"…and now, young Sparrow, you will die."


"Bad plan, mate," Jack growled, unsheathing his sword and plunging it swiftly into the older
man's gut. The younger pirate held tightly to the hilt, unmoving, waiting for the older to fall
down dead. The older, instead, grabbed Jack's hand and helped it to push the sword further
into his stomach.


"Ah, yes," the older whispered, pulling the sword deeper into him so that it strained at his
back and with a tearing sound, puncturing it clearly through. Jack gave a few yanks at the
sword, but his father resisted him, still gripping his hand tightly.


"Let me go," Jack demanded frightfully. The elder did so, and Jack took his hand from the
hilt as if it had burned him. The elder jabbed his foot into Jack again, pinning him with all his
weight this time. The younger was gasping for breath just from this.


"Human weapons cannot destroy me," the old man said, grinning wickedly. He slid the
sword from his body and held it up for Jack to see. The sword was clean, but the man
shed nearly black blood. It spilled in gushes on the younger, who gagged and squirmed
under the man's foot. The elder just stared lazily at the sword for a moment, and glanced
calmly down at Jack, who was nearly panicking.


"If you are to be killing me - do it now!" Jack gasped.


"Very well," the elder replied, using Jack's sword to stab him. The younger shouted in pain
as the blade sliced smoothly into his shoulder. His bright and living blood flowed and swirled
around the dark blood of his father's. He gritted his teeth and shouted again. "Enough with
your yelling, lad; I've got a better plan. You want me to kill you quickly, but I'm not going
to give you that satisfaction. I am going to kill you as slowly as you will allow - and you
always were a stubborn survivor, weren't you?"


Jack writhed, but managed to keep from screaming again. The old man took his foot from
Jack's chest and reached down, grabbing him up by the collar and nearly whip lashing him
into his face.


"Listen carefully," the father said, so close that Jack could feel the awful breath on him; the
breath of something that was not taking any air, yet breathing all the same. "I want to see
you suffer. Do me this favor, and your death may come a bit quicker."


"I'll have to turn you down on that offer," Jack spat, lunging with the reflexes of a cobra for
the hand of his father's which held the Kismet. The man, who could have easily taken it
back from Jack, stared almost with awe at the young man who clutched the black pencil-
looking contraption.


As he touched the Kismet, he felt a surge of electricity flow through his body, and he leaped
back out of the elder's clutches.


"Now how do you suppose you'll use that?" the old man laughed, though his voice had an
uneasy edge. "Give that back to me."


"No," Jack replied fiercely, clasping the thing tightly. Every time his heart beat, the device
sent a fiery, pulsing shock through his body, making him shudder and feel dizzy. He
stumbled about, but held the Kismet threateningly with a death grip.


"You're a fool," the old man continued. "Your body will not be able to stand the power of
that."


"How to work it…" Jack said, keeping his voice mockingly calm, pretending to ignore his
father.


"Give it to me, I'm warning you!" the elder hissed.


"Perhaps some sort of marking…" Jack trailed off, and with the Kismet, drew an X on his
hand. The crumbling lead remained on his open palm for an instant before seeming to be
sucked into his skin like a sponge. He screamed in pain as the X came back with one of the
harsh jolts of electricity, emblazoning the mark in his hand. "Obviously not," he said, his
voice shaking and giving away the doubt he felt.


"Give it back!" the old man cried manically, his eyeballs seeming to nearly pop out of his
head. Strangely enough, and to Jack's confusion, the elder man did not budge from his spot,
but Jack was too nervous to busy himself with this oddity.


"Or maybe you have to direct it with words," Jack suggested, thoughtfully. "I would like to
go back… five days," he said. Nothing happened.


All of a sudden, a more forceful shock stirred a memory of Jack's; so strong, that he felt
that he was going to cry from the sheer simplicity of it compared to what he was facing now.
He saw himself, sailing the Black Pearl with his compass out. The sun was warm on his
back, the sea was foamy and blue, and the whole world belonged to him. He was carefree
and happy; it seemed like so long ago, but it was indeed less than a week before. He
wanted out of this nightmare. He wanted away from this horror, from this dark, painful
experience. He wanted away from his father. He wanted to live and swordfight, and he
didn't want anybody to be sad, lonely, terrified. He didn't want anybody in Port Royal
dead, not even that obnoxious little Gillette.


With a pang of force, the shock ran through Jack again, harder than ever before. It beat
itself into him, and soon lost the rhythm of his heart and just pulsed, faster and faster,
harder and harder. The memory grew stronger, but the stronger it became, the more pain
he felt.


"You'll never live to go back!" the old man shouted all the while. Jack could hardly hear
him over the near-deafening clang of the jolts that grew worse and faster until the younger
felt as if he were being torn in two.


"I'm leaving now!" Jack shouted before letting out a bark of agony. He couldn't stop
yelling as everything climaxed to a terrible limit Jack could barely stand. One more
jolt, one more, he'd be done for, just one more, he would go mad if it didn't stop, he
would go mad or he would die.


As he left that time, the time of destruction and death, he knew he would do neither.
For he was Captain Jack Sparrow.



A/N: Good? Bad? Not editted. Must sleep.