Chapter 41
The battle raged on.
The ghost fleet clashed against the drowned king's monstrous army with a fury unmatched by any storm. Echoes of cannon blasts, steel-on-steel, and monstrous roars split the sky. The sea boiled with war, and even islands far beyond the horizon could hear the wrath unleashed on this cursed ocean.
Ghostly ships spiraled through the mist, crashing into serpents of salt and bone. Phantom pirates fought tooth and nail against the drowned king's abominations—creatures sewn from the sea itself, with coral blades, barnacle fists, and screams that echoed the cries of sailors long lost.
And in the eye of it all—the calm within the storm—stood four.
The Black Pearl rocked gently, strangely untouched by the chaos around it. Jake Sparrow lay on his back upon the deck, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth, his hat still absurdly sitting on his head despite the madness. "Remind me," he mumbled, eyes half-open, "why do we never fight anything normal anymore? Like rum pirates or taxes."
Raina sat beside him, bruised, bleeding from a slash on her arm, her breath short. "Because you're cursed, Jake. And Elias is worse."
Jake let out a wheezing laugh.
Above them, Elias floated—no, stood—midair. Empowered by the spirits of the ancient pirates and the will of the prophet, he burned like a flame in the dark. His aura pulsed with white light and black fire, a mix of divine memory and hellish origin. He was the drowned king's shadow—but he had chosen to stand in the light.
The drowned king roared.
He was shorter now. Not by much—but enough. The death blow Elias had struck before had weakened him. Yet he remained a godlike figure, muscles of green stone, the head of an octopus writhing with hate and wisdom, and the black bone crown atop his head shimmering with cursed magic.
He slashed his massive trident forward, clashing into Elias's blade.
The blow echoed like thunder. A burst of light. A shockwave. Elias flew back, like a ragdoll tossed by fate. His body hit the Black Pearl with a sickening thud, rolling across the deck until he came to a halt beside Jake.
Jake, barely conscious, blinked up at him. "You look like hell, mate."
Elias didn't answer.
He was both awake and not. His body moved on instinct. His mind teetered between worlds. Blood poured from his wounds. His hands shook. But he stood.
Because he had to.
He looked at the sky.
"If I stop now... he will restore himself."
His voice cracked, breathless.
"And no one will stop him."
He coughed, spat red.
Raina cried out weakly. "Elias... rest..."
He looked down at her, smiling softly. "No rest for the cursed."
He turned toward the sea. The drowned king stood atop the water like it was solid ground, his followers slowly circling. The war paused. All eyes turned to Elias.
He whispered to himself, barely audible.
"I should keep going... I need to keep going..."
Then louder, as if willing his broken body to obey.
"I have to keep fighting. It's win... or die."
His eyes burned now—pure white fire.
He bent his knees slightly.
The sea responded.
Power surged through his legs and out into the Black Pearl. The ship trembled, wood creaking under divine pressure.
And then he launched.
Elias exploded off the deck, soaring into the storm with a scream of rage and purpose. His body crackled with radiant fire. His black hair whipped like a banner behind him. The sky parted. Time seemed to freeze.
He was a comet of vengeance.
The sword in his hand, once just a stolen blade, now burned with the might of ancient wrath and prophetic blessing. It cut the wind, slicing through mist and magic like the blade of judgment.
The drowned king turned to face him.
But too slow.
Elias roared, a sound that split the heavens, and brought the blade down in a single, perfect arc.
SHHHHRRRRRRIIIIIIIIINNNKK!
The drowned king screamed in pain as his arm—the one holding his trident—was sliced clean off. It fell into the sea like a tower crashing into the abyss.
Silence.
Across the battlefield, ghosts and monsters froze in place.
The ghost fleet held their breath.
The drowned king's army hissed and recoiled.
Jake, his eyes now wide open, whispered, "Bloody hell."
Elias landed on the sea, standing upon it like the drowned king once did. He was panting, bleeding, nearly broken.
But still standing.
The drowned king stumbled back, clutching his bleeding stump.
"YOU... YOU ARE MINE!"
Elias spat blood. "the fuck man . I don't swing that way ."
He raised his sword again.
The war wasn't over.
But the tide had turned.
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