The dank smell of the ocean rolled off the water where the Vieja de la Muerte was docked at. The captain of the Spanish ship was leaning against the mast, staring down at the deck. His red eyes were narrowed and his fingers were wrapped loosely around the neck of a rum bottle. A few mouthfuls remained in it and the captain brought it up to his face, peering into the opening of it. He tossed it back, swallowing the remaining amber liquid.

Amber, like his old lover's eyes were.

He spat the rum out and chucked the bottle across the deck. It smashed into thousands of shards and the pirate choked back a cry of anguish. He gripped at his chest, sinking down onto his bottom. His head was spinning and he couldn't breathe. His chest heaved for air while he clawed his jacket open. He knew that he couldn't breathe in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. Tears made him feel weak. His crew needed a strong leader and one that cried over the loss of some blond idiot wouldn't do.

He finally caught his breath after removing his coat and shirt. He let out a wheezing laugh, gripping his sides as he did. He was such an idiot, letting some blond pansy ruin his life. That same blond pansy who was now in cahoots with some dumb English commodore, working as his own personal slave. His head tipped back against the mast, red eyes now staring up at the night sky. It was dotted with thousands of stars and a few clouds roamed above. He shut his eyes and drifted off to sleep, head still tipped back against the mast of his ship.

When Caliborn's eyes fluttered open, he was no longer resting against the mast of the Vieja but was standing in the middle of another ship. It was a tattered and beat up ship with some barnacles growing on it as though it had been at the bottom of the ocean for some time. The sails were tattered and torn and were a dark indigo color. Some of the floor boards were broken and the Spaniard stepped around them warily as he walked towards the wheel. The ship was empty but it was in the middle of a clear blue ocean. He hummed softly and reached down for his holster, only to find it missing from his waist. He patted his person for it and came up empty. The man frowned and trudged up the stairs to the wheel, skimming his fingers over the handles. His nails tapped against the wood and he sighed loudly.

Where the hell was the crew?

He was about to turn away from the wheel and head back down the steps when movement in his peripheral made him snap his head to the side. His eyes narrowed and he lifted his mask over his mouth as a rotting stench filled the air. His nose crinkled beneath it and he adjusted it to fit better. Another flash and whipped his body around, coming face to face with death incarnate, The Grand Highblood.

He stumbled back, falling down onto his ass as he did so. His mouth went dry and his fingers fumbled for the gun that he knew he didn't have. He scooted away from the old pirate until his back was pressed up against the side of the ship.

The Highblood only grinned and stepped forward, his hand shooting out and pulling Caliborn back up. "So you're the son of Lord English, hmm? Would've thought you'd be bigger," He grinned, the paint that was dried and cracked on his face, separating it even more with how large it was, "or at least, a little more intimidating." His voice was loud and booming, but it sent a chill down Caliborn's spine. The pirate's smile fell and some of the dried paint flaked off. "Do ye know who I am?"

Caliborn nodded fervently. Of course he knew who this man was. He wasn't stupid. He'd spend almost his entire life on the sea or in rinky-dink villages that were filled with sea-faring lore.

"Ye will speak when spoken to," he hissed, yanking down Caliborn's mask. His foul stench invaded his nose and he had to will himself not pass out or throw up.

"Y-you are the Grand Highblood, the man who ferries those who die at sea to the afterlife,"Caliborn said, voice shaky. He was scared. Any rational sea-faring man would be. He swallowed again and continued, "But you have to be a good and righteous man in order to escape working on your ship. After you have served penance, you are taken to your afterlife."

"Aye," The Highblood agreed and moved his head side to side, his neck popping, "and you, boy, are no righteous man. Yer time is up."

"My time is up," Caliborn repeated, "What the hell does that mean?"

The older pirate rolled his indigo eyes, "Yer time on the waters in yer own ship is over. Yer done, Caliborn. There will be no more Vieja de le Muerte, no more love affairs with women and men alike."

The red eyed male swallowed thickly. He was going to die. Whether it would be right now or when he wakes up on his ship, he was going to be slain by the Highblood's pet. "Y-you can't kill me. I haven't finished what I set out to do. I have people to see! I have a sister to take care of on the mainland!"

"Ye have no sister to take care af, ye killed her," The man taunted him, grinning once more. His teeth were yellowed and some were covered in silver and gold caps. He cringed at the sight, knowing that his teeth didn't look much better but were at least missing the yellowed bit.

"You can't kill me, I don't deserve to die,"Caliborn said, his voice weak.

The Highblood sneered and then sighed, his grip on Caliborn's collar loosening. He tossed him down and the raven haired pirate grunted when his ass hit the wood panels. The taller pirate took the wheel, guiding the ship through the waters, eyes half-lidded. The sky rumbled above them and Caliborn got to his feet, his knees knocking together.

"Where are we going?" He asked, catching the other man's eyes.

"Relax," The Highblood snorted and the ship stilled. Red orbs shifted away from the man's face and Caliborn looked out at the sea. A lone ship sailed parallel to them, its rich purple sails billowing in wind that wasn't there. The clouds that haunted the Highblood's ship rumbled again and the ship parallel to theirs was engulfed in sun. The large swirled letters on the side were chipped and though it was a once proud vessel, it looked beat up and old.

"Dirk…" whispered Caliborn, eyes softening and he squatted down so that he couldn't see the prince's ship.

"Ye know what I want, Caliborn," replied the Highblood, moving away from the wheel.

He nodded, dropping his head into his knees. The Highblood wanted Dirk, his innocent prince. He let out a shaky breath and lifted his head back up. Was he willing to trade Dirk for his life? Yes. He didn't want too but no one needed Dirk. No one except him and he had lived the past year without him. He was strong enough to live the rest of his life without him.

The Highblood clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he waited for Caliborn to make his decision. He plucked one of his rings off his fingers and rubbed the dirt and paint from it. Caliborn stood and faced him, holding his hand out.

"I'll give Dirk Strider to you," He started and then dropped his gaze down, biting his lip. He closed his hand and then reopened his several times, stomping his foot against the deck in attempt to hold back what he knew were tears. No crying, he reminded himself and then looked back up. "I'll give you Dirk Strider in exchange for my life and freedom from aboard your ship."

The Highblood slid the ring onto Caliborn's index finger and grinned, "Ye've got yerself a deal. But," He gripped his wrist tight, lifting it above his head. Caliborn let out a sharp gasp of pain as the skin where the Highblood held burned in his grasp. He let go and Caliborn blanched at the sight of the burned and bubbling flesh of his wrist. "If ye fail ta give me Dirk Strider by the time he is twenty four then the deal is off."

Caliborn nodded hurriedly, eyes still in shock. The Highblood smirked and pushed Caliborn over the edge of the ship. He plummeted into the water below, clutching his wrist to his chest. His wrist burned when the salt water touched it and he fought his way back to the surface.

He woke with a gasp, forehead covered in beads of sweat. He took in his surroundings and frowned when he realized he was in his cabin. The crew must've brought him back here when they returned from scavenging the island. Trace was probably the one who had brought him back to his cabin. He sighed and rubbed at his face, pushing his black hair from his face. He looked down at his hand and wrist that the Highblood had held. The burn was there and the ring glistened on his finger. He took it off and brought it closer, squinting into the purple gem. There was something written in it and he got up, walking over to his desk. He lit the candles on it and held the ring near the flame

150

The gem glistened and Caliborn dropped it onto the desk. He gripped the chair and then sank down into it, staring at the candles burning on the desk. His wrist ached and he grabbed an old kerchief from a drawer in the desk, wrapping it carefully around the burn. After he finished dressing the burn, he picked the ring back up and shoved it onto his finger. He had one hundred and fifty days left. One hundred and fifty days until he had to deliver Dirk Strider to the Grand Highblood.

Caliborn drummed his fingers against his lips and stood up, throwing his coat on and adjusting his mask over his mouth. He could do it. He could kill Dirk Strider. No matter how much pain it would cause him to kill the man he loved, he wouldn't back out of a chance to save his own life.

He was a pirate after all. And a damn good one at that.