I couldn't resist a sequel. But you'll have to give me a whole load of ideas for this fic, k? I've got it slightly planned out…but I'll need help!! And I'll put anybody who gives me even the slightest suggestion (as long as its possible) in my dedications in the next chapter!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

-----------

The twenty-year-old captain stood erect at the stern, the salty wind whipping his white-blond hair at his golden brown face. Icy blue eyes were fixed on a shape miles away, so small and distant very few could see it. Only to him, experienced and sharp, was it thoroughly noticeable.

"What do you see, Cap'n?"

He did not move at all. He appeared a flawless statue planted on board the roaring ship, emotionless as marble.

"I see a ship," he said after minutes flitted by. "It's not friendly."

First-mate Morgan shifted uncomfortably, his dark eyes as twitchy as a terrified rabbit. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

The young captain finally turned to his friend. "Tell the men to lighten the load. Toss the treasure first; that can be replaced easily. We need to move faster."

Morgan saluted. "Aye-aye, Cap'n."

As the gypsy-pirate trotted off, whistling an anxious, tuneless, melody, disturbed greatly by his harsh and jumpy attitude, the blond man tightened his grip on the rail. His knuckles went white like pearly buttons, and his jaw was clenched rigidly.

A veteran pirate by the name of Kris had known the young pirate since he was a lad, and so knew when something was bothering him almost as well as his son Morgan could. His better years had been spent teaching the youngster the skills of pirating, and looting, and thieving.

"What's wrong, Cap'n?"

Sighing, the Black Bandit leader turned away from the sea to look beseechingly at the closest thing he ever had for a father.

"That ship…it's not right." Despite his years with demonic pirates and without proper education, he still managed to keep his noble grammar. "It's familiar, and yet utterly foreign."

Kris inhaled deeply and moved up alongside his younger friend, running fingers through his gray-streak brown hair. His wrinkled face, sharply contrasting to the man's smooth features beside him, peered out at the strawberry-gold horizon, the sun a blood-red mass against the darkening sky as it sank. As poor as his eyesight was, it had been trained to look out at the sea since he gained his sea legs, and so he could see what many others could not.

"Yes, I see what ya mean."

"You feel it too?"

"How could I not?"

To this the blue-eyed man had no reply. At the sound of pounding footsteps he turned, and saw Morgan racing his way over.

"They're gainin', Cap'n," he said breathlessly, hands clutching his stomach as he wheezed. "I tole everybody I could find what you ordered, and they're doin' everything they can to dump it."

"Good. If we lose all the treasure and we're still not far enough ahead, tell them I want the kegs of wine and ale dumped next. That's as worthless as the gold."

Morgan saluted. "Aye-aye, Cap'n."

----------

Night cast a dark blue shade over the sea. The pirate-captain, dressed in his trousers and nothing more, nonetheless appeared immortal to the chilly air. His delicate, tanned hand shielded a lit candle from the ocean wind.

He arrived at the rear of the ship, and bit his lip to find the rival ship coming closer. In fact, even as he observed this mysterious creation it increased its speed. And suddenly it flew by, splashing water on the deck and dousing him in salty spray.

Silently cursing himself for leaving his sword behind – and somehow knowing it would not have helped him anyway – he stumbled backwards. His back met with the cabin wall. There was a soft thump, and he made out a tiny figure in the dark.

"Hello, Captain Stone Mountain," a girl's high, childish voice giggled. "I finally caught up with you."

"Who…who are you?"

Finally the small shape stepped forward. It was as the voice proposed: a girl, maybe ten but more like seven or eight. She had straight reddish blond hair that reached her waist, every strand eerily in place. She was pale-skinned and hauntingly beautiful. Her eyes were unseen.

She giggled again. He hated it. She stepped a little further into the candlelight, and he finally saw her eyes.

They were blackly bitter ebony, flat as stone, colder than an artic blizzard.

"What do you want, dammit?" he hissed.

She giggled. It was more like a brutal cackle.

"I want you," she murmured bluntly. "My master seeks your presence."

"Your master?"

"You've met him," she whispered loudly. "You've battled him. You watched his immortal soul be destroyed." She smiled coolly. "But now he's back. And he wants you."

"Me?"

"His so-called death was your fault. You prevented his everlasting life."

Her eyes twinkled maliciously.

"And now you must pay."