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Chapter I - Escaping

I was 17, practically a kid. Before the days of the infamous, but battle-smart Carlos Clemente, I was a Spanish privateer. We were looking for any French or British enemy we could see, but what we saw what much more hostile. A monster, -nay, a demon- of skeletal structure demolished our ship in only minimal cannonfire using his giant ship. Hell, this ship could easily out-size the largest British naval ship in their whole fleet, and sink it. This demon called himself Jolly Roger, and he stood at roughly 7 feet. Like Davy Jones, he was considered a myth for years, but he certainly showed his reality in my eyes.

In a flash, he killed my father before my own eyes, as well as the rest of the crew. I was on the ground wielding a sword that I inherited from my father recently. As Jolly Roger approached me, I began to frantically wave the sword towards him.

"A little fight in ye, boy." The creature remarked, "Welcome to the crew!" He held out his arm and strangled me. I began to lose feel of my body, but before he could "kill" me, I slashed his left wrist clean off with the blade and pulled out two pistols and opened fire at two of his skeleton crewmates who dropped dead (again). Once Jolly Roger got up, two of his crewmates were dead on the ground and I was 20 yards out of the water. While I was swimming quickly and frantically away, a lime green light shined on me. I rubbed my eyes, but once I opened them, all I saw was a glowing blue cannonshot heading straight for my head.

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