Prologue

Everyone said pirates were the essence of evil in the world. They appeased no gods and feared no death because of that. A pirate's only bind was to his captain and quartermaster. Most times, they were one and the same. But few knew the distinction.

The children in the village didn't know. They knew how to hop and skip, to play in the mud and take baths before dinner, preferably in that order. What they understood of pirates came from bedtime stories and eavesdropping on parents' conversations of news from the capital. It was never anything imminent. Fear was trite and short-lived.

One child always asked for more stories anyway. He wanted to know more than all the rest, for knowing more meant more power in his mind. One story said that one could see pirates following the moonlight more easily than trying to search for them in the daylight. When the village's lights were out for the night, his eyes opened. Outside his window, the water lapped against the stone wall. His house was little more than several stone slabs being eroded by the constant changing of tides. It had been cheaper than many of the other stone houses further up into the mountains that ended abruptly before meeting the Sea of Monaxir, where his house lay, perpetually drowning. It was infuriating, the way the children mocked him, even if they were younger. Where he lived didn't bother him, though. If he saw pirates before any of the other kids did, they would be awed by his bravery, by his ability to stand unafraid. His toes curled at the sheets and kicked them off of his body as he sat up. The anxiety rose and fell as he settled into the mess of sheets, sitting on his ankles with his feet bent together. Windowsill gripped, cool and calloused to the touch: perfect for finding pirates.

All night he stayed watch, eyes boring into the midnight waves, as dark as the forests behind him. Hallowed blue light quivered along white tips. The breeze tapered west in that moment, his hair blown back to expose an ashen forehead and plain irises. Just before collapsing back into the bed every night, he would glimpse a shimmer of dark fabric over the horizon. That night, he swore with all his might it was real.

Just like every other night.

But that was twenty years ago. The little boy became a bigger, taller boy that entered the kingdom's navy. He became the Vice Admiral on a warship, no less. It wasn't Admiral, of course, but he was so close. Rising through ranks as fast as humanly possible had been his goal. More power, leading with perfect poise, it was thrilling. But since the rise of piracy among Berkian waters, he learned protecting his wife and now 5-years-old daughter would take priority. When he made enough pay after gaining Admiral's position, he would send Emily to Central Berk for her professional schooling. He wouldn't let her leave until he knew it was safe for her to do so, and though Central Berk was a fortified city in the recess of a large bay, the word of heavy-hitting pirates surrounding the great nation was troublesome to him.

There were numerous, more gruesome stories told as he grew up. Pirates were despicable people, murderers and rapists and thieves and liars, every one of them. But, of all these things, they were fearful beings. And this man could respect fear. But to defeat fear, he had to be more fearful himself. That had always been his hunch, but it would take some time before he learned the truth of the statement.

The deck was polished to his satisfaction, noted as he walked along the railing, surveying the waters through his last watch of the night. Stationed just off the coast of Cynth, he was returning home after a rather boring six-month tour. Naturally, every seaman had been told they could relax on their return home─ if there had been no danger that far out to sea, nothing could hinder their way back─ so Vice Admiral was taking his sweet time strolling across the length of the vessel. It was soon to be his, he wagered. They would promote him to the next rank and he would be guaranteed not only this boat, but maybe even the whole fleet. He was sure of it. He'd even telegraphed home to tell the Lady and Emily that he'd be expecting them soon.

That was, until the moonlight wavered.

He whipped around, nearly tearing his tightly trimmed uniform in the process. But his eyes were trained on the three-mast argosy rising from the water's horizon, the lines leading the sails buffed large and billowy against the wind. Full speed, they would gain on the warship in fifteen minutes, and that was him being hopeful. Storming off, Vice Admiral took to the bell seated by the captain's wheel.

"We've got company," he whispered the code before pulling the dusty cord, slamming the metal knot against the inside of the copper bell, turned green by the life at sea.

Within a few minutes, the alarms were raised and seamen and soldiers took to the decks in formation, although groggy and some drunk. The Admiral stepped out from his chambers last, belting his musket and scabbard across his chest and waist. He grumbled something incoherent and stood in front, everyone standing at attention. Vice Admiral took his place beside the Admiral and they began walking toward the stern.

"What is it you have us taking up arms for when we're a day's away from home?" The Admiral's voice crackled with age, but his sheer willpower kept him a head taller and a step broader than anyone else on board. Commanding was his by nature. Oh, how Vice Admiral envied him.

Vice Admiral had to skip a step further to quicken his pace. "Pirate ship, Admiral, sir. Just off by a mile. Won't take them long with the speed they're at."

"Nonsense, there's hardly any wind, aside from the wave of drunken breath out on the main deck. And I doubt that would propel us more than a few feet, all conditions proper." His lips tightened as the pair met the last railing at the furthest end of the ship. The argosy was staring them down, the height of its foremast alone dwarfing the warship's main mast. Miniature people barking imperceptible orders traveled their way.

The younger man looked to his Admiral in pained victory. "I wish I had lied, sir."

"You'd certainly be in less trouble if you had," was a whisper. "Men!" Admiral barked louder, turning back toward those geared for battle. "I didn't train you for nothing! Don't let them get near the mainland, near our families! Aim to kill. Take prisoners only when it is safe to do so. Now, fight with me!"

A rehearsed "aye-aye" was shouted amongst the privates, seamen, generals, even the janitors. Each took to their stations, generals yelling to soldiers, and lieutenants doing the same to the generals. Vice Admiral oversaw the fortification of the ship and nodded when things were the best they could be─ perfect otherwise dead. Cannons were readied, gunpowder was distributed, muskets were raised. His eyes drifted to the distant, familiar mountain as the ship turned away from it. Inside his jacket, he thumbed the necklace Emily had made for him before he left. The worn metal was warm against his chest. Deep breathe. I'll be home soon, sweetheart.

"Daddy!"

Her voice. Harrowing, distressed, from behind him and not at home in her bed. Losing face, he ran for the stern once again. The argosy was closer, a ladder's length away. No. No, no. That wasn't right. She wasn't here. The boat wasn't this close. Obviously this was a product of too much time spent in the salty air. Oh, how he prayed that was true.

"Daddy!"

A split in his mind cracked open and his knees buckled. Pounding inside his temples was one of the worst headaches he had since the weeks when his newborn daughter wouldn't sleep. Several pirates had already climbed aboard and the clank and clash of swords on guns echoed through the railing patterns, jarring his thoughts. The unsteady thumping from the floorboards told him they were circling the perimeter and enclosing them, despite the voice constantly shouting Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, DADDY, DA─

But discipline and years of training pulled him back to his feet just as an arrow whizzed past, grazing the patch on his shoulder. Sneering, he withdrew his sword. Black, blocky, standard military issue, but sturdy and sharp and would do in a pinch. His gun would be too dangerous in the dark of the night because, although the moon was shining its brightest, telling fellow soldiers from foes was damned near impossible. No pirate swordsmanship could match his, that much he believed as he forced his way back to the deck, already swarmed with enemies and blood and the smell of spent gunpowder.

He somehow must have been on the ground a while, because there were more bodies and blood than just a moment ago. Formation was broken, meaning the men must have been fighting more than a few minutes in the dark. People were hacking, slicing, shooting, killing, without looking. The squelch of metal into flesh dulled in comparison to the grunts and screams that met his ears. Just before jumping into the fray, he analyzed the decks above, looking for the Admiral.

One heartbeat too late, he saw the glint of the blade peek through the seasoned man's chest. Blood spattered the captain's wheel and the dark crimson seeped under his clothing. Shouting, Vice Admiral took charge and made his way up the sidesteps at the side of the main deck and dodged fighting men, reeking of sweat and rum and fear. So much fear he felt he could drink it after pouring a cup from the atmosphere. His mouth watered.

Enraged, he hopped onto the quarterdeck, sword pointed forward, angled to catch the moon's light and shine it at the man who dared kill his Admiral. "Hey! Lowlife scum!"

Beady, dark eyes turned his way, glowing with the thirst of blood. The body of the Admiral slumped slowly to the ground, a dark pool staining the wood. A small cloud of heat evaporated from his back, swirling and floating away with the speed of the wind. A gloved hand, torn by grisly claws, grabbed at the smoke, curling it around his wrist. A clench of his fist and the smoke fused into his skin, made dark not only by the night but by this mysterious happening. Fear pumped in the Vice Admiral's veins and he found himself grinning. This was his chance. A lunge forward and─

"Daddy!"

His step faltered and his swing fell short as he was shoved back against the railing, faster than the eye could see. A fist balled the front of his uniform, making his chest tighten. His eyes darted around the deck, finding a frail thing tucked into the opposite corner. Dark, smooth hair swirled with the wind, never knotting, and a beautiful pallid face was struck with naive concern.

"Daddy?" Her lips moved like a fish gliding through a pond, calm but quick to startle. Her eyes were wide and glassy, legs tucked under her nightgown. "Daddy?"

The pirate let go of him and walked toward her.

Clearing his head, the Vice Admiral sprinted to her side and glanced his sword at the attacker, the killer. "Step away from my daughter," his voice growled low, inhuman, eyes still hunting the fear.

A grin was his reply. "We've already got her. Your wife, too. Precious little things, they are. Cynth is quite the beautiful town. A little too out in the open, though. Don't you think?"

There was so much anguish and death on the ship it made it hard to concentrate. This man… how could his ship have made it past the warships, gone to Cynth, and come back for filthy gloating? He turned to find his daughter wasn't behind him any longer. Facing the man again, he saw that several pirates appeared behind him, holding his wife and child. Their grip was so tight that the women cried out and thin beads of blood begged to trickle down their paper white skin. The Lady whimpered and shook her head slightly, eyeing the Vice Admiral with a look so brave it sickened him. He straightened his stance and met the pirate at eye level.

"You let them go."

The pirate's laugh stunted his plea. "You drive a hard bargain, I must say! What makes you think I'd do that?"

His face remained stoic, although he doubted the pirate couldn't hear his heart breaking his ribcage with every beat. "What do you want." It wasn't a question.

The grin was victory incarnate. "I want you to be pitch black."

Before he could ask what the man meant, his fingers snapped and the pirates unsheathed their swords. Not able to react fast enough, throats were sliced and screams became a bubbling, searing screech that died partway through. More cuts were made, slashing right and left, hacking the bodies as they fell to the floor and climbing on top of their fragile bones to sink their blades into the dying flesh repeatedly. Crunching, squelching, splattering. The Vice Admiral wailed, something in his heart shattering and falling in the cracks of the floorboards. He crawled, sword forgotten, as he pushed and shoved the pirates aside and cradled his Lady and daughter in his arms. Their hairs were coated in blood and chunks of skin, split and frizzed and knotted under his fingernails. Broken skin and bones and innards were already losing warmth. His breath came in short, agonizing spurts, tainted with stale air and fear.

So. Much. Fear.

His chest imploded and something very, very dark took foothold. The bodies slipped through his fingers and his glance fell. A hand was over his heart, the arm appearing from inside his chest. Blacker than the depths of the ocean, smoke poured from his being and his consciousness blurred into nothingness.

Pitchiner awoke from his sleep, disturbed but unafraid. Rolling his shoulders, cracking and stiff from deep sleep, he cleared his throat and checked the clock on the wall. It was a bit early, but he supposed getting up before the sun was okay once in awhile. It wasn't like he was going to go back to sleep anytime soon.

His time with the pirates on the Rhaefr─ slang for "reaper" in some language not Common Tongue─ left a permanent nightmare in his subconscious. Captain Fovos, as the grisly pirate called himself, plucked him up from the plundered warship, the only survivor. Fovos said he was the only man compatible with the Black Artes. Left with the pervasive details of the deaths of his wife and daughter, he followed the captain's orders and, within a few months, began climbing ranks again. It was all his empty shell knew to do. His eyes, dark in origin, dulled and shifted in color the longer he stayed under the captain's tutelage. They became a weak, dimmed amber. Sort of like the color of honey, but there was no warmth in the iris.

But that had been the cunning Vice Admiral's plan. Gain the ranks, gain the trust, and take back what was stolen. One night, he rode the shadows into the captain's quarters, and in a heartbeat, the captain was down by the same magic he had always used. Pitchiner─ Pitch, as Fovos had slandered─ thought it odd that he had died without a word, just a smile and vacant eyes. It mattered little at that time. After Captain Fovos was slain, he had his mind to himself again. The corruption and fear remained, but he was in control of himself and now, a crew of pirates at that. A crew of pirates that had pillaged hundreds of towns along the northern coast of the Berkian Peninsula without so much as a slap on the wrist from the central government. A crew he sailed into Cynth's army base and slaughtered in revenge. Brought home, his dark heart uncovered the captain's lies. His family was never taken from him, it was merely a trick of the darkness, but they had moved away when their loved one had not returned in several years. He never bothered to find them, for his memory faded long ago. The one memory that didn't fade, was the memory of being a powerful leader, strengthened by something rooted in his childhood.

The nation hailed him a prisoner-of-war that survived the deadly grasp of pirates and turned the tides of the war on debauchery. The King himself appointed Vice Admiral as his General Advisor of the Royal Court of Central Berk, the King's right hand man. But the King failed to answer his questions about the reason behind failing to protect their people. Even the more populous northern cities of Rossoya and Rejk had also been hit, and the largest military in the populated world had done nothing. So many died, why? And for what?

Becoming General Advisor, he learned on his own. Searching the archives and sitting in on international meetings with associates, he discovered the trade routes of the bourgeoisie-owned economy.

But worse than the injustice, worse than the turning of a blind eye, was the lack of fear these rich patriarchs felt and the lack of power from the surrounding nations. Pitiful, to allow their men to debase themselves to such levels of ignorance and weak will. But mind and will could be controlled.

And he would be the one to control them all.

A/N: Hey guys, I'm finally back! Remember months ago when I mentioned in my other works that I was planning/writing a Hijack Pirate!AU? Yeah, this is it! So much planning and editing has gone into this, and I want to thank eliazeravenfeather for all of her help with... well, everything! Coverart by Kingpin1055. Big thanks to him as well! You can find their various works on here and DA!

Unfortunately, I can't link the map or preview it in the text files on here, so the map will have to be in a separate tab for those reading this on FF than those reading this on AO3 or DA. Therefore, the map for my AU can be found on my DA page by the same name. It may come in handy. ;)

The first ten or so chapters will be posted quickly due to the slow build (and because that's all that I have prewritten at the moment). So stick around, as it's super important. Please do enjoy it! :)