Daniel scanned the dark horizon and caught sight of the attacking vessel—black sails, grim rigging, lanterns burning low like watchful eyes.
The hull cut through the sea with unnatural steadiness, and even at a distance there was something wrong about it.
Another cannon flashed. The shot tore across the Pearl's rail.
Daniel's jaw tightened.
"Of all nights," he muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "You choose this one."
"It's time I sink that ship and give them a proper welcome," Daniel said, already moving.
He leapt from the rail just as another cannon roared. The iron ball meant for the Black Pearl shuddered mid-air, froze as if it had struck an invisible wall, then dropped uselessly into the sea. Daniel crossed the distance in a single arc and landed hard on the enemy deck, boots cracking wood.
The crew stared at him.
They weren't ordinary sailors. They were too tall, too gaunt, faces stretched tight over bone, eyes dull and unnatural. Voodoo work. Blackbeard's mark was all over them.
Daniel looked them over with open disdain.
"You know," he said calmly, "you look ugly as hell. You'd give children nightmares."
The men didn't answer. They drew their blades in unison and rushed him without hesitation, steel flashing under torchlight.
Daniel exhaled once.
"You lot picked the wrong ship to shoot at."
The first sword came down. He caught it bare-handed. The metal blackened under his grip, corroding as if centuries passed in a heartbeat. He shoved the man back, and dark cracks spread across the sailor's skin like splitting porcelain.
Two more lunged from the sides. Daniel stepped forward instead of back, a black arc flashing as a blade formed in his hand. He cut once—clean, precise. The impact sent them flying across the deck, smashing through railings.
More came.
He didn't slow down.
One glance at the grotesque crew—men who looked half-rotted and dragged straight from the grave—was enough to tell him whose ship this was. Blackbeard's.
He had originally had no intention of interfering. But since the fool had chosen to attack, he would simply sink the ship… and then go back to sleep.
The deck began to rot under his presence, black frost spreading outward as the voodoo-twisted crew closed in.
Within minutes, the enemy ship was finished.
The unnatural crew had fallen one by one, their voodoo-bound bodies collapsing as the deck split beneath them.
Darkness crawled through the hull like rot in old timber, and the vessel groaned as if it finally understood it had picked the wrong fight. Water rushed in through widening cracks. Lanterns flickered, then died.
Daniel stepped off the sinking deck just before the mast snapped in two. He landed lightly on the Black Pearl's rail as the enemy ship gave a final shudder and slipped beneath the surface, swallowed whole by the night sea.
The Pearl's crew stared at the empty water.
A few exchanged looks. A few quietly decided they would never, under any circumstance, anger the man in pajamas again.
"Whose ship was that?" Jack asked, strolling up as if he'd merely stepped out for fresh air. He rubbed one eye and peered at the calm sea where wreckage still bobbed.
Daniel brushed seawater from his sleeve. "No one important. Just Blackbeard. I sank him along with his ship. It was a special vessel, admittedly… but not special enough."
Jack blinked.
"Blackbeard?"
Jack had to admit, Blackbeard's luck was spectacularly poor. Firing at the Black Pearl in the middle of the night while Daniel was aboard was practically a death wish.
Daniel, however, said nothing further once he returned. He pushed open his cabin door and stepped inside as if he had merely dealt with an inconvenience rather than sunk one of the most feared pirates on the seas.
As he lay back down, one thought crossed his mind.
He hadn't seen Angelica among Blackbeard's crew.
It seemed she hadn't been serving as Blackbeard's first mate this time.
Daniel exhaled softly.
That was… unfortunate.
It would have been far more interesting if she had been there.
***
The next day, the Black Pearl reached Whitecap Bay.
Even though it was past noon, there was no sign of the sun. The entire island lay buried under a heavy shroud of fog, and the sea around it moved in slow, unnatural swells. The light felt dim, as if evening had arrived hours too early.
The masts creaked softly, and even the crew's usual chatter had dulled to uneasy whispers.
Gibbs stared at the shoreline, where jagged rocks rose like broken teeth through the mist. "This is really a creepy place," he muttered. "Middle of the day and it looks like midnight."
Jack leaned against the rail, squinting into the haze with theatrical seriousness. "Yes," he said gravely. "Perfect place for mermaids to hunt down innocent sailors."
Daniel glanced around the deck, eyeing the scarred faces, missing teeth, and questionable hygiene of the crew. "I don't see any innocent sailors," he replied dryly. "All I see are unwashed pirates."
A few crew members shifted awkwardly, suddenly very interested in the condition of their boots.
"Captain, we should leave this place and anchor somewhere less… unsettling," Gibbs urged, keeping his voice low as if the fog itself might overhear him.
"I agree with that," Jack replied immediately, nodding with unusual speed. "Retreat is often the better part of surviving to drink another day."
He turned toward the crew and snapped into command with theatrical urgency. "Open the sails. Change direction. We'll dock at the back of the island. If there are mermaids, they can admire us from a respectful distance."
The men moved quickly, eager for anything that felt like action. Ropes were hauled, sails adjusted, and the Black Pearl began to pivot slowly through the mist.
Daniel, however, stepped closer to the rail instead of away from it. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on the dark water below.
He had half hoped to catch a glimpse of mermaids—purely for aesthetic appreciation, of course—but it seemed luck was not on his side tonight.
*****
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