The captain and the remnants of his crew trudged back to the village, now a smoldering ruin. The once bustling settlement lay crushed and charred, the air thick with the acrid stench of burnt wood and flesh. Shadows danced eerily across the rubble in the flickering light of dying fires.
As they reached the shore, a cold dread gripped the captain's heart. Where their mighty ship once anchored proudly, there was now only the dark, restless sea. His eyes widened in fury and disbelief.
"What in the...?" he roared, his voice echoing across the desolate beach. "Where's the blasted ship?"
His crewmates, equally confounded, exchanged nervous glances. "It was here, Cap'n, swear it on me mother's grave," one of them stammered, his eyes darting to the empty horizon.
Unbeknownst to them, Clawman had undergone a monstrous transformation some time before. The terror-stricken crew he led, driven by fear and the primal urge to survive, had fled in panic. They had scrambled aboard the ship, their hearts pounding with adrenaline, and with the wind at their backs, had miraculously managed to set sail.
For a vessel of that size, it normally required a well-coordinated effort of many more hands to get underway. But in their frantic desperation, aided by favorable winds and sheer panic, they had somehow coaxed the ship into leaving the cursed shore behind.
The captain's anger turned to a dark, simmering rage. His eyes burned with a vengeful light as he clenched his fists. "Those treacherous dogs," he muttered, barely containing his fury.
The eerie silence of the ravaged village was broken only by the distant crash of waves and the haunting howls from deep within the forest.
"We find another ship," he growled.
...
The civilian group led by Claus navigated through the dense underbrush near the front part of the island. The air carried a peculiar, acrid scent that grew stronger with each step, a haunting reminder of their burned village. Claus's heart sank, recognizing the unmistakable odor of charred wood and flesh. He knew what it meant.
Without hesitation, Claus changed their course, guiding his group toward the side of the forest. He anticipated that the pirates would enter through the forest's center, a strategic decision that could allow his group to flank the village from the sides and launch a surprise attack on the ship. He reasoned that the ship, if guarded at all, would have only a few men stationed.
As they moved through the forest, the tension among the civilians was palpable. Some whispered in panicked tones, while others wept quietly for lost loved ones. Vanella, with a calming presence, tended to the distraught, urging them to find refuge among the thick bushes and behind sturdy trees.
Gradually, the forest's natural sounds resumed. The chirping of crickets and distant calls of night birds filled the air, a temporary lull before the storm. They waited, every sense on edge, eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of the approaching pirates.
Soon, faint torchlight flickered in the distance, bobbing through the trees. Claus's heart pounded as he counted five pirates. 'Only five?' he thought, 'Is it a smaller ship, or are the rest guarding it? No, it can't be a smaller ship. Why would the rest stay there?'
Lost in thought, Claus felt a wave of emotion overcome his logic. He hugged his wife and son tightly, tears brimming in his eyes. "I don't think I can do this. I don't know if we'll survive. I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice trembling but low enough that only they could hear.
Vanella's eyes glistened with tears, while their young son looked on, confused but sensing the gravity of the moment. Claus steeled himself, his voice firming with resolve. "Still, we're going there, even if it's a gamble. There might be more pirates than I expected." He turned to the civilians, signaling them to move. "Let's go."
They advanced cautiously, moving in small groups of five to avoid detection. Families and children went first, led by capable adults. Couples and singles followed, with Claus's family bringing up the rear. At the forest's edge, the earlier groups huddled low, some crying, others staring in disbelief at the ravaged village.
As Claus's group neared the exit, a stray pirate's shout shattered the night. "HALT THERE!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the stillness.
Claus shoved his wife forward. "GO!" he cried. Vanella scooped up their son and bolted, collapsing just outside the forest's edge. Claus turned to face the pirate, gripping the largest stick he could find, ready to defend himself.
The pirate, his face lit by the flickering torchlight, grinned menacingly. "I won't kill you," he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "I just want to have a talk with you." He drew his flintlock pistol, the metal gleaming ominously.
Claus's fear transformed into raw determination. With a fierce cry, he charged at the pirate, swinging the stick with all his might.
BAM!
A bullet struck Claus's chest, and he collapsed onto the dirt, blood pooling beneath him to create a muddy crimson stain.
The civilians, galvanized by the gunshot's echo like a rallying bell, charged into the forest. They swarmed the pirate, attacking with fists, rocks, seashells, and whatever they could find. The pirate had no chance to react.
In a frenzy of desperate fury, they reduced him to an unrecognizable mass of butchered flesh, his face dented and slashed, chunks of skin and muscle torn away. Such was the power of a dozen people united in a single, brutal purpose.
"Claus..." Vanella's voice broke the gruesome silence. She was on her knees, holding their son's hand, her body hunched protectively over Claus's prone form. Her eyes met his, filled with tears.
...
"Oi, did ye hear somethin'?" a pirate muttered, peering into the darkness.
"Aye, Vike, it was that damned drunkard Flink. Ye reckon he's in some sort of trouble?" Waled replied, scratching his beard.
"Nay, Waled, we made sure to kill everyone on the ship and burn it down with 'em aboard. There be no survivors. No civilians left, neither," Vike assured him with a grim smile.
"Should we check it out, just in case?" Waled suggested, his eyes narrowing.
"Aye, let's have a look."
The five pirates on lookout crept back, only to discover a large group of bloodied civilians armed with sticks, shells, and rocks.
The pirates exchanged glances and crouched lower in the bushes, carefully taking aim at the group. Each pirate had only one bullet, so they chose their targets wisely and fired simultaneously.
All five bullets found their marks, striking five different civilians. One of them was Vanella, who was shot straight in the head. The fatal shots dropped them like flies.
Before the rest of the group could process what had happened, two pirates emerged from the bushes, their cutlasses gleaming in the moonlight.
"If ye run, ye die. Halt where ye stand," they growled, while the other pirates reloaded their flintlock pistols.
"MOTHER!" Iva screamed, followed by the heart-wrenching cries of children mourning their fallen guardians.
"What d'ye think about sparin' the young'uns? They might make fine fodder for our Lord," one pirate suggested with a wicked grin.
"Aye," the other agreed, nodding grimly.