General Rondlf jumped down from the ship.
His boots slammed against the broken deck of a nearby vessel, the wood splintering beneath the weight of his landing. He was not a tall man, but his presence was immense his shoulders broad, his arms thick with muscle, his eyes sharp and calculating. A very large blade was strapped to his back, its edge gleaming in the storm-light.
He shouted, his voice carrying across the water.
"Everyone, be careful!"
He paused.
"It seems there is an enemy amongst us." His eyes scanned the wreckage, the bodies, the chaos. "This enemy is not your usual enemy."
He was a general who wore the uniform of a soldier unadorned, practical, deadly. He landed on a broken ship and then said, his voice calm, measured, absolute.
"Men, be ready to kill any living thing." He paused. "Even me. Be ready to fire at me at any point."
This general's name was Rondlf.
He sighed greatly, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his words.
"We just finished a great battle now with that knight." He shook his head. "He was a monster that has cost us a total of eight hundred men."
He looked at the blood-soaked deck beneath his feet.
"It felt like watching a god fighting." His voice was quiet, almost reverent. "He ran like there was nothing to lose. Infinite stamina. Oh, which man would not be happy to have that type of power?"
He looked up.
"And now we're searching for Davina Jones." He paused. "In fact, this entire area of the Infinite Sea is truly destroyed. Even the battles that occurred here before we came and even subduing Davina Jones when she was in her monster form we lost two hundred great vessels."
He looked at the tides and rough waves of the sea.
"Yet these waters are not red as blood."
As he thought to himself, an arrow fired at him.
It came from nowhere a streak of dark wood, a flash of steel, a whisper of death. Rondlf's blade was already moving cutting through the air, splitting the arrow in two. The halves clattered against the deck.
More arrows were fired at him from different positions.
Left. Right. Above.
He moved his body twisting, his blade dancing, his eyes tracking every trajectory. Each arrow was met with steel, each one cut down before it could reach him. His movements were fluid, graceful, almost effortless.
He found a shadow hidden amongst dead bodies.
His eyes sharp, calculating, relentless noticed his brown skin, his dark hair, the bow in his hand. A native American on the sea. The sniper was a native American.
Before he could shout again, an arrow pierced through his throat.
SHLIK!
The shaft cut through flesh, severed his windpipe, sprayed blood across the deck. He held the wound, applying pressure with his free hand, his eyes wide with shock. He could not talk properly.
He said to himself, his inner voice a whisper of pain.
This is really fucked up.
Below the deck, a hand grabbed a hold of his leg.
Fingers cold, wet, strong wrapped around his ankle and pulled. His body lurched, fell, crashed against the wood. He disappeared into the darkness below, swallowed by the sea.
in the space between the general's fall and the unknown that waited below.
Rondlf vanished into the water.
The sniper watched.
And the sea roared.