Disclaimer: Don't own POTC...

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On the twelfth day of their trek, Will wearily looked up from his trudging feet and saw a faint smudge off to his left on the horizon. Was it the Scorpion Bowl?

"Jack!" he called, jogging slightly to catch up with the aforementioned. "Is that it? Are we almost there?"

Jack didn't turn, but kept walking. "That's not it, me boy. Jus' shut yer mouth and keep walking."

"Why! We're walking away from it, Jack! If that's it, why aren't we heading straight for it?"

"Cuz that's th'island's disguise mechanism, ye fool! Yer s'posed t'keep the 'island' t'yer left and jus' keep walkin'. Ye'll reach it eventually. Most likely run right int'th'bloody thing..." added Jack dryly. And then he just kept on walking.

Will had just started to head back to the cart when he heard a loud thump and a profanity we won't repeat. (It involved sensitive body parts and very large knives; that's all you're ever going to know)

When he whirled around, Jack was kicking what appeared to be thin air, alternately holding his forehead and hopping on one foot. (It seemed kicking thin air was painful.)

"Jack?" called Will nervously. Maybe the infamous pirate captain had finally gone insane after all... "Are you alright?"

"Blasted island!" swore Jack, shaking a fist in the general direction of the sky. "Show yerself! Unless..." He stopped acting injured and made a beeline for the cart. "...unless it needs blood t'be opened..."

Will just stood there. He didn't know what to think. What the heck was Jack doing? Had they found the Scorpion Bowl? He squinted at the expanse of frozen wasteland in front of him, but all he could see was more ice.

Jack stormed past Will, brandishing a rather sizeable knife. He slowed, and with his hand extended in front of him, carefully continued. "Aha!" he cried, as he patted seemingly thin air. Then, with a slight grimace, he drew a line with the tip of the knife across his wrist. He waited a few moments until the blood was welling out of the cut, before expertly flicking it onto the invisible solid.

Instantly, the glamour was lifted, and all except Jack gasped in astonishment.

Rising sharply out of the ice was the sheer cliffs of the Scorpion Bowl.

As Will gaped witlessly up at the sudden apparition, Jack grinned impishly and replied, "We're walkin' away from it, eh, Mr. Turner?"

As Will tried to come up with a clever retort, Jack whirled away from him and addressed the rest of the column. "From 'ere on in, gents - and ladies - " Jack acknowledged Anamaria and the comatose Elizabeth with a nod, "we climb! Although," he added, turning to contemplate the vertical ascent they had to accomplish, "I dunno 'ow the hell we're s'posed ter get dear Miss Unconscious up there... oh well. UP!" he roared.

And then they climbed.

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Alderman opened his eyes, awakening from the trance-like state, and regarded the altar. All had gone as planned; swirling over the limp bodies of the women was a vivid blue portal. It was a livid scar on the face of the earth, something no human eyes should ever see. Lightning flashed within its depths, revealing jagged slices of the Otherworlds. Glimpses of Hell.

Alderman grinned, and turned as the first of the six pirates stumbled dazedly into the sacrificial chamber. The pirate's eyes widened as he saw the silhouetted figure standing before the hellish portal, and what was beginning to emerge from those spinning blue depths.

Ochiri had heard the call, and was coming to collect what was her rightful due.

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Governor Swann shivered against the cold, almost wishing he had stayed behind. He was too old for this sort of thing. But the blacksmith, who he had tentatively trusted with his daughter's safety, had killed Elizabeth. The Commodore, who he had assumed would kill Turner, had failed, resulting in Elizabeth's death. This was his chance to redeem himself.

They had been following the scurvy blacksmith's tracks for a long time now - Governor Swann had lost count of the hours. All he knew was that they were catching up, on horseback as they were. They couldn't be more than a few hours behind Turner and Sparrow.

And when they caught up - Governor Swann thought of nothing else. It was the only thing that had kept him going this loing. He repeated it over in his head over and over, a mantra of hatred: I'll kill him myself, I'll kill him myself. When they finally caught up with his daughter's killers - there would be no mercy. He would kill William Turner himself