The Jade Heart

Above the waves of a unsteady sea a lone merchant ship pulls up its last lines for the day and fish was plentiful. The net slapped to the ground like mop threads.

"Captain! We're good for the night.!" Said the dock man who was sorting the catch into a barrel of water to keep them fresh.

"Good. Finish up and drop the cargo below deck. Storms coming in." The captain replied from the wheel. The winds picked up. The spotter looked to the starboard horizon to see part of the impending storm cloud move toward the ship. Unnaturally so. Something felt off. The captain below turning the bow of the ship away suddenly felt a heavy jerk to the wheel.

"What? Did the rudder lock?" He asked himself struggling with the wheel. The storm closed in. The grey blossoms loomed overhead, blocking what little sun they had. The crew paying no mind other then getting anything not suited to be wet back under the level.

The captain fought to move the ship, his deck hands not noticing the ship swaying a course that circled back into the storms path, until the crewman hurried up to the wheel, he knowing trouble the moment he saw the captain pushing against the helm with enough force to unsettle his footing. They both took a grip, pushing and pulling to make the ship change route but little did they know their fate had been seal.

A green flame. That's all it took to physically see the pale fear shadow the captain's face. The man the first mate followed and supported, not from duty, but because of the respect of his steadfast fearlessness. That man, having seen only a green light in the vast mist of the now thundering storm, now shudders in a cold panic.

"No, No! We need to go, now."

His shout grabbing the attention of the men below. They stopping what they were doing to search for the source of the panic. They found it. Back in the distance. Behind the eerie grey fog. An ominous glow hummed. A breath like pulse that with each flare up grew brighter. The merchant ship was, captivated. Lost in the miasma of this jade hued smoke that enclosed them within the canopy of the storm.

"All hands ! Grab your weapons! "

The captain said dropping the doomed effort to move the ship and rushing over to rapidly ring the mission bell. The merchant ship not being of common worth rushed to life. Three cannons on each side and four that could be wheels around the top deck. The light moved closer and soon they could see the vision the captain knew would appear. A vision stories and tales were told in attempts of disproving such a ship existed. They readied the ship for battle as the ship closed in.

On the front, a demon. At least to them it was. Bound to the keel of the ship was the skeletal structure of a being. Not human in the least. Large menacing arms that extend to claws gripping the hull of this ghost ship. Its torso burning with an emerald flame that seemed to shift with a ghostly after image. Like the flame was barely apart of this world. On both sides that same web stretched alloy formed two wing shaped scythes near the bottom. Solid and creeping dangerously under the mask the fog had over the sea's surface. The mast and sails black, tattered but still full sail, somehow catching wind despite holes and tears in wide sections. The insignia of a skull with demonic horns protruding from the side of its head wearing a crown of jagged spikes. A single blood red line trailing over its left eye down to a twisted boney smile. The flame within the demon's chest pulses again. The emerald glow casting the crew men in a deep jade light.

The captain and crew's pleas fell into a deathly silence. A grim deafness came. The lookout still enchanted by the dancing flames. When did it start? When did it finish? Even he, himself didn't know. Left the lone survivor of a bloody fight. No cannon fire. Gunshots ring but they missed him even in his still daze. The merchant ship now empty. All dead with exception to the spotter clutching a rifle so tightly his palms trickles with crimson lines. The wood of the rifle cracking and creaking from the tension in his hands. Fear? No. Calm? Absolutely not. Why couldn't he move? He knew he could but all his mind allowed was him to stare into this flame.

"Welcome aboard, D'yon." A voice broke his trance and he found himself on the deck of the ghost ship. Strangers seated or standing around him, their defining features covered by a thick cloud of dark mist. Footsteps approach from behind.

"I'm sure you have questions. What's going on? Who are we? Where's my ship? Where's my crew? It'll all be answered. But first a question of my own."

The young spotter scared beyond fear only turned to what he thought would be his executioner. But to a bit of surprise he saw a human male young but obviously older then him. The pirate moves closer and closer to the captive stepping out into the calm moonlight. A pistol in one hand and dagger in the other.

"My question: How would you kill me? A shot to chest or a knife in back?"

His thoughts grasp hold of a word. "Kill. Kill you? Kill you. Kill...you." He repeated in his mind like a it was the only phrase he knew. The lookout's fury peaked. The rage of his fallen crew had possessed him. The young crewman took not the pistol, nor the dagger, but lifted his rifle with a blood chilling war cry. His finger snapping the trigger was all it took for the man to come realize his fate. He missed? No couldn't have missed that close. He. Did. Not. Miss. So how was captain now motioning toward him? How was he alive? Was he alive?

All that and more plagued the captives mind, his rifle fell to ground, a tear falling from his right eye carrying every hope and thought of escape. He watched the wounds fill themselves. Coming into health like a sponge forming back after being pressed.

"Thank you. Of course, you see now your choice never mattered. You've already been chosen."

The pirate got even closer to the young man. He brushing the remains of a single salty tear with a dusty thumb. The two locking eyes. The captain finding no will to fight back in the green pupils of the crewman. But also finding a sliver himself in the same eyes. He patted the crewman shoulder and stepped around him and his rifle.

"Welcome to the crew, D'yon."

With that he left. To where, Dion didn't know. He was still lost, trying to process all that had happened. The others around him closing in and soon gripping his defeated body. They held him down on the moist deck's salty surface, crooked smiles plastered on otherwise dark characterless faces. One figure, short shaved hair only on the sides with a styled mohawk down the center stood over him. They held up a round blue crystal. Completely round with exception to a needle point spike on the base. They knelt down and sighed.

"Look straight at the moon and don't blink."

Dion looks to the pale full moon. The lunar star lights his face that stares back with lack lustered pride. What he didn't see, thankfully, was the crystal wielding shadow holding the foreign object over an unflinching iris. Their hands raise upward and when in dropped...Darkness.

Seven years later~