Disclaimer: I do not own MapleStory. This is a work of fiction, any resemblance of characters or events to real-life persons or events is purely coincidental.


A/N: I did a retcon for Abel's history due to recent inspiration gained from entire afternoons spent playing Ninja Gaiden II and X-men Origins: Wolverine - you'll excuse me if you find this chapter too corny, bloody and violent for your tastes.

A/N 2: Due to the insane word count, I'm going to be breaking the installments from this story onwards into separate chapters.


Chapter 2

Ghost Ship

As Abel Wade Wilson Locke walked the streets - amongst dozens of locals - of Port Singapore's Central Business District, otherwise known to the locals as the CBD, the White Knight mentally ticked off on his fingers the facts that he had learned for the day.

Number one, Captain Latanica was somewhat of an urban legend around these parts - less than half of the locals he inquired even knew who Captain Latanica was.

Number two, those few that did know who he was, were mostly all the superstitious elderly, who were hardly able to provide him with any objective information for him to work him.

Number three, all of their information, given with fearful expressions on their faces, pointed him to Boat Quay, telling him to go find Ralph the Wanderer.

And number four, most disconcerting of all, all of them had given him cryptic warnings along the lines of "you really don't want to go dabbling around with spirits, they'll follow you around for the rest of your life".

Sighing, the White Knight hung his head in exasperation, and continued his walk towards the nearest supply store. Abel had snorted inwardly at their superstitions, knowing far better what the spirits were, and that they were but gnats in comparison to his skill.

On his left hip and over his back, two Japanese swords rested in their scabbards, both of them a gift from his father and grandfather respectively. They both resembled the Red Katanas that one could claim by slaying Tae Roons, but they differed very subtly, in the most minute of details, both from a standard Red Katana, as well from each other.

Firstly, the one he wore on his hip, the one he had named the Yamato, in as much as an emotional attachment to the gifts his forefathers had given him, as well as an effort to tell his blades apart, bore a definite resemblance to a standard katana, but that was where the resemblance ended.

The Yamato's blade, a deep steel gray that regardlessly seemed to shine as though forged from the finest metals Bera had to offer, bore an unnatural keenness to its edge. The fact that merely setting it upon his palm was enough to leave a cut upon his calloused skin, was testament to the Yamato's incredible sharpness. Its blade literally sang through the air each time he swung it, and despite its weight, Abel wielded it as though it were light as a feather. The song of the Yamato's steel edge had been the final sound too many beasts to count had heard; their final requiem, before their lives were ended.

And secondly, the one he wore on his back, the slightly shorter and straighter one that he had named the Dragon Sword. While it resembled a ninjaken more than anything else, with its shorter and straighter blade than a traditional katana and its regal, golden hilt carved in the shape of a dragon's head, the Dragon Sword was no less deadly than its katana counterpart the Yamato, and it had slain just about as many fiends as its sister blade had killed.

Warriors, White Knights especially, never used more than one sword at once, and many had questioned Abel's habit of carrying around two katanas at once despite never using more than one at a time, to which the White Knight had responded, "Less hassle switching between the two in combat."

It was as much a diversionary answer as anything else, and few people pried further than that. Truth be told, nobody knew why he carried two katanas around at once, because nobody left alive knew why. And Abel pretty much preferred it to remain that way.

Finally reaching the nearest convenience store, Abel wryly regarded the bright yellow sign that spelled out "Cheers", and gave a dry grin. At least somebody had the right idea when they picked the name for their chain of convenience stores.

Stepping through the glass door that led inside, the White Knight quickly strode past the shelves of packeted chips and junk food, and headed straight for the refrigerators.

Inside, entire shelves were stocked full of bottled sodas and energy drinks, and Abel grabbed as many of them as he could, stuffing them into a shopping bag. Next, he headed over to the shelves where they stocked the instant cup noodles, and again grabbed as many as he could, stuffing his cloth shopping bag to almost full.

He had already packed the standard supply of potions and syrettes for typical excursions when he had left the Marauder's headquarters, but it couldn't hurt to be extra careful. Food was rest, and if he couldn't get one kind of recharge, he could simply get the other.

Taking his shopping bags full of food and drinks to the cashier, he dumped the bags on the counter, and let the cashier do his job. Several button presses and a few dings later, the price came up on the cash register, and Abel's jaw nearly dropped.

Talk about market inflations and rising prices! This cost him nearly thrice as much as a standard load of potions that typically lasted him one excursion. Sighing, Abel dug his wallet out of his pack, and opened it up.

Yep, just as expected. He had forgotten to top up his financial reserves again before heading out. The supplies cost him thirty-five thousand mesos, and he only had forty-thousand left. Considering the fact that his pension was a month away and he still had a plane ticket to buy back to Kerning once he was done with this trip, it was somewhat beyond his current financial ability.

Looks like it was up his good old silver tongue again to cut him a deal.

Each of the Marauders had their own special talents. Hiroshi had his way around technomancy that gave the Marauders their distinct edge in their adventures and battles. James was literally the strongest in their guild, and also had the balls to match his strength. Abel had never seen someone so inhumanly stubborn, that even in the face of impossible odds, James just kept on fighting through sheer determination and willpower.

Logan's strength lay in his professionalism, and the cold, detached way he got his "jobs" done, performing each and every mission with merciless, ruthless efficiency. Juliana was the fastest, stealthiest fighter the Marauders had to offer, and if a safe had to be cracked or a fortress had to be infiltrated, they turned to her.

Isabella and Tricia were their finest spellcasters, and each fulfilled their role perfectly - Tricia's defensive and healing magicks were near unparalleled with her skill in the binding arts, and Isabella herself was a deadly opponent when she pulled out her own destruction arts to take out whatever the male Marauders failed to eliminate.

Even Ethan had his own area of expertise - the ranger had the sharpest, fastest mind Abel had seen in action, and he came up with battle plans and tactics as well as analyses of their opponents faster than Abel could even begin to begin thinking about fighting.

And then of course, there was Abel. He doesn't have peerless swordsmanship or brutal efficiency, unmatched skill in the arcane arts or incomparable stealthiness. What he has is a Bachelor's in kicking ass and taking names.

Remember that guy who can pick up any girl? Put him on crack, and you'll get Abel.

Five minutes later of bargaining and heckling later, Abel emerged from the store with a satisfied smile on his face, his shopping bags as full as before, and his wallet only ten thousand mesos lighter.

Oh yes, life was good.


The White Knight had found Ralph the Wanderer eventually, after hours of wandering through the spirit-infested streets of Singapore. Several possessed gliders, street signs, and cars had attempted to get in his way, and he had left them behind in pieces faster than the eye could even follow. To the untrained eye, it would have looked as though he had cut them down without even drawing either of his swords.

As Abel stood outside the old wanderer's shack, he looked up at the old, dilapidated building that supposedly housed his only lead to Captain Latanica, and sighed again.

Somebody remind me again why I picked to go after Latanica... oh, right. I thought Singapore would have been a nice place to visit. Come for the country, and stay for the monsters.

"Well, hello there, son." Ralph had greeted the adventurer with a wide, toothless grin, welcoming Abel into the modest shack where he survived day by day.

The tiny, single-floor makeshift building had only a tiny stove in the corner, a shelf where an old saber and a Peacemaker pistol rested, and a small cot opposite the stove, the bedsheets yellowed out with time, and full of tiny holes. Even a couple of bed springs jutted out the sides of the mattress.

In the center of the whole shack was a small, worn out table, with only a couple of chairs that looked as though they were ready to give way the moment someone sat on them.

Grunting, Ralph hobbled over to the stove using his old walking staff as a support, and grabbed the pot steaming over it, and set it down on the table. The old wanderer took off his straw hat, fanning himself with it, and, pouring some of the simmering contents of the pot into a mug, turned to face Abel, holding up the mug filled with some sort of foul-smelling broth.

"It's been a while since I've had visitors. Care for some broth?"

At the rate things were going, Abel decided to take what he could get.

"Yeah, I'll take one." The White Knight took the proffered mug, and took a swig, only to immediately spit the entire mouthful out all at once the moment it came into contact with his taste buds.

"Sweet Jesus, what in the nine blazing hells is that stuff?!" Abel stared, horrified at the dark green mess that he had just projectiled out of his mouth. Its bitter, swampy aftertaste still lingered in his mouth, and Abel nearly gagged on it.

Next to him, Ralph gave a wheezy but hearty laugh, and patted Abel solidly on the back, poured himself a mug as well and drinking heartily from his own as though he wasn't ingesting stuff that tasted like engine grease. "Good shit, huh? It's snake gall broth. Does wonders for your respiratory system. It's got quite a kick at first, but you get used to it eventually."

"I'll bet." Abel coughed, still gagging on the broth's foul aftertaste. "How long have you been drinking this stuff, anyway?"

"About forty years now, and my sixty-fourth birthday is next month. Gives you an idea of how long I've been living in this hole, huh? That brew goes down real well with some well cooked satay - of course, there's not much of a way to make sure the satay's cooked well this far out from civilization."

Abel stared at the old hermit, and blinked several times. "I'm not even going to ask."

"And you probably shouldn't." Ralph chuckled, and shuffled over to his cot, where he sat down, bedsprings creaking loudly and all. "So what brings a youngster like you all the way out here?"

"This man." Reaching into his pack, Abel withdrew the file regarding Captain Latanica, and tossed it towards the old wanderer. Despite his age, Ralph caught the file with the deftness of an adventurer three decades younger, and he flipped the file open in a practiced motion that hinted at a life of adventuring before finally being relegated to his hermitly existence.

Ralph's eyebrow arched upwards, and he gave Abel a questioning look. "So, Captain Latanica, huh? I'm guessing the locals told you I'm the person to go to if you wanted to find anything out about him."

"Well, if by "local crackpot", they were referring to you, yes, I believe they told me to come find you." Abel strode over to the table, and hesitantly set his weight down on one of the chairs - surprisingly, it held up quite well underneath his weight, even with his plate armor on. "Tell me everything you know about him."

Unexpectedly, the old wanderer's eyes glazed over with the familiar light of nostalgia, and Abel sensed that there was a lot more to this aged hermit than meets the eye.

"Boy, you have no idea who Latanica is, do you? Aside from what this file already tells you. I can tell you son, whoever wrote this document just barely scratched the surface of that old captain."

Getting off his cot with the grunt of an old man, Ralph hobbled over to the shelf where the saber and pistol rested, and the White Knight was able to get his first clear look at the two weapons.

The saber itself was practically rusted to uselessness - if Abel tried to wield it, the blade would probably break off on his first swing. But the pistol was well-oiled, well taken care of, and though time had worn it rough around the edges, it still looked more than capable of killing someone.

There lay only a single bullet on the shelf, next to the pistol, and it too was well-maintained, and Abel could not help but feel that that particular bullet was special - it was reserved, with somebody's name on it.

"Forty years, I've been living in this hole." Ralph said slowly as he picked up the pistol, and loaded it with a smooth, practiced motion that was completely out of sync with his elderly appearance - it was as though he had practiced the same motion for years, in anticipation of the moment where the act, whatever it was meant to be, would be carried out for real.

Before Abel knew it, Ralph was standing tall and straight in a classic shooter's stance, the image of a man forty years younger taking the place of the old wanderer.

"Forty years since I last saw that inglorious bastard. And for forty years, I've been saving this bullet, for when I finally see him again."

"You know him, don't you?" Abel asked cautiously, seeing where the conversation was headed. "Or rather, you knew him. You've definitely faced him before, that much I can tell."

"Aye, that much I did." Ralph sighed, and unloaded the pistol, placing both the firearm and its single bullet back on the shelf. "These two items are the only links left to my past here, when I served under the flag of the Flying Dutchman, with Latanica as my captain."


Latanica was the captain of what used to be called the Flying Dutchman, but what was formerly the most majestic of all the vessels during Singapore's old days was now nothing more than a sea hulk – a giant hunk of junk floating in the middle of the ocean, where nobody would ever bother to disturb it.

As far as the younger generations knew, the "legend" of the Flying Dutchman and it's captain was simply myth and folklore; the tale of an ambitious young captain, full of talent and drive, just one year into his captaincy, who took on a journey that even the most seasoned and experienced sailors of his era would have thought twice of attempting – the Straits of Aqua Road.

Long and dangerous to navigate, and ridden with coral reefs and violent aquatic life, Aqua Road was a sailor's nightmare, but young Captain Latanica instead saw it as a challenge to be overcome.

On top of being a prodigious sailor, the young captain was an inspiring and charismatic leader, rallying many sailors to his banner and leading his subordinates to believe that he could make the impossible, possible.

A devout Christian, he had stayed up all night praying sincerely to God for success the night before the departure, and that he may be blessed with good fortune and protection during the journey. However, as misfortune would have it, it was Lady Luck's day off, and Murphy had taken her place instead.

On the day of the departure, his ship never got any further than ten miles from the port. A sudden, vicious storm whipped up the seas whereupon he was sailing, tossing the Flying Dutchman about the waters like a broken wooden bucket. Latanica did his best to fight the storm, but even with his sailing skills pushed to the limit, he was powerless against the force of nature.

As the Flying Dutchman was consumed by the ocean's fury, Latanica had stood upon the deck of the ship holding a lantern, surrounded by his crewmen struggling against the sea. Feeling betrayed by God even after all the praying he had done, Latanica had raged at the sky, cursing the storm and railing at God for placing such misfortune upon him.

As the Flying Dutchman sunk around him, his men had come up to him, pleading for guidance and begging them to give them orders so they may make it out of this ordeal alive. Consumed by his rage, Latanica lost his sanity, and struck out at his crewmen, striking them down one by one, until he was the last man alive on board.

When the sea had nearly completely consumed his ship, and the waters were beginning to flood the deck he was standing upon, a glowing being appeared before Latanica, asking mockingly if he really thought himself the king of the sea.

Latanica, consumed by a spiteful rage, spat back at the being that he was the greatest sailor of his time, and there was no place of the sea that he could not conquer.

The being scornfully replied that if he was the greatest sailor of all time, why had he failed to conquer this storm? Furious and at his limit, Latanica drew his pistol and fired a shot at the being – nobody knew what transpired after that, only that when the shot had rang out, the Flying Dutchman had completely vanished from the charts, never to return to land again.


"From that day onwards, every now and then sailors would catch sight of the floating sea hulk, but any attempt to get closer would result in the ship disappearing. Tales began circling around that the captain and crew were now cursed spirits, undead, doomed to live forever and wander the seas for all eternity. Over the next few years as the legend circulated, the Flying Dutchman became a portent of doom to seafarers, but then the modern age was ushered in, and the legend had faded into obscurity, only to be regaled by old timers such as myself."

Ralph finished his tale with a look of nostalgia, and Abel pursed his lips, going over this new information in his head.

The story more or less matched up with the lore tome that Hiroshi had provided him with, but there was something still amiss about everything the wanderer had told him.

"You said that Latanica killed everyone aboard... How is it that you claim to have served under him, then?"

Ralph gave an unexpected laugh. "Carelessness, my boy. Latanica failed to make sure I was dead when he struck down all his crew members. When I was sure that Latanica was far away enough, I dragged myself to my feet and limped all the way to one of the Flying Dutchman's lifeboats to make my escape. I saw those two conversing on the deck, Latanica had the eyes of a madman there. Before I knew it, the boat disappeared before my very eyes the minute Latanica's pistol shot rang out."

As the old wanderer continued his tale, Abel began wondering more and more if, for once, Hiroshi's talent for knowledge and research had failed him.

Several years later Ralph had wandered back out into sea in a small fishing boat, seeking out the Flying Dutchman again in a suicide mission, to avenge his fallen comrades. Unfortunately, under the ship's curse, Latanica had mutated into a demonic creature in Ralph's absence, and the fallen captain was far stronger than the former sailor had anticipated.

Ralph barely escaped with his life, but nobody ever believed him when he said that he had fought Captain Latanica again.

Abel had thanked Ralph for his information, and the old timer was more than happy to provide the White Knight with directions on how to find the Flying Dutchman, as well as a bottle of what he called "White Essence", which he would need to disperse in front of the doors to the captain's quarters in the engine room, the deepest level of the Ghost Ship.

Abel, with his silver tongue as always, had promptly procured a small rowing boat for free – less worry about returning it later – and set sail out to sea from the Boat Quay port, following Ralph's directions to find the Flying Dutchman.


It didn't take long before a storm whipped up when he was but ten miles from the port. Abel suspected that it's the very same storm that befell Captain Latanica, but decided to take it in his stride, and rode the storm out. In his small fishing boat the storm failed to maroon him at sea, and soon enough he broke through the raging waters to discover the floating hulk of the Flying Dutchman.

It was a breathtaking, ominous sight, its dark outline silhouetted against the night horizon, befitting its appearance as a portent of doom. The dark night sky hung above Abel, devoid of stars, and even the moon itself had been reduced to a mere crescent, providing only a few slivers of silver rays by which Abel had to navigate. The White Knight carried a flashlight in his pack, but at distances like these, it was all but useless. Sailing over, Abel quickly found a hole in the hull after a brief round around the Flying Dutchman's exterior, and entered the derelict ship.

The feeling hit him the very moment he set foot upon the shipwreck's wooden floorboards. There was something just plain wrong about this place. The ship's very existence was a crime against nature, and it didn't take a sixth sense for Abel to know that there was a lot more to this place than met the eye.

Quite against his expectation his heart began to race, and he nearly broke out into a cold sweat. Noting to his chagrin that this was very uncharacteristic of him, Abel chalked it up to whatever supernatural forces were operating within the ship, and quickly held up the ring that he had worn since his parents had given it to him on his tenth birthday - the Ring of Basilius.

A quick prayer was whispered, and immediately the tightening feeling in his chest disappeared, allowing him to breathe easy again and look upon his surroundings more clearly. Taking in a deep breath, he unsheathed the Dragon Sword from its scabbard on his back, and took his first steps into the wreckage of the Flying Dutchman.

One minute was enough for him to deduce that whatever otherworldly force possessing this ship had really gone to town with it. Since taking his first step into here, he felt like he was being guided every step of the way - walking into halls and having doors lock behind him, others opening up in front of him, footsteps disappearing around the corner that led to another unlocked door... twice, he'd found gems lying on the wooden floors, pointing him in a particular direction, and once, after taking a wrong turn, the entire room around him had suddenly gone dark.

Not even the flashlight he had brought in his pack could be turned on, and the lights from the dim torches lining the corridors of the ship came back on only when he'd groped his way back to where he'd gone "wrong".

Slowly, and reluctantly, Abel trudged through the halls in the direction he was being led in, Dragon Sword at the ready. He had already tried kicking in several of the doors that had locked themselves behind him in an attempt to open up a new path - he may as well have tried kicking through an adamantium wall. Not even the Dragon Sword's steel blade was capable of penetrating the wooden boards that composed the door.

From there, Abel proceeded through a series of doorways and mysteriously empty rooms, until he arrived at the top of a stairwell leading downwards, where a dessicated, shrivelled corpse and a large pool of dried blood caused him to pause.

The White Knight had learned long ago to trust his instincts - and they nagged at him now. Something felt wrong. It was quiet, with only the soft rustling of the ocean's waves outside the ship to disturb the otherwise perfect silence. Something was closing in on him, he could feel it, but what?

Abel descended the ramp. He arrived on the level spot at the bottom, and saw the hatch to his left. Dragon Sword at the ready, he cautiously approached the wooden barrier.

As if sensing his presence, the door abruptly swung open, and dumped a shriveled skeleton into his arms.

His pulse quickened, and Abel immediately stepped backwards as the dessicated corpse clattered the ground, disintegrating into individual bones as it hit the deck. Holding the Dragon Sword one-handed, he swept the room ahead with his eyes as best he could, searching for a target.

Nothing.

Abel took a step forward, then immediately spun on his heel and pointed the Dragon Sword back the way he had came.

Goddamnit, it felt like eyes were boring into the back of his head. Something was watching him.

Abel quickly backed into the room, and the door slid shut in front of him, locking itself with a quiet click, just like all the other doors he passed through had done before it.

He registered the click of a pistol's hammer cocking backwards before its owner could pull the trigger, and the White Knight immediately whirled around, swinging the Dragon Sword in what seemed to be a wild arc, but was really calculated and controlled. As a result, the bullet that would have slashed through his throat instead pinged harmlessly off the Dragon Sword's steel blade, and was spent spinning wide to the side.

It took him several seconds for him to register what he was seeing in front of him. Standing just a few feet away from him, was what appeared to be a desiccated corpse much like the one lying in the pool of dried blood on the floor above him, but that was where the resemblance ended. This one still had its internal organs intact, vaguely visible underneath the tattered rags that it wore, and it was standing upright on two feet with no apparently visible assistance, grasping an antiquated pistol in its bony fist and pointing it straight at him.

"Hello, poppy," The undead pirate rattled to him in a raspy voice, its fleshless mouth peeled back in a macabre grin. Before Abel could even react, the pirate fired again, and the bullet slammed straight into his chest plate. It felt as though a mule had kicked him in the chest, but thankfully the solid plates of mythril-adamantium alloy held fast, stopping the bullet from even penetrating.

The White Knight stumbled backwards, but then abruptly disappeared from sight with a strange swishing sound. Puzzled, the undead pirate blinked in surprise several times, and then its head fell off its shoulders, said surprised expression forever etched upon its rotten visage.

And behind it, Abel stood in a classic swordsman's stance, his blade outstretched and slick with the pirate's black blood. With a flick of his wrist Abel flung the blood off the Dragon Sword's blade in a chiburi movement, and sheathed it quickly and smoothly.

Turning around, the White Knight looked down upon the deader-than-dead corpse with chagrin, and leaned in closer to examine it. The magical trails around it reeked of necromancy, and Abel wrinkled his nose in disgust.

He had only taken a single step backwards when there were several dozen clicks around him, all exactly the same as the click that he had heard when the undead pirate had cocked its pistol's hammer backwards in preparation to shoot him.

"Take it easy, boys," Abel said cooly even as he stood up and realized that he was completely surrounded, and in the sights of several dozen barrels. "I'm just passing through."

"Says the one who just cut off Ragetti's head," The pirate standing behind him sneered, the barrel of its pistol leveled at the back of Abel's own noggin. "He'll put himself back together soon enough, but you'll be dead long before that."

"Come, now." Abel chuckled with an amiable smile. "I'm just here to have a friendly discussion with your captain, maybe barter something the captain has in exchange for something I have."

"Too late," The pirate drawled. "You were dead the moment you set foot inside this room. Take him down, boys."

The pirates' bony fingers tightened upon their triggers, and Abel moved. He knew that surrounded, there would be little he could do to fight back all of them at once. He had to get out of there and get his bearings before they swarmed upon him.

His legs moving automatically, Abel sprinted forward, barreling shoulder-first into the pirate in front of him. Shouting in surprise, the pirate's shot went wide, slamming instead straight into the cranium of one of its undead compatriots and toppling it like a sack of bricks, it's decaying brain pulverized by the tiny iron ball.

Unrelenting, Abel grabbed a hold of the pirate's gun arm, and twisted it around in a way that no human arm was ever meant to bend. There was the sickening crack of bones snapping and ligaments tearing, and while the undead sailor felt no pain, he was more than surprised at the fact that his arm had suddenly been robbed of its mobility.

Taking advantage of the pirate's momentary distraction, Abel maneuvered himself behind the pirate until it was positioned like a human shield, and let it absorb the barrage of bullets that were sent his way. The undead pirate's body shook like a rag doll as multiple impacts slammed into its rotting body, but after a few seconds the barrage ceased, and he could hear the distinctive snikt! that meant swords were being drawn; some of the pirates were closing in on him with their cutlasses while the rest reloaded.

Immediately releasing his hold on his victim, Abel gave the skeleton a solid kick in its back, sending it tumbling straight into its compatriots. Without even pausing to admire his handiwork, the White Knight turned on his heel and dashed away.

Several dozen shots rang out from behind him, some of them pinging off his armor, the rest slamming into the walls in front of him as the shots went wide. His legs pumping, Abel dove straight for the nearest door, slammed into it shoulder-first, and burst through in a shower of splinters. Without even pausing, the White Knight rolled deftly to his feet, and high tailed it out of there before any of the undead pirates could even think about giving chase.

Silence reigned in the wake of Abel's sudden departure, and the pirates looked amongst each other for direction.

"The git got away. What now, boss?" One of the undead sailors asked the one who had had its pistol pressed against the back of Abel's neck, and was promptly slapped upside the head.

"We head to the engine room," The lead sailor grated, his rotting teeth clenched in rage at the White Knight's escape. "If there's one place anybody would come to this godforsaken wreck for, it'll be where our captain resides."


A/N: Review, review, review. I've got the next chapter halfway done.