A/N: I am on fire! Two Chapters in the same week! New Speed Record!

This was a chapter I knew I'd have to fit in somewhere because this event had to happen. The universe would never forgive me if it didn't. I apologize for any grammar or spelling errors (the spell check and proofreader aren't perfect, and I screw up when I write a lot. Sorry again! :P )

The Mad King was in a very bad mood. Then again, he'd been increasingly sour since the raid on Tergaron, so his irritation was perfectly expected. Or it would be to any other group. The Pirates idiocy was truly fascinating at times. At the moment, it only fueled Gangrel's barely constrained rage.

"Maggot! What are ye doing? Get back to work!"

If one more of those dastards talks to me again, Gangrel thought furiously, someone is going to die tonight. Or, better yet, right now.

The main deck was overcrowded with Pirates as the red-haired man attempted to swab the deck unsuccessfully. The crew ignored him as he worked around them, trading boasts and jeers back and forth. Not being noticed was perhaps the best thing that could happen on the ship, and Gangrel was pleased that it had occurred when he needed it most; Zanth had made it clear that any more blood drawn would result in harsh punishment, and blood was exactly what Gangrel wanted every time a command or insult came his way.

Finally finished-no thanks to the morons on deck-Gangrel put away the mop and bucket in the supplies closet and rotated his stiff shoulders and neck. He cracked his knuckles and leaned against the mast for a moment of relaxation, crossing his arms and closing his eyes.

"Maggot!"

Gangrel opened one eye to glare at the Pirate who addressed him-a thug by the name of Hains. Hains threw a mound of cloth at the servant, who caught it easily.

"Those sails need mendin'," Hains growled. Gangrel wadded up the white fabric into a ball and threw it back. The crumpled sails unfolded and floated down to the deck as the crew turned to watch the exchange, interested by the Maggot's unusual stubbornness.

"Do it yourself," Gangrel snapped back. Hains face turned crimson with rage.

"Are ye askin' for a beating?" the shorter, broader man demanded to know. Gangrel rolled his eyes and straightened up, watching the crew as they closed in.

"What do you think, dastard? Oh wait, you can't think. Not enough brainpower."

The words felt so good to say. Almost like the weight of those words had lifted from Gangrel as he threw them at the target of his choice. The familiarity of the situation did not bother him in the slightest, nor did the imminent danger posed before him.

Hains, despite being backed by the entire crew, was unsure whether or not to administer punishment. In the Pirate hierarchy, he was far from the most influential or respected. The Maggot was most certainly his inferior, but even so, it was not his place to discipline others. And atop his doubts was an unexpected fear of the taller, leaner man: never before had those eyes ever held such ferocity and malice. They were the eyes of a madman.

Unwilling to be made a fool before every occupant of the ship, Hains stepped forward and attempted to give the stubborn rebel a slap. His palm never made contact: with a motion fast as a snake's strike, Gangrel caught Hain's wrist and bent it back. A smile touched his lips as the pirate gasped in surprise and pain. With just the slightest added pressure, the sound of the bone breaking resonated in the stunned silence.

"Does that hurt?" Gangrel sneered, his grin widening into a smirk. "Perhaps you should run home to your mother and cry. If the hag will even take you back, you craven #$!%#$%#."

The whole crew shifted as one into aggressive stances. Gangrel had crossed the invisible line: he had not only mentioned, but insulted a crewmate's mother. Nothing could save the Mad King from a beating now. Unknown to them, Gangrel wanted a good brawl.

Trying to rush him, the ruffians only got in their own way, inciting more fistfights. As the men tried to reach Gangrel, he laughed mockingly, only to be broken off by a blow landing on his jaw.

"Congratulations, filth," the angered trickster spat, his gleeful expression vanishing, replaced by a vicious snarl. "You've just put yourself on my hitlist. Get ready to die in agony."

Throwing himself into the chaos, Gangrel became a whirling demon, breaking bones, sending men keeling over from pain. Among the shouts of alarm and rage, a mad cackle flew from the center of violence, sending chills down the back of anyone who listened.

"Wha' is this?!" came the thundering bellow of the Captain. "Break off ye dogs, or I'll have yer heads!"

The fight broke apart, leaving Gangrel standing on the open as he broke Hains jaw, knocking the man unconscious. Zanth's face darkened as he saw this and demanded to know what had happened.

"The Maggot started it, Cap'n!" one of the Pirates called. "Didn' obey orders and hurt Hains over there!"

Zanth glared at Gangrel, who did not flinch away. The Captain stalked over to him, seizing him by the collar.

"Do ye know how much insubordination this warrants? More'n yer life's worth, dog. Learn yer place already, das't it!"

Gangrel twisted free of Zanth's grip and spat at the Pirate's feet. Zanth did not take kindly to the gesture.

"String 'im up boys!" Zanth cried. "This one deserves a whippin'!"

The crew cheered, converging on the condemned man, who put up quite the fight. Yet despite his strength and skills, Gangrel could not stand the overwhelming numbers turned against him. Tied to the mast, his shirt torn off, the Mad King was rendered completely defenseless. Zanth took the lash in his hands, enjoying the feeling of power punishment in his hands.

The whip whistled through the air and landed on Gangrel's exposed back.

The pain wasn't the worse he'd ever felt, but the red-haired man still grunted under the impact. The line of pain burned across his back, stinging in the salty air. Again and again, the lash fell on him, each blow worse than the last.

Unwilling to let the dastard know that he felt anything, he shouted fierce oaths at them. Zanth continued to hit him, but the expletives kept coming. Finally, the brigand leader could take no more insults.

"Get the cat o' nine!" he barked. A crew member ran off to fetch it, and Gangrel twisted as best he could to see what this new disciplinary tool would be. When it was revealed, however, he recognized it instantly.

It was much shorter than the traditional whip, but had a much thicker handle to support the nine knotted tails that waved in the wind. The most dangerous feature of the lash was the least obvious: shards of glass and metal scraps that poked through each knot. The pirates might call it a cat o' nine, but Gangrel had another name for it: a scourge. Not a tool for punishment, but an instrument for torture.

The lash of the scourge made Gangrel want to scream aloud. Yet he locked his jaws and refused to make a sound. As the blows rained on his body, the Mad King shook from the effort of not crying out. It was a gods-given mercy when he fell unconscious.

His back ached when he woke up. He couldn't even feel the original lash marks due to the pain each of the scourge's stripes. He could count each of the hundred thirty-five welts that ran across his back. Gangrel opened his eyes and found himself in the med cabin, a balmwood staff leaned against the wall-a clear order for him to heal himself and get back to work.

The beating would have broken any other man, but not Gangrel: he was angrier than before. He wanted each and every miserable lowlife on this das't ship to suffer with him. Nothing else mattered but recompense for this blazing agony.

A storm of bitterness swirled in Gangrel's heart as he stood and leaned against the wooden walls. Yes, there would be a reckoning. But not yet.

The Mad King knew how perfectly to get his revenge. The same way he always did: a slow breakdown of the mind. Cutting off everything meaningful until there was nothing left than a husk.

The payback would be so sweet.