. As soon as it appeared, the guilt weighing on his unbeating heart faded away and was replaced by red-hot rage. They would not be here if it were not for those filthy pirates and their curses. True, he had made a fatal mistake in the heat of the chase, but if those pirates had not taken to a life of crime and villainy, they would not be here in the first place. Piracy is what damned them, cursed them, brought them to this wretched circle of Hell. And piracy is what will bring them out. One day, Salazar thought, one day that idiot boy will betray that compass, as in his sinful nature. Betrayal, crime, treason. One day, pirata. He trusted his circle of officers shared the same hatred, the same mission and vision bestowed onto their shoulders by the great King of España. A sea of order, of peace, free of piracy and crime. This was their duty. He trusted his officers to keep order among the crew until that fateful day.

            Every second was a second closer to liberation. Salazar resigned himself to waiting, cherishing thoughts of the Sparrow's pleas for parlay, for mercy, his sputtering and last draws of breath as blood runs the length of his rapier, thoughts of seeing the Sparrow's eyes glaze over, his body go limp, the sea rid of another pest. However, as time passed, Salazar realized the other shipmates were not as patient. As they lost track of time, some started pacing the deck of the shipwreck, counting their steps or the planks of wood they passed.  Some took to counting and re-counting the stalagmites, formations, and other shipwrecks dotting the landscape. Some started naming the skeletal birds that sometimes circled the Silent Mary. Songs from their homeland were sung and resung until other men starting shouting cállate! and Oh no, no otra vez! when the songs started up again. As the cabin fever swelled, madness blighted the undead crew.