Tori stayed by the captain's side for a while, but soon left to resume his duties, thoughts in mind to return to the captain a little later. Something about the captain kept nagging at him from the back of his mind, but the teen pushed it away as he went to supervise the crew and check in with the executive officers.

Meanwhile, the British nation stirred from unconsciousness, and slowly sat up, trying to remember what happened. Oh yeah, he got shot. What was up with his crew and traitors, lately? Arthur swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood up carefully. The room was dark, but the candles around the room illuminated with the lazy wave of Arthur's hand.

He sat down at his ornate desk, and after some sorting, pulled a chart out from one of the drawers, and opened it. He was trying to decide of a place to pillage next after they hit port again, oh yeah, he had to get tea…yeah. Tortuga didn't sound bad, except that place was a constant mess, and wasn't really good for pillaging. The best places to pillage were all of the coastal towns that were nice quiet, with a mild fear of a pirate attack. Those were the most fun places to hit up; the people in those types of towns generally tended to scream more, yes…

Arthur turned his attention back to the chart, emerald eyes darting back and forth across the page, gleaming in the candlelight, giving the Briton angel nation a kind of eerie look. His eyes caught hold of a Spanish port, and an evil smile graced his face. After they stopped in the first port to restock a bit, and get tea, they would head straight for the coast of Spain, maybe hit up a few ships on the way. A chill ran down Arthur's spine at the thought of hearing that blessed cannon fire that soothed his anguished soul so much. The Briton knew that he wouldn't always be this kind of person, but he would remain so for a while.

He stood up from his desk, and grabbed the chart from its gleaming surface as he exited the cabin. Arthur strode out onto the deck, the double doors swinging shut behind him. Life was good. He showed the helmsman the chart, and stood up top at the helm for several minutes, discussing the route.

After that, Arthur headed back down to the main deck, then to the lower decks, scaring the Hell out of some of his crewmen. Immediately, whispers began shooting around the members of the crew. The captain was invincible…he was a demon straight from Hell itself…the rum he drank was actually disguised blood. Arthur had heard all sorts of theories, and was rather used to it. Nonetheless, it still amused him to hear all the dark tales and rumors that emerged from drunkenness and sunstroke.

Tori came around the corner right then, certainly not expecting Arthur to be there. He stopped a few feet away from Arthur, mouth agape, much to the amusement of many of the other crewmembers.

"You look like a codfish with your mouth agape like that, silly. Have you checked on dinner preparations?"

Tori straightened himself as he spoke, "Yes, Captain, and I was about to ring the bell to call the crew to dinner."

"Good," Arthur said as he strode by.

"That man is such a parent," someone sniggered as Arthur left the room. Tori heard the comment, and suddenly thought of his own father, and realized that if his father DID find him, he would die…!

On his way to the galley, Tori felt panic constrict his heart. His father would come to rescue him, only to have his ship shot to pieces by the Britannia Angel…

"Are you alright?"

Tori looked up into glittering emerald eyes, which showed a hint of concern in them. How did the captain manage to sneak up on him?

"I'm fine," Tori lied as smoothly as he could. "And you?"

"I'm doing quite well, thank you." With that, Arthur proceeded to hand Tori a bottle of whiskey, and walked away. It took Tori a moment to realize that he was expected to DRINK IT HIMSELF, not hold it for the captain.

He did just that during dinner. Well, actually, Tori more like chugged it down his throat.

"That's the spirit, lad! Drown away your sorrows, just like that!" Someone said.

The next day they arrived at port, and finally got the captain his tea, and stocked up for a massive raid. The Spanish wouldn't know what hit them, the bastards.

Two full days after leaving port, Ryan, who sat in the crow's nest, looked out over the night sky when he spotted something. Picking up his spyglass, he looked out. White sails, and the Spanish flag on three merchant vessels.

"Spanish ships ahoy!" Ryan screeched out. "Three merchant vessels ahead of us, a little to the port side! Ships ahoy!"

Arthur came up from below deck, a new hat on his head to replace on of the ones he had lost; specifically, the black one with the gold trim. His red and black coat was new too, the gold buttons gleaming in the starlight.

"Load the cannons! Take to arms! Raise the jolly roger! AND WHERE IS MY SWORD?"

The three ships neared as Arthur continued to shout commands, keeping an eye out as the ships drew ever near to his own. He waited until they were just close enough, but not too close…

"FIRE!"

His men gleefully obeyed, the merchant vessels fraught with panicking sailors. The Britannia Angel's crew threw boards between ships so as to travel between them. The pirate vessel fired at the ships, taking out the main so as to prevent further sailing.

A more plump Spaniard with a beard fumbled with a musket as he pointed it at Arthur's chest; Arthur got the shot in first using a pistol, slitting another man's throat with his sword at the same time. He really did enjoy the feeling of the blade slicing open flesh. It made him think of all the times anyone had cut open his soul with cruel, harsh words.

A parry here, a thrust there, a jab to the neck. One man rushed at Arthur, only to be impaled all the way through by Arthur's beloved sword. Arthur pulled the blade out with a bit of a squelch, and kicked the dying man so that he fell over backwards off of the ship and into the freezing cold Atlantic.

Two more men came at Arthur at the same time, bayonets brandishing forward. Arthur gracefully stepped out of the way, the two men impaling each other, one bayonet in the throat, the other through the heart. They, too fell into the blackened, rippling sea where their lonely graves sat awaiting them.

"FIRE!" Arthur shouted again as supplies and other goods were pilfered from the ships. Everything worth taken was had; it was time to bring this merry time to an end.

As the Britannia Angel granted wishes, he gave the last surviving merchant sailors a fast death as they were ripped apart along with their ships.