A/N - soo i have decided to actually continue this story~ and thanks to all the people who read the stuff i write aru X3

first off me want to thank my awesome beta as usual~
I hope this doesnt disappoint aru~

Chapter 2 : Escape of the Red Terror

His mind reeled with the creaking of the ship, the cold heavy chain dragging down on his collarbone. No light entered the rotting crevice, even the sewer rats and lice dared not venture so far into the English ship. Alone. He was alone, cold, starving and imprisoned on the ship of his worst possible enemy, the one that could beat him. Smiling ruefully he hauled his head onto the damp wood, the numb, aching creeping of starvation crawling up his body, calling him, tempting him to give into the deep dark abyss. Dulling his already limited senses, it would have been better if he was dead. Damn that cursed English Devil; probably enjoying his meals up in the cosy rich cabin of his while he rotted with the skeletons of weak, hopeless prisoners. No, he was not going to end up like them, he Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was going to escape and hell would run from the vengeance he was going to wrought on the future corpse of the British Pirate that had imprisoned him.

He smirked as he heard the resonating clang of the chequered bars of his cage slam shut. Recognising the sharp footsteps that approached near him he opened a single eye, a dead smile on his face.

"It isn't a usual occurrence that you visit me, Arthur."

"Thought you could use the company."

"I could use company but yours would only make me rot faster, senior."

"Then I should come more often, shan't I?"

The Spanish captain looked darkly at the Englishman, "That won't be necessary."

"Hmm?"

Using every ounce of depleted strength the Spaniard clutched at the lace covering Kirkland's throat, his body weak and starving, his eyes burning with the power of nigh one hundred men.

"I will leave this dying ship and believe me when I say this Devil, you will endure more than just hell, when I get my hands on you."

Arthur flicked the bony hands barely holding on to his clothes, "All you can mutter are half-cursed revenge plans for my sinful soul, why can't we just enjoy a civil conversation without you spluttering some horrid way to kill me."

"Trust me, Kirkland; we will have no civil conversations as long as you live."

Arthur only glared impassively as he walked out of the cage, "I might as well enlighten you on the fact we are nearly approaching your execution, so please make yourself lively."

Antonio's eyes widened as the footsteps echoed into the distance. Land, light, the smell of the waves crashing onto shores, the rustic sand keeping secrets hidden for eternity. The words of execution passed wistfully past his head, he was going to see the light, the sea, the salt – crusted air. He was going to escape. He laughed, a happy glad laugh that filled the decaying room like music, he felt again the vigour and life he had lost in the wood encrusted prison. Escape was easy, he had lived through many executions already, and this would only be another addition to his collection.

Pacing around the luxurious room, Captain Arthur Kirkland sighed, he was going home, to the island nation that he loved, to the chaotic but addicting streets of London, to the pubs in the lonely corners of alleys, to life he used to live.

Snapping out of his daze, Arthur smiled, looking out into the tinged orange skies; they would arrive at sunset, his personal favourite time to arrive at port. Leaning over his desk, he looked over the detailed, carefully drawn maps. The thin lines representing countries, seas, previously uncharted island, these were the records of his success. Once again he was lost in his memories, the thrill for battle, the rush of superiority and the sheer exhilarating feeling of power, the feeling that the whole world was in his hands.

He swung on a majestic blood red coat, the gold crafted button shimmering in the sinking light, the singed feathers of his black hat, whispering onto his shoulder. His cutlass hung securely on his hip and his heeled boots clicked meticulously.

"Get the prisoner out, I want my weight in gold for him."

Jumping unorthodoxly over the railing of his ship, Captain Kirkland directed for the former Spanish captain to be taken to court. He led the way through the polluted streets to the higher class society of the city, to the gallows where a rope was waiting.

Dark, glowing eyes watched the Spaniard as he weakly walked, hands bound behind his back, a chain around his throat. He could feel the hatred burning into his back, the snivelling and snorts as loud as the thunder that plagued his sea trips, but he only smirked at the response he was receiving, the feeling of being so hated, so repulsive to others. In a way he wanted to disgust them further, in a way, he enjoyed the feeling, on the verge of seeing their surprised faces as he left them in his wake, when he would humiliate the beliefs they held oh so closely. The Spaniard knew London; he knew where to hide, where to fight and where to escape, where to return to his beloved homeland. He knew that the pirate, whose head was being subject to laser glares, knew every city that he had been captured in, including his own capital of Madrid.

Both of them were experts at escaping, at fighting, at surviving. Antonio was wondering why it was going to be so easy.

Distracted from his thoughts of freedom, Antonio smiled at the uniformed men standing as still as statues on the roads next to him, all holding muskets, soulless eyes staring straight ahead of themselves.

"All these soldiers for me? I'm flattered Mr Kirkland."

It was time to begin.

"Of course."

A smile glued on his face, Antonio walked up the few steps onto the platform, rope hanging ever so tauntingly. Bowing lowly to his blank audience, he felt the rough, itchy coils of rope tighten around his neck. Time slowed, the black birds flew as if in sticky honey, the bells rung in long endless drones, the coat of the English Captain hovered in mid-air and the Spaniards mouth twitched as his dangerously bright green eyes laughed in the sunset.

Cut.

The rope was cut, in a single, clean slice.

Why? It was obvious. How? Only the best knew. The way to cheat death as its hands clasped coldly onto ones throat. A trick, a lie, a shout as the Spanish captain ran free.

Mild surprise dawned over Arthur's face, to him, it was an old, boring trick but it was somewhat entertaining when someone else used it. He watched as Antonio laughed climbing onto the rooftops of buildings, light feet dancing as bullets rained on him. Unsheathing his sword he chased the Spaniard, following him onto the rooftops. Arthur watched as he grabbed a rope, feet poised to jump as a stray bullet skidded the tattered sleeve of his shirt, he watched as the captain looked over his shoulder, smirking at his escape.

And Arthur grinned viciously, the bloodlust of battle already pumping in his veins.

Unable to hear but able to read the words, Carriedo mouthed, "This is only the beginning."

Arthur smirked, there would be much more to this story. "Indeed."

And he jumped.

Scaling the rooftops of the lower ends of London, he enjoyed in pure bliss the cries, shouts and curses of British soldiers who were chasing him. Ever since they had let him out into the open, he was going to win. But had there been any competition, Kirkland had made no effort to truly imprison him. Even though said pirate was chasing him now. Why go to all the trouble of capturing him and not killing him straight off? Why give him the opportunity to escape? Both were skilled fighters, only a few could out do them, it would be a near impossible task to capture him now that he had survived. Oddly Antonio was frustrated at Arthur's lack of diligence to out right kill him. Oh how he would enjoy it when he finally saw the privateer on his knees begging to be killed. But still, the way Kirkland had smiled when he escaped nagged him to no end; he was expecting him to escape, probably just to get in a few strikes.

Hearing the skilled footsteps behind him, Antonio laughed, "If you're so adamant to kill me, you should've just shot me when you had the chance."

"There's no fun in killing, unless there's a bullet or sword through your heart."

"A waste of time if you ask me."

"It's the only reason you're alive, the benefit of my boredom."

"Then I'd rather die than be your entertainment."

"Then you're not doing a very good job."

Grunting Antonio jumped off the roof and landed straight onto the shoulders of a Red Coat. With a surprised shriek the musket was wrenched off the soldier as he was kicked to the ground. Antonio finally armed, sprinted off, dodging into the desolated corners of London, before, with enough momentum launching himself off the ground. Rubbing the leather of his shoes, he ran up the three storey windows, back flipping back onto the rusting tiles of the roof. The wind dragged at his loosely buttoned shirt, as he landed in front of the Englishman and brought the gun square at the head of a certain pirate.

"My, my, how the tables have turned."

Lifting his hands up casually, still grasping his sword, he swaggered to the Spanish captain, stopping a hairs length away. Piercing emerald green stared arrogantly into determined olive green ones. "I'll give you some advice."

"I need no advice from you." Finger stressed on the trigger, the bullet hole staring the Brit in the eyes.

"Concentrate on your escape, matey." Whispered the pirate, his eyes taking a quick glimpse at the streets, "We don't want anyone catching up now do we?"

Glancing at the soldiers not far behind them, guns ablaze, the Spaniard dropped to the ground, tripping Kirkland with his feet. Receiving a satisfying yelp as he leapt in mid-air, legs flailing out to balance himself. Rolling painfully onto the cobblestone ground, he grumbled as his bones ached under the sudden activity, but ignoring the pain, he ran. Antonio ran until he could no longer hear the dying whispers of the chasing men.

Slipping into a discarded alleyway, he reaffirmed his place, entering the port. Grabbing a hat off an unsuspecting drunkard, he hid his face under that shadows, already his appearance was different to the typical Brit, and he was sure he wouldn't get a second chance; Antonio didn't spare any time or mistakes in his art of escape, especially with the close run into being captured again.

Keeping to the shadows, his back constantly against the wall, Antonio surveyed the ships and all the people who boarded them. His sly eyes watched a group who stood out a little too much from the ordinary folk lining the ships. Tanned skin and thick brown hair. They were Spanish, confirmed even more by the bouts of Spanish Carriedo could read on their lips. This was his lucky day.

Strutting to the group trying aimlessly to blend in to the background, England was not a good place to be Spanish. "Hola." He waved to them, his eyes still covered by the battered hat. They all stopped instantly, freezing in preparing the boat. Stricken that someone else had found them. The stranger had speared out of nowhere and was still carrying a gun. Out of reflex the crews hand fell to their sides, to the guns and cutlasses.

Antonio smirked, what a reaction. "Don't worry." He flipped his hat up, exposing his face and his identity.

There were gasps and murmurs until a bold sailor stepped forward, "Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the saviour of the Spanish Armada, The Red Terror."

"Si, that's me."

"What are doing here, Captain?"

"I lost my ship." He answered quickly, "You don't happen to be sneaking back to Spain, do you?"

They glanced at each other quickly, some whispering behind him, oblivious to the fact that he could hear them. "Si."

"Don't mind if I tag along. I seem to be a little…hunted here."

The person walked forwards to the Captain, looking up at him, "It would be an honour," shaking hands with the pirate.

It was sunset.

The Red Terror had escaped.

And it was only the beginning.

A/N- soo opinions and please Read & Review (^.^)/
I apologise but i am terrible at updating aru...so dont expect too much...