This is a short (-ish, it's 5.8k words) piece I did for a Creative Writing class at school. Read and enjoy.

Bonus points if you spot the obscure reference to an Xbox game and the not-so-obscure GBA one.

The Heart of a Pirate

A Short Story by Exspherius

A storm was coming to Hordan.

All the old salts had talked of it for days now, an aching in their bones and the stumps of their peg-legs that signaled the most violent weather seen in years. Merchant ships took extra care to secure their precious cargoes, and even the dock warehouses were locking down in preparation, in case the ominous warnings should prove true.

For now, though, there was no sign of anything amiss.

Today, the skies above the busy city were clear, and the sun shined bright and warm down upon the townsfolk as they hurried here and there through the streets. Gentle sea breezes, cool and salty-smelling, blew along the ramparts of the Barrier Wall, the great stone bulwark that protected Hordan. Down along the docks, tall ships of the trade companies rocked gently in their berths as stout, sunburned deckhands carried crates of cargo on and off. Guards patrolled the Barrier Wall, ever vigilant against the omnipresent threat of pirates.

In one of several towers that dotted the Wall, a sandy-haired young man leaned on the window-ledge, staring wistfully across the harbor below. He rested his hands on his arms and pushed up the silver-trimmed blue sleeves of his guardsman’s tunic. An expression of longing filled his eyes as he gazed down to the regal ships that passed below his tower on their way out to sea. ‘One day…’ he thought, ‘One day, I’ll be free to join them and sail away from this dull old town…’

“Isaac! Where are you?” The youth, Isaac, sighed as his brother’s voice dragged him back to the guardhouse. “Isaac! Your shift is up in three minutes! I’m not covering your butt for Father again, get moving!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” He shouted as he pushed back from the window and dashed down the stairs. His feet pounded down the wooden stairway to the bottom door, which his brother Caleb was leaning against, Isaac’s sword in his hand and a smirk on his face.

“Don’t be late, little bro,” Caleb smiled as he tossed Isaac the sheathed blade. Isaac grumbled his thanks and slung the strap over his shoulder. The sword was a comforting weight on his back and it thumped him quietly on the hip with each stride he took towards the Watch Office.

He ran along the cobblestone streets, dodging nimbly around the townsfolk with a skill that came from long practice. It was not Isaac’s first time daydreaming a tad too long up in the watchtower. He reached the Watch Office in two minutes, passing through the thick stone-and-wood walls that ensured the brains behind Hordan’s defense would be well protected in an attack. Isaac paused a second to compose himself and catch his breath, then stepped through the door and snapped to attention exactly as the hourglass in his father’s hand ran out.

“2nd Lt. Isaac J. Salvori, reporting in and ready for duty, sir!’ he stared directly into his father’s eyes and was relieved to see that the older man was smiling. “Hello, Father,” he grinned.

“At ease, son,” Major Salvori turned the hourglass over and over in his hands. “Exactly on time, as usual.” His usual smile crinkled the corners of his mouth. A long-serving member of the Watch, the Major was a powerful man who cared deeply for Hordan and its people. Isaac was proud, as always, to be able to call him ‘Father’.

“You can thank Caleb for that, Father. And if you’ll excuse me, sir, I need to go relieve Owen.” With a second salute, he ducked out of the Office and climbed the main stair to the top of the Wall. He strode along the ramparts, looking down at the roofs of the houses of Hordan, houses that depended on people like him for protection from pirates. Isaac’s fist clenched at his side as he thought the word. ‘Pirates,’ he scoffed, ‘I wish the Empire’d let us be harsher on the bastards. The scum of the Earth, they are, and swift death to the lot of them!’

With a shake of his head to clear it of such thoughts, he stopped walking as he reached his post. After a tap on the shoulder to let the man know he was relieved, Isaac took his position atop the Wall. The sea breeze gusted again, and Isaac breathed deeply of the salty scent. It was calming, and everything around him seemed as it should be. He scanned the horizon and noticed a column of thick, black clouds off in the distance. He wondered idly if they were the beginnings of the storm that his father had said was getting everyone so worked up.

Directly below him, he noticed a cannon barrel poking snub-nosed from the stonework. ‘That’s weird; they normally keep the guns inside. Maybe something is going on after all...’ He gave the storm clouds another glance. ‘Humph. Probably just a whole bunch of rain, wind and superstition.’ Nevertheless, he kept a wary eye on the storm the rest of his shift, growing progressively more anxious as the sea breeze pushed it inexorably closer to Hordan.

The storm struck that evening.

Just as the old salts predicted, it was the worst they’d seen in years. As the sun sank lower, the clouds swelled over the city, turning the world prematurely dark. The twilight rays stained the black thunderheads a bloody red, and people scrambled to lock up their houses before the rains struck. And strike they did. Water fell in endless sheets, splattering off tiled roofs and stone streets with a din that drowned out all other sounds. All sounds except the thunder, whose resounding booms seemed to shatter the very air. Lightning, forked and jagged like the devil’s tail, lit up the dark streets like day before plunging into darkness deeper than the ocean floor. The wind howled like a wild beast, tearing at the shutters of houses, ripping sails loose from the moored ships, and scattering anything not tied down. Even the steadfast Hordan Watch had taken cover, huddling in the guardhouses and towers, waiting out the storm.

And then the pirates came.

They stole in amidst the chaos, and no one noticed until it was far too late. The boom of cannons firing into docked ships was indistinguishable from the thunder, and the explosions lost in the lightning. The sound of rain covered the tramping of hobnailed boots on the cobblestones. Only when doors were kicked in and frightened townsfolk were suddenly confronted by leering, dripping, heartless faces did anyone know anything was amiss.

Isaac was shaken roughly awake, and his first thought was surprise that he had been able to fall asleep. Then he noticed the look on Caleb’s face: an unfamiliar mix of confusion, fear, and rage.

“Caleb?” he was immediately wide awake, “What’s going on?” He knew, just by the sight of his brother’s face, that something was horribly wrong.

“Pirates.” Caleb spat the single word, and his voice was blacker than Isaac had ever heard it. “Grab your sword, we’re going. Father’s already out there!”

Isaac nodded and leapt from the bed. It took him only seconds to don his boots and cloak. His sheath went over his shoulder, but the longsword was gripped tightly in his fist as he followed Caleb to the door. He gripped his sibling’s shoulder tightly. “Let’s go.” He said, trying for bravado that he didn’t quite feel. Caleb smirked knowingly.

“Don’t worry, little brother. Neither of us is going to die today.” Caleb slapped him on the back and yanked the door open. Immediately they were staggered by the force of the wind, which nearly sent them sprawling. The pair braced each other, and headed out along the rain-slick streets.

What they saw was total chaos. The Watch, caught unawares by the pirate’s sudden assault, scrambled to put together a defense. Cannonfire boomed from the Wall’s guns, shooting down into the bay as return fire hammered on the fortifications. Guardsmen pounded across the cobbles, yelling and shouting orders that were lost to the confusion. The pirates moved through it all unhindered, laughing raucously as they laid into the panicked guards.

All throughout the city, the pirates wreaked havoc on Hordan. Doors were kicked in, homes were torched, and shops looted down to the floorboards. Civilians fled their homes as pirates burst shouting through the doors and lower windows, only to be struck down by others waiting in the streets. As the brothers watched, a pair of scarred pirates threw a chest spilling pillaged objects through the bay window of a nearby house. Then, they seized an older man, the owner of the home, and heaved him out after it. His head cracked sickly on the cobbles, and one pirate leapt through the broken window and plunged his sword into the man’s chest. The prone man jerked once and was still, blood pooling beneath him. The crimson liquid washed away quickly in the rain, but suddenly Isaac was seeing nothing but red. He wanted the pirates to die, he wanted to watch as their life bleed out onto the rainy streets and kick them where they lay. Fury blinded him, and he charged. A flash of lightning blasted the square with light, and Isaac’s sword cut a gleaming arc as he slashed at the marauders.

Taken by surprise, the target of Isaac’s attack could not bring his blade around to defend. He howled in pain and rage as the young guard’s blade dug deep into his upper arm. Blood spurted from the wound, and the brigand collapsed to the ground, grasping his bicep and trying to stem the crimson flow. The second pirate was quick to react, slashing out at Isaac with a rusty cutlass. Isaac parried the blow, his arms shaking from the fierce strength behind the sword. He riposted low, aiming for the man’s thigh, but the pirate jumped back and Isaac’s blade whistled past. Suddenly off-balance, Isaac barely brought his sword back in time to stop the pirate’s deadly thrust.

He wasn’t fast enough, however, to avoid the vicious left hook that followed it. A gauntlet-covered fist plowed into Isaac’s chest, knocking him back against the wall of the looted shop. His head smacked hard on the solid oaken wall, and suddenly his vision tripled. Dazed, he watched three pirates draw back their swords to impale him. They lunged at Isaac, and he was too confused to raise a hand in his defense. Yet the pirates paused, staggering to a stop mid-swing. Then they keeled over, their bodies falling one way and their heads another. Behind them stood three Calebs, who flicked blood off their blades and helped Isaac to his feet.

“Thanks, Caleb…you saved my life,” he said, rubbing his eyes as his vision slowly returned to normal. Caleb’s rain-drenched face was tight with worry, and he glared at Isaac through a brown curtain of wet hair.

“What were you thinking, charging off like that?” He swiped wet hair out of his eyes and took a step forward. “If I hadn’t been right behind you-” A flicker of movement caught Isaac’s eye. He tried to shout a warning, but his mouth couldn’t form the words. Instead, a wordless, horror-stricken cry tore from his throat as a blade sprouted from Caleb’s neck. As blood poured from the mortal wound, Caleb made a small sound, a soft ‘Oh’ of surprise, and slumped lifeless to the cobbles. Behind him stood the pirate that Isaac had felled before, his sword arm painted crimson from the wound.

“No…NO! CALEB!!!” Isaac threw himself wildly at the pirate before him, intent on slaying the bastard, the monster, the abomination that had stolen his brother from him. But still the pirate was faster, and the pirate’s fist connected with Isaac’s temple. The last thing that Isaac saw was Caleb’s face, frozen in a mask of surprise and pain. Isaac…it called as he lost consciousness, Don’t forget me, brother...Don’t let them get away with this...and Caleb was gone forever. Isaac’s final thought before he sank entirely into blackness was an oath, sworn with every fiber of his being.

I won’t, Caleb, I swear it!

Isaac drifted awake to bright sunlight. His first thought was that he had fallen asleep in the tower again, and was now very late for his shift on the Wall. From somewhere nearby, a drop of water landed on his cheek. He brought his hand to his face to wipe it away, but he couldn’t move an inch. He tried again, and realized that he was tied up, bound with strong rope. At that moment, everything came crashing back to him.

The storm that had struck Hordan.

The attack that had accompanied it.

The fight with the pirates.

And Caleb! “Caleb!” he cried, struggling against his bonds. “Caleb! Caleb, no….no…” he could not move, and collapsed back to the rough wooden floor as tears coursed down his cheeks. For a time, he only cried, his body rocking in time with the gentle sway of the floor, and only subconsciously did he realize he was on a ship. His sobs abruptly trailed off when his vision was filled by a large black boot. Though it hurt his neck to do so, he followed the boot with his eyes until it met, unsurprisingly, a leg. He continued to twist himself sideways until he was looking into the face of a man he didn’t know.

This stranger had a scar on his face that cut across one eye, the socket covered by a black cloth that also held back dark brown hair, giving him a fierce, stern visage. But it wasn’t the man’s face that caught Isaac’s eyes. What drew his gaze immediately was the heavy golden chain around the man’s neck and the skull-and-bones insignia that dangled from it. Directly beside the insidious emblem was a ring. Heavy and ponderous-looking, it was cast from silver and engraved with two swords crossed over an anchor. The sigil of Hordan.

Isaac knew the ring well as the hand he had last seen it attached to. The hand that had raised him, trained him, and disciplined him. It was his father’s signet ring. It was also smeared with fresh blood.

Rage erupted in Isaac, a ferocity the youth had never known before. He strained furiously against his bonds, and suddenly the ropes snapped. Isaac instantly drew the knife he kept in his sleeve and threw himself toward the pirate. He sliced viciously at the man’s throat, but his swing was never completed. The pirate captain brought up his knee, slamming Isaac in the gut. At the same time, his hand shot out and twisted his wrist, forcing Isaac to drop the knife. The pirate spoke then, a rough, gravelly voice that implied a person of unyielding authority.

“I like this one. He’s got spirit.” Isaac was set upright on the deck, panting and clutching his stomach. The captain gripped the young boy by the chin and forced his head up until their eyes met. Though only possessing one eye, the intensity of the man’s stare forced Isaac to repress an urge to shudder. “Welcome aboard the Storm Ghost, laddie.”

Five Years Later…

The opportunity couldn’t be more perfect.

That was the thought that occupied the mind of Isaac Salvori as he stared off the prow of his ship, the Storm Ghost. His ship, now that Captain Cumore had died on an Imperial sword three months previous. One booted foot rested on the gunwale, one gloved hand gripped the pommel of his guardsman’s sword, and both storm-grey eyes scanned the shoreline, barely visible through the gloom. On any other night, his target could be seen from miles away, the beacon of the Great Lighthouse piercing the fog like a spear of God. Tonight, however, the city was marked only by tiny torch-flames, which bobbed like will-o-the-wisps along the walls as the guards made their rounds. No beam lit the waves beyond the port. That was all part of the plan.

The Storm Ghost cruised across the black water, silent except for the soft thumps when shards of flotsam washed against the hull. Bits of planking, broken spars, barrels of goods, even an entire mast all drifted about the black-hulled ship. Many ships had died in these waters, and recently at that. Isaac grinned at his good fortune. Before this day, the city of Cernere was the forbidden fruit of piracy: the wealthiest, most prosperous trade city on the shores, but protected by a fleet of defense ships and overseen by the Great Lighthouse, whose beam let no ship in unobserved. Infinitely desirable, yet entirely unattainable.

This was no longer the case.

Just one day before Isaac had sailed into the bay, Cernere had been stricken by the worst hurricane in five years. Judging by the debris scattering the seas, most or all of the blockade fleet had been smashed to splinters. Even the Great Lighthouse had crumbled to the force of the storm. The crown jewel of the trade world laid open to attack, and Isaac intended to take it before every pirate on the sea tried to do it himself. Isaac turned from the prow and faced the crowd of men behind him. His men, comrades-in-arms who had been behind him and beside him for years. They were dressed as he was, loose black tunics and pants, and armed to the teeth.

“Tonight is our golden hour, men.” He stated, his voice calm, subdued. They dared not risk loud noises, lest their position be revealed. “Cernere lies open and defenseless. It is ours for the taking!” At this, a murmur of confidant laughter rippled through the assembled raiders. “Their defense is in shambles, and we’re the best there is. Let no man stand before us!” Isaac’s voice began to rise, and he drew his sword and aimed it toward the torchlit shore. “Shore party, to the longboats! Gunners, prepare the cannons! The city is ours tonight, go!” And thirty pirates, nearly invisible in the pale moonlight, boarded longboats and lowered themselves to the ocean below. As the moon slipped behind gathering clouds, the boats disappeared into the night.

As the first longboat bumped against the shadowed beach, Isaac planted his foot on the gunwale and leapt onto the sand. He and his boatmates quickly dragged the boat out of the surf, stowed the oars, and flung a net over the top to disguise its silhouette. When all six boats were beached and hidden, Isaac signaled the group forward. They had come to shore a short distance outside the walls of the city, near the ruins of the Great Lighthouse. It would be a simple matter to sneak into Cernere through these ruins. Keeping silent to avoid detection, they stole toward the city through the gloom. As they went, the clouds began to thicken in the sky and a few drops of rain began to fall.

Isaac kept alert as the raiding party picked its way through the ruins of the Lighthouse. The carnage wrought by Mother Nature still amazed him. Man-sized fragments of stone were strewn everywhere, creating deep, impenetrable pockets of shadow. The men flitted like ghosts between these shadows, moving swiftly and silently forward. While guardsmen could be observed in the distance, their figures painted yellow-orange by the torches they carried, they never noticed the intruders so near at hand. Instead, they all were looking northward, as if waiting specifically for something to arrive from that direction. With the guards distracted and on-edge, Isaac and his raiders were able to slip through the hole in Cernere’s walls undetected.

Once they had entered the city proper, the men dispersed and spread across the main district. Isaac and his partner, a grizzled, rugged man named Damien, made their way toward the central guardhouse. That was one of the prime targets. Left undisturbed, it would serve as a rallying point that could be not only ruinous to the attack but might be the death of them all. The key to the operation was to remain hidden until the attack was on.

“Oi! You there!” Called a voice. Isaac forced himself not to whip his head around and turned calmly on his heel. The speaker was a red-cloaked Sentinel, one of the guards. Chain mail clinking softly, the Sentinel crossed the street to Isaac and Damien. Isaac tensed, and watched from the corner of his eye as Damien drew a throwing knife from his sleeve.

“What can I do for you, officer?” he asked, keeping his voice nonchalant. The Sentinel eyed him warily, obviously not buying into his façade of innocence. The sword at his waist might have had something to do with it, he thought, smiling.

“Civilians are advised to remain indoors after dark, for their own safety. Now that the fleet is gone, we’re in much greater danger from pirates.” He said, and his hand moved to his sword hilt in what Isaac assumed was supposed to be a subtle movement. He smirked at the guard, and the Sentinel’s eyes narrowed.

“Pirates, you say? Pirates like…me?” And Damien, who had circled around behind the unfortunate Sentinel, gripped the man’s head and slashed his throat. The man let out a gurgling cry and staggered one step forward and fell to the ground. Slowly, a crimson pool spread beneath him, staining his cloak a darker red.

Just then, Isaac’s mind flashed back five years to the rainy streets of Hordan. He saw Caleb, his beloved brother, lying limp in the gutter as his lifeblood drained away. As he looked down at the dead Sentinel, his eyes widened in shock: the man was Caleb! He shook his head briefly, No, just a trick, a mind trick. Caleb is gone, it was a mistake… When he opened his eyes, the Sentinel was a stranger again. What’s wrong with me? This isn’t the first time I’ve killed a man. Why now, of all times...Damien suddenly gripped his shoulder and shook him.

“Sir! We’ve been spotted! Signal the ship!” And Isaac saw that Damien was correct, from the end of the street came six more Sentinels: an evening patrol. The lead man pointed at the corpse at Isaac’s feet and the patrol drew swords and charged down the cobbles. Isaac’s sword slid clear of his scabbard, and from his belt he drew a metal tube. This he tossed to Damien, who sparked a flint over the open end. Immediately it began to spit white sparks, and Damien hurled it skyward with all his strength. Trailing a flaming white tail, the flash tube cleared the rooftops and exploded into a brilliant flash of light that would have blinded Isaac if he hadn’t looked away.

The Sentinels were not so lucky. They had dropped their swords to clutch at their blinded eyes, leaving Isaac and Damien free to finish each of them off. Isaac’s expression was blank and empty as his sword arm plunged downwards. In his mind, each one had his brother’s face.

Boooom! The Storm Ghost had seen the flare, and now the guns opened up upon the unsuspecting town. Isaac’s disquiet fell away as the town came slowly aware of what was happening. People began to peek out of doorways and windows, wondering if the storm was returning. Indeed, the depressing drizzle began to fall thicker as the cannons of the Storm Ghost thundered in the night. Then the screams began, as the rest of the shore party burst from the shadows and into shops and homes, laughing as they pillaged. More longboats landed in the harbor, and the Sentinels were waiting for them. Steel clashed, men fell, and Isaac’s blood called for combat. There was nothing like a good battle to quicken the pulse and drive away the nagging disquiet he’d felt all evening. He and Damien broke into a sprint, pounding towards the central guardhouse. They overtook a fleeing Sentinel, and Isaac laid his sword across the man’s back as he passed. He heard a brief crunching sound as the stranger’s face hit the street, and then Damien’s blade ended the man’s life.

“There! There’s the garrison!” He called to Damien, as the rounded a corner. Unsurprisingly, the building seemed nearly deserted, the Sentinels called out to fight off the attack. One man, however, wearing the uniform of a rank officer, stood tall before the door, barking orders to a messenger. Isaac pulled back his arm and let fly a long, needle-like dagger that punched through the chest of the young man at the officer’s side. The youth scrabbled frantically at the knife hilt, but soon his eyes glazed over and he toppled. Rage shimmered in the officer’s eyes as his saber leapt into his hand.

“Pirate scum! How dare you defile our city!” he raged. The man dropped easily into the fighting posture of a man well accustomed to battle. Damien grinned, and Isaac leveled his blade.

“The Storm Ghosts go where they please and do as they will! No man will stand in our way!” Damien growled, and the pair charged the officer. A Major, Isaac noticed, as his sword slashed in towards the insignia. Steel clanged, and Isaac’s blade skittered of the major’s, deflected. A dagger in the man’s off hand held Damien at bay. The Major twisted, and suddenly Isaac and Damien were face-to-face with a blade whistling toward both of their necks. Isaac lunged beneath the attack, but the major leaned away and Isaac missed. The three combatants disengaged, each leaping backwards before lunging forward again. Amazingly, even though he fought two opponents the major held both Isaac and Damien at bay. No matter how they attacked, they found themselves countered by saber and dagger. Damien took a vicious wound on the arm, and Isaac received a long, thin slash across his cheek. Incredibly, the pair were losing.

Just then, the door of the garrison opened. A young boy, not even fifteen by the looks of him, looked out and saw the trio’s combat. “Father!” he cried out, stepping out of the door with a shortsword gripped shakily in his hand.

“Colin! Get back! Run awa-” The major’s hand, stretched out to his son, suddenly fell slack as Damien took advantage of the distraction and ran him through. Colin’s drained of color and he let out a scream of horror, a high-pitched wail that seemed more animal than human.

The sound was like a bucket of cold water thrown into Isaac’s face. Instantly he was back in the on the deck of the Storm Ghost all those years ago, bound on the planks and looking up at his father’s bloodstained ring dangling from Captain Cumore’s neck. He remembered the rage, the hatred, the unbearable agony as pirates had taken everything he ever loved from. Liquid ice flooded his veins as the reality of his life crashed down on him. I’m just like them! I CHOSE to become like them…Caleb, Father, oh, what have I become? His sword clattered to the pavement, his hands unable to keep their grip. Cold rain dripped down his face, suddenly joined by hot liquid. Half a moment later, he realized that he was crying.

“Don’t despair, little boy,” came Damien’s voice. For the first time, Isaac noticed the cruel glee underlying the man’s voice as he leveled the point of his sword. “You’ll be joining him shortly.” The blade whistled through the air, towards the shaking boy. Isaac looked at the young boy, shortsword raised and defiance in his eyes. And suddenly his body was moving, and Isaac’s sword smashed into Damien’s, knocking the thrust into the ground. Shock radiated from the pirate’s expression.

“Sir! What are you doing?” He growled, and tried to force his way past Isaac.

“What I should have been doing all this time. My duty.” Isaac replied, and swung his blade. Damien’s expression of shock and betrayal was his last, and remained on his face even as his head fell from his shoulders. Leaving Colin crouched over his father’s corpse, he staggered away from the crumpled body of his former comrade and broke into a run, heading back to the harbor. He cared nothing for the attack any longer, and every scream from the townsfolk was a knife to his heart.

I’ve got to stop this! He swore to himself. But what could he do? His crew would accept nothing less than total destruction of either Cernere or themselves before they attempted to flee. Then, over the rain, came the sound of bells. Alarm bells, clanging discordantly from the top of the city center. Sentinels and citizens alike immediately turned northward, hopeful expressions of their faces.

“The reinforcements! They’re here! Oh God, we’re saved!” Cried a junior officer. Isaac looked, and down the main avenue came a column of troops, armed and armored in the regalia of the Empire. A full battalion, the force would easily be the death of every one of Isaac’s former comrades. He did not even need to give the order. Immediately, every pirate was rushing down to the shore. Though the battalion moved in haste, the weight of their armor slowed them and Isaac and his crew were soon safe aboard the Storm Ghost. As the ship sailed back into the darkness, Isaac collapsed against the wheelhouse. As the crew laughed and passed around bottles of rum, Isaac was silent, lost in his past.

The Storm Ghost sailed on till the break of dawn, straight on through the day, and into the next twilight. No one disagreed that they needed to get far away from Cernere before the Empire sent ships as well as men to aid the broken city. So, the ship set sail to their secret retreat, a misty isle unknown to even the greatest of the Empire’s cartographers. The men knew the course well, and Isaac was free to lock himself in his cabin as far away from the rest of the crew as possible. Thus, when the sun slipped beneath the horizon and the pirates lowered the anchor just offshore of this secluded safehouse, Isaac was still locked away in his quarters.

Restless, he paced the floor, wearing a track in the carpet that covered the bare wooden floor. “How...how did this happen? How did I let myself become...” He muttered to himself. Suddenly he whirled about and slammed his hand down on his small desk, hard enough to splinter the edge. Again and again, his fist smashed down onto the wood, splinters slicing his hand and slowly oozing blood. Isaac ignored it, and pounded until his rage left him and his arm was too sore to raise again.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the desk, panting heavily. At that moment, two faces swam into focus in his thoughts. Caleb and his father, their faces so clear in his mind that they might have been standing beside him, stared piercingly at him. “I failed you. I failed both of you. But I will make this right, I swear it to you! But how, damn it, how?” He wanted so badly to draw his sword and personally stab each piece of scum that it physically hurt to hold himself back. “But that would be pointless.” He continued to talk to himself as he stood from the desk again. No matter how skilled he might be, he would be killed long before his vengeance could be completed. The pirates would mark a new captain, and life would continue on, minus only one Isaac Salvori. No, he needed something else. Something that would entirely erase this foul stain on humanity.

At that moment, Isaac heard a rumbling of thunder. It called back, as he had begun to fear that it always would, the night in Hordan when the Storm Ghost’s guns had fired with the thunder to disguise the attack.

Isaac stopped dead in his pacing. Thunder, cannons, fire…that’s it! The powder stores! If he could ignite them, the entire ship would be destroyed. It was perfect. Pirates who struck in darkness, masked by rain, would be obliterated by fire and light. But he had to act quickly. Tonight, when every last member was asleep and recovering from the long fight and longer flight. He had to make his move, and he had to do it now. A grim smirk affixed itself to his face. Grabbing his sword from the bed, he belted on the scabbard and opened the cabin door.

Stepping lightly, he moved confidently yet cautiously down the gently rocking corridor. Lanterns swung from their chains on the ceiling, throwing wildly dancing shadows down the floor. Timbers creaked beneath his feet as the ship moved, and these mixed with the snorts, squeaks, and grumbles of pirates in slumber. Some of them were sprawled in bunks, but most were leaning against crates or curled up on sacks, half-empty bottles held in loose fists. One exceptionally drunk pirate was continuing to make swigging motions with his unconscious arm, slopping the cheap liquor on himself and his neighbor. “So that’s why the rum’s always gone...” Isaac chuckled to himself as he stepped over the sleeping man.

Past the crew, he climbed down the ladder to the ammunition room. It was pitch-black in the small chamber, since no flames were permitted. Isaac pulled a flare-tube from his coat. A different kind than the signal he had used days before, it burned long and bright. He sparked a flint and the flare came ablaze, filling the room with bloody red light.

“Well, Father... Caleb...” he said, smiling to himself, “This is for both of you. For Hordan, that I couldn’t save. For Cernere, that I caused. And, I suppose, this is for myself as well.” He faced the massive barrels of black powder, and drew his blade. His guardsman’s sword, which he had been given to use in the defense of his home and saved his life more times than could be counted. Now, it fulfilled its purpose, protecting not only Hordan but every city from the Storm Ghost and ships like it. He raised it high, and the blade gleamed like a tongue of flame as it cut downwards to spill a black river of gunpowder from the barrels.

“Good-bye, pirate scum. May you never find rest, ever in all of eternity.” And he raised his sword above his head and screamed his defiance to the ship as the flaming brand fell to the gunpowder at his feet.

Well, that's that. My answer to "What do you do when you realize that you've become the thing you despise the most?". I think, as Isaac did, that you must do whatever is in your power to make things right again.

What did you think? Leave me a review, and please help me improve my writing!