The pirates stared at Daniel as he pinched his nose, clearly unimpressed.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
They knew it themselves—years without bathing, without caring. The curse had taken sensation from them. Dirt, rot, seawater… it all meant nothing.
One pirate finally scowled. "You—"
Daniel cut him off. "Yes, you. I know you can't feel it."
He gestured at them. "But I can."
That landed hard.
One pirate spat onto the deck. "That's enough outta you."
"Grab him!" another barked. "Let's see how sharp his tongue is without a hand to wag!"
"Aye!"
"Take him alive!"
"Captain'll want words with this one!"
They raised their swords and surged forward as one.
Elizabeth's grip tightened around Daniel's arm, her breath catching. "You're just going to stand there?" she asked, fear breaking through her composure.
Daniel blinked, as if remembering something. "Oh," he said lightly. "Right."
He glanced at her and smiled. "I suppose this is as good a moment as any to prove what I said earlier."
The deck fell unnaturally quiet.
Not silence from fear—
but a sudden pressure, as if the air itself had thickened. The rush of the pirates slowed, their movements stretching, boots half-lifted, blades hanging mid-swing.
At Daniel's feet, the wood darkened.
A black puddle spread across the deck, smooth and still, swallowing the reflected light. From its center, something began to rise.
First, a grip.
Then a hilt.
Slowly, deliberately, a sword emerged—drawn upward as if by an unseen hand. Its blade was pitch black, swallowing light rather than reflecting it, edges sharp without gleam.
Daniel reached down and closed his fingers around the handle.
The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, the weight in the air settled.
Daniel raised the sword and pointed it toward the pirates.
"Now," he said calmly, "be prepared to face your death."
The blade responded.
Black mist spilled from it, slow and deliberate, curling around Daniel's arm, his shoulders, his back. The air grew cold. Not the chill of sea wind—but something deeper, heavier.
Elizabeth gasped and released his arm, stumbling back a step. Jack did the same, retreating instinctively from behind him, his usual grin nowhere to be found.
The mist thickened, swallowing Daniel's form until only his outline remained.
Then his eyes ignited.
Two cold blue lights burned through the darkness—nothing else visible of his face. No features. Just those eyes, watching.
The pirates skidded to a halt, their boots scraping against the deck as they took in the sight before them.
Every raised sword faltered. Every step forward died mid-motion.
They stared at the figure shrouded in darkness.
Even cursed as they were—even knowing they could not die while the curse held—they felt it. A pressure that crawled into whatever passed for their bones. Instinct screamed at them to run.
This wasn't a man.
This wasn't something they could laugh at or rush with steel.
They swallowed hard.
Daniel tilted his head slightly, the blue glow of his eyes narrowing. A smile formed—unnatural, sharp, outlined faintly in the mist.
"Didn't one of you say you wanted to chop off my hand?" he asked lightly.
The black mist spread further, rolling across the deck, and the sky above began to darken unnaturally.
"Go on," Daniel said, lifting the blade a fraction.
"Come and get it."
No one moved.
"So… no takers," Daniel continued calmly. "Then I'll come."
His form vanished.
"—Where did he—?!"
A sharp, terrified scream split the air.
At the back of the group, a pirate stiffened as a black sword burst straight through his chest. He screamed again, louder this time, a raw, panicked sound that echoed across the deck.
"AAGHH—!"
The other pirates recoiled, stumbling backward.
"Get away from him!"
"What is that thing?!"
"Back—BACK!"
Black mist poured from the wound, crawling over the pirate's body. His scream broke into choking gasps as the darkness spread, swallowing him piece by piece. In seconds, his form crumbled, dissolving into drifting particles that scattered and vanished.
Silence followed—broken only by heavy, ragged breathing.
Daniel stood where the pirate had been, sword in hand.
"Oh," he said casually, as if remembering something minor. "I forgot to mention."
He gave the blade a light swing, black mist trailing after it.
"Anyone stabbed by this dies. Curse or not." He paused. "Unless you're a god."
The pirates gulped.
Now they knew—the feeling hadn't been wrong. If they stayed and fought this man, they would die. Curse or not.
And pirates, above all else, wanted to live.
One of them shouted, "Run!"
They turned as one, scrambling toward the rail, boots slipping on the deck as panic took hold.
"Overboard!"
"Jump!"
"Stop," Daniel said.
Every pirate froze mid-movement.
Some were halfway to the rail. Others had one foot off the deck. Their bodies locked in place, muscles straining uselessly as panic flooded their faces. They still wanted to run—but they couldn't move.
They were undead.
And that made them subject to him.
This was Command Over Lesser Death Entities. Against the living it was limited. Against creatures like these, it was absolute.
"Now," Daniel said calmly, "kneel."
Darkness spread across the deck, pooling and rising until it formed a throne of shadow. Daniel sat, resting the black sword against the arm of the chair as if it belonged there.
One by one, the pirates' legs bent.
Knees hit the deck.
Weapons slipped from frozen fingers.
Every remaining pirate knelt before him.
*****
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