Chapter 52
After a few weeks, they finally came. But they came for war.
In the middle of the sea stood the Flying Dutchman, ominous and still, its dark sails barely swaying in the wind. Around it, encircling like predators around prey, were eight massive pirate ships.
Large.
Big.
Strong.
And leading them all was Jake Sparrow, aboard the Black Pearl.
He had spent weeks gathering the pirate lords, sending word across the seas, calling in debts, promising treasure, revenge, or even just a good fight. Among them, the most feared and respected had returned from the grave: Captain Hector Barbossa, brought back to life by the mysterious magic of a sea witch.
They held the pirate meeting on a neutral reef island, under moonlight and rum. Eight captains, each with their own ambitions and pride, filled the room with the thick smell of salt, sweat, and stubbornness.
Jake stood at the center, leaning lazily on a barrel, his voice slurred but sharp.
"Right then, mates. We all know why we're here. Davy Jones is out there, and he's got Elias. That bastard took something from all of us, one way or another."
The murmurs grew louder.
"But if we're going to war, we need more than words. We need a king."
Each captain nodded. Then, the voting began.
One by one, they voted for themselves.
Until Jake stood up again and looked across the table at Barbossa.
He gave a slight nod.
Barbossa's eyes narrowed. He tipped his hat.
Then Jake spoke.
"I vote for Hector Barbossa."
The room fell silent.
Then, one after another, the others followed Jake's lead.
Barbossa stood up tall, grinning like death had never touched him.
"Well then," he said, his voice rough and commanding, "We're takin' Davy Jones down."
---
Back at sea, the alliance had formed.
The eight great pirate ships, armed and ready.
Dozens of other smaller vessels joined behind them, united under the pirate flag.
The Black Pearl, sleek and dark, cut through the water, Jake Sparrow at the helm.
And in the center of this rising storm, like a shadow waiting to swallow the world, stood the Flying Dutchman.
Davy Jones stood tall and proud on his deck, his tentacles swaying with the sea breeze, his eyes locked onto the approaching fleet like a predator amused by its prey.
He gripped the railing of his ship.
He laughed.
Because the sea still belonged to him.
But this time...
The sea was coming for war.
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