The furious Gale force winds, akin to an enraged bullwhip, lashed against Captain Aaron Wright's face, inflicting retribution for daring to venture into the forbidden waters of the South China Sea. The tempest materialized suddenly, without warning, as if lying in wait for the HMS Waterwitch and her intrepid crew.
Thus far, the vessel had withstood the onslaught admirably. A stalwart 6-masted barque, fashioned from weathered timbers and the most exquisite materials. She stood as the black diamond among her fleet, her complement of 41 sailors that departed from the Port of Blackpool over a year ago, now reduced to a mere 23 due to afflictions such as disease, scurvy, and the tragic loss of a crewman who succumbed to delusion and threw himself overboard. The provisions at the commencement of their voyage were meager, and the Waterwitch's hull could not endure for much longer.
However, Captain Wright, a rugged yet youthful English seafarer of moderate stature, standing at approximately five-foot nine inches with piercing blue eyes, shoulder-length golden tresses, and a remarkably clean-shaven visage, refused to abandon his ship or the remaining members of his crew. Taking the initiative, he securely fastened himself to the helm, braving the elements while commanding all but two of his men to seek refuge below deck. Amongst these crewmates summoned to remain was Third Mate Alexander Farrar, a tall and agile seahand from Liverpool of Italian lineage, sporting a scraggly beard and a luxuriant mop of jet-black hair. He displayed both courage and imprudence as he ascended through the uppermost rigging, settling within the crow's nest and peering through his spyglass, desperately seeking any sign of land that could offer shelter.
"I can barely see my hands in front of me bloomin' face! How do you expect me to locate a patch of land?!" Farrar vociferously complained, his voice carrying above the deafening roar of the tempest as he leaned precariously over the edge of the crow's nest.
"If we desist in traversing these treacherous waters and enduring this tempest, the sea shall claim us all, and the timbers of the Waterwitch groan in protest. Japan cannot be too distant, Farrar. Continue your vigil to the east, searching for her! That is an order!" Captain Wright barked, his voice battling against the howl of the wind.
Aaron continued to fiercely maneuver the helm, twisting the wheel left and right with great urgency, fighting valiantly to prevent the ship from capsizing amidst the tumultuous waves. The intensity of the wind increased with each passing moment.
"Captain! We must descend to the lower deck immediately!" boomed Third Mate Marcus Lockwood, a towering and sturdy Welsh seaman, possessing broad shoulders, a protruding brow, a rounded countenance, a shaggy mane of brown hair, a full beard akin to his shipmates, and a voice reminiscent of a Shakespearean actor.
"Then proceed below and offer your prayers to Christ Jesus. You have already done more than enough for the Waterwitch... there is naught else to be done!" Aaron declared firmly.
The creaking of the vessel's timbers grew more pervasive, as if the ship herself teetered on the precipice of surrender, poised to deliver her crew unto the depths of the abyss.
"Farrar! Descend and join us below! Prepare the lifeboats!" Aaron commanded, as his shiphand embarked upon his treacherous descent from the crow's nest.
"And what of you?!" Lockwood inquired with concern.
"The Waterwitch is my responsibility, bestowed upon me by her majesty. I am bound by strict orders to remain with her should she succumb to the depths. Ensure as many of our comrades as possible find safety in the dinghies. Save yourselves! I shall remain tethered to this helm!" Captain Wright asserted resolutely.
Lockwood placed his hand firmly upon Campbell's shoulder, a gesture of solidarity and reassurance in the midst of the torrential winds and relentless downpour. He leaned in closely to Aaron's ear.
"Convey my kindest regards to Davey Jones for me" Marcus thundered. "I shall tug upon his beard on your behalf." Aaron replied.
In that very moment, the sky above the ship commenced a rapid whirl, resembling a tempest in itself, while lightning bolts zigzagged across the storm's eye, striking the masts of the Waterwitch with the wrath of some enraged deity.
"Good Heavens!" Lockwood cried out, beholding the supernatural spectacle unfolding in the heavens above.
Ultimately, the vessel began to disintegrate as it was mercilessly spun within the current. Timbers tore away from the hull and skeletal frame of the Waterwitch. Crewmember emerged from the cabin like scared rats, frenziedly attempting to secure themselves a seat on the lifeboat amidst the chaos and pandemonium.
Captain Wright, in a fevered state, endeavored to free himself from the helm... but it was too late. A massive fragment from one of the masts struck him squarely upon the head.
His vision instantly turned into an expanse of pure white.
-MK-
As consciousness gradually returned, I found myself enveloped in a haze of disorientation. A sharp and forceful prod jabbed at my ribcage, causing discomfort to surge through my body. The ringing in my ears persisted, drowning out the muffled voices that surrounded me. I strained to make sense of the situation, my vision slowly clearing.
I heard a voice nearby exclaim, "This one is still breathing!"
Footsteps approached, their rhythm distinct in the sand, drawing closer to where I lay. My feeble attempts to move were met with futility, as if my limbs were weighed down by an invisible force. I squinted through the haze, my eyes focusing on a figure that materialized before me.
"Make way, private," commanded an authoritative and gravelly voice, carrying an unsettling air of otherworldly presence.
My gaze met the being standing before me, and I recoiled in both fear and disbelief. This figure surpassed the bounds of human form, surpassing even the robustness of Lockwood. Glowing red eyes peered at me from behind a half-mask of steel, while a pair of formidable horns protruded from the being's head. His skin appeared as if it were crafted from the scales of a dragon, exuding an aura of malevolence. The realization struck me with a force akin to a physical blow—Satan himself stood before me. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes as I instinctively looked up to the sky, seeking solace and divine intervention.
"Dear Lord, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, what have I done to find myself in this accursed place?" I pleaded, my voice trembling with a mix of desperation and resignation.
"Silence, interloper!" thundered the demonic being, his voice reverberating through the air as he forcefully rested the head of his colossal battle axe against my stomach, cutting off both my voice and my breath.
Another figure emerged from the corner of my vision, approaching from behind the devil man. This individual possessed a sturdy build, his steely grey eyes piercing through the darkness of his war paint. The sides of his head were shaved to the stubble.
"General Shao, what shall we do with these... visitors?" inquired the soldier, who was clearly of notable rank.
"They shall be presented before Emperor Jerrod and Empress Sindel. Answers will be demanded of our unexpected guests, and they will give up those answers, one way or another." General Shao responded, his voice carrying a subtle menace.
As the figures began to converge upon me, my mind raced with uncertainty and trepidation. What awaited me in the presence of the emperor and empress? How had I come to this haunting realm? Questions swirled within my consciousness, yet the answers eluded me, obscured by the veil of the unknown.