Legends of the Treasure Child: Sparrow's Nest

 

It was the sort of roar which made every creature – living or undead – stop in its tracks. Not only was it a primal roar, handed down through the genes of the victorious through the dawn of the ages. It was also the sort of growl which made one's instincts scream with warning, urging every foot to run as fast as possible. Because this was a creature which was decidedly higher up on the food chain.

Captain Jack Sparrow had heard it before. It meant that Saieros had found him. He wouldn't run this time. Jack would stand his ground, and when he was seized, he would beg the demon warlord to kill him. There was nothing more to live for now. The only thing that remained, was death. If he was really lucky, Jack mused, then perhaps the first blow which Saieros dealt, would strike Jack and send him reeling in such a direction that he would hit his head and crack his skull open. Or perhaps break his neck on impact. Perhaps he ought to jump? Jack thought to himself. Jump into the sea and join little Jonathan? That sounded like the best option of them all. Provided he could get past Saieros …!

Before he could contemplate on how to die any further, Jack had one of those braincell-popping moments. It was one of those moments where he could literally feel how one of the braincells in charge of reason inside his head, swelled up like a soufflé before it popped like an overdue pimple. In Jack's head, that actually came with a sound effect. A small 'POP'. The reason for this braincell-popping moment, was not the awe-inducing sight of Saieros climbing over the railing like a giant bone-white water-spider. Neither was it his huge, black feathered wings which heaved through the pouring rain, acting as shelter against the raging waves washing over the half-demon. Jack held his breath and listened again. His ears hadn't been deceiving him. It was the insisting, angry wails of an infant! Little Jonathan fit perfectly in Saieros' big hands. Jack's eyes swiveled as he looked for the source of the noise, and as soon as he saw the tiny bundle of waving hands and feet through the drenched blanket he'd wrapped Jonathan in, Jack had that moment.

Over the years, there had been many a braincell-popping moment. Some small, some big. One of the moments which had given cause to such an event, was the death of Bootstrap Turner. Another moment, had been when Jack had abandoned the Black Pearl along with his mates, to the Kraken. Sitting in that dinghy, watching the Pearl in the embrace of the tentacles, knowing what a coward he was, had been another. But mostly, his reasoning cells had popped during the assaults of Saieros. There seemed, at times, no end to the warlord's malice.

Jack felt his knees give in. He crashed to the deck, holding his arms out, his fingers shaking and eager to once again hold what he held. It was a crucial moment. Inside of him, his heart hammered wildly. It was as if his insides had been wrenched, and the sudden loss and infinite despair which had ensued thinking the baby was lost, was now replaced with an even greater hope. Saieros extended his arm towards Jack, and dropped the baby as if it were a bag of foul-smelling garbage.

Jack's world stopped. He raised his hands and caught baby Jonathan before the drop became too high. He retracted his arms and the wet and angry baby was once again with him. Lowering his head, Jack smelled Jonathan's skin, relishing in the familiar scent of his child. He went blind to the screams of his crew-members, as Saieros lunged out over his head. His long talons dug deep into the innards of the mutineer closest to Jack. The sailor emitted a gurgle and a gasp as his intestines poured out from the hole Saieros had made in his stomach. His eyes glazed over, life ebbed out with the blood and the intestines. He fell dead to the deck. Saieros lunged out again, and pointed at the chest of the second mutineer. His chest exploded, the heart sailed over and landed in Saieros' open hand. The mutineer fell dead to the deck. The third who'd watched these horrors, now panicked. And in his panic, he screamed and could think of nothing better than to attack. He raised his cutlass and leapt forward. Saieros caught him by the raised arm bearing down on him with the cutlass. With the other, he grasped the man's throat, before the demon warlord ripped his arm out of the socket. Blood spattered, painting the deck red once again. It was becoming slippery. Jack cared not. His world had imploded. He was lost in the tiny face, lost in the joy of having Will Turner's child in his arms again. Life suddenly had regained its meaning. His surroundings, however bleak, regained their colours. Not until Saieros emitted one of his loud growls again, did Jack wake. He turned his head and that was all he needed. Around him, those of his crew who picked up their swords, fell dead soon after. The others sought shelter, huddling away from Saieros' gaze as best as they could. In the midst of this mayhem, Jack did the only logical thing. Holding Jonathan, he crawled between Saieros' legs. Saieros was both his oppressor and his defender. Without his shelter, those still standing would cut Jack down if they got the chance. Jack held on to Saieros' left leg with a weird sense of gratitude. He ought not to be feeling this way. Saieros was a sadistic, demon brute who would probably make Jack pay anyway. But demon warlords were, if anything, territorial. Once they claimed a body for their territory, they usually stuck with it. And for once, that worked to Jack's advantage. The demon must have come to Jack's aid simply because someone had threatened his territory. Only when the screams silenced and the blood stopped spattering everywhere, did Jack move. His legs had almost fallen asleep beneath him. Jonathan had fallen silent. The skies seemed brighter and the rain was no longer quite so heavy. The warlord had defended his territory, and now came the time for Jack to pay his dues. He had been resting on hands and knees, shielding baby Jonathan with his body. He felt Saieros shift his weight over him, and he knew what was coming. Jack was not going to scream. He was not going to utter a sound. He would stay strong and not wake his boy. The touch on his back by Saieros' hand was unusually soft. Understanding what the half-demon wanted, Jack was quick to undo his pants. He wanted this over and done with swiftly and as painless as possible. The air was cold and wet against his unprotected buttocks, and Jack shuddered for a moment. He steadied his hands and knees, bracing himself for the next to unbearable pain which would ensue. Saieros' erect manhood was thick as a grown man's forearm, a thickness Jack had come to know well over the years. He shut his eyes and waited for the pain. The long claws seared against his skin as Saieros parted his cheeks. Soon. It would happen soon. Jonathan was still docile and asleep. Good. Let's keep it that way, Jack thought to himself. More motivated than ever to accommodate Saieros, Jack gritted his teeth, hoping that the brute would go easy on him.

'Going easy' meant not being beaten to a pulp either prior to or in between or after sexual onslaughts. 'Going easy' on Jack involved cutting many a wound without taking out the main arteries, leaving Jack in immense pain with wounds everywhere so it took weeks to heal, not giving Jack proper rest for months, but sparing his life. 'Going easy' meant to be knocked out right away and then raped while unconscious so he wouldn't have to endure the pain.

It was one of those scenarios Jack envisioned as he lay there, on hands and knees. Instead, he was startled and gasped, as a large tongue swiped across from his testicles, past his hole and up the crevice. The sensation gave him an instant erection, something he hadn't felt for – well, almost a year! And the feeling of sudden delight brought to his mind the image of Will Turner, eyeing him quizzically as they lay together in the hay of Will's small barn. Saieros' tongue swiped across again, wet and large. The hot breath kissed the sensitive skin around Jack's puckered entrance, and a small, girlish gasp escaped his throat. It enticed him even further. Through the disarray of emotions this unexpected erotic touch had left him, he felt the familiar tip of Saieros' manhood probe his entrance. A low, low growl was beginning low in the half-demon's chest, forming and building while he slowly tested the grounds, pushing unusually gently. The growl, which usually would have ended in another blood-chilling roar, remained a low-pitched growl. Instead of forcing himself inside, Saieros stopped. He had tested the grounds and deemed it unworthy, for some reason. He bent down again, and continued to lick. Jack was dumbstruck. He had no words for this – gesture – of kindness. When it seemed wet enough, Saieros bent his fingers and used his knuckles to massage Jack's entrance. It was either that or three inches worth of razor-sharp claws inside his entrance, and Jack knew what that was like. This was something entirely different! Jack let out a terrified noise, which ought to have been a noise. Instead it came out as a moan. Glistening with moist and looking ripe, with a relaxed and swollen rim, Saieros once again pointed his erection at the entrance. Jack's eyes had, for some time, been half-shut in surprised delight. He was frightened and on edge, but strangely relaxed. His senses was heightened yet he was so tired from the emotional roller coaster he'd been on lately. Jonathan was still asleep. Good. Let's continue to keep it that way. Whatever this strange onslaught brought on, Jack would have to keep focus. Jonathan had to be sheltered. He breathed through the pain which now had become bearable. He could feel Saieros filling up his insides, and he imagined the cock reaching all the way into the depths of his soul. Saieros began to move in and out of Jack's entrance. It wasn't the first time Jack felt Saieros' measured moves. It was often done to provoke more pain, to prolong the discomfort and make Jack beg for mercy. And Jack felt what little lust he might have had, drain away at the prospect of this behaviour. It meant that Saieros was going to torture him. For hours at end. Slow, slow torture just for the sake of sadistic pleasure. Jack knew why. After all this time, Jack was, in Saieros' eyes, still a criminal and a pirate. A worthless soul, and where the continued existence of his body served only the purpose of harbouring Saieros' offspring. Jack felt himself go cold. The thrusts came more rapidly now, more shallow. As the half-demon's lust progressed, he bent forward, encompassing Jack's body. His hands, next to Jack's, were three times the size. And when the grunts came, Jack knew he was in for more pain. Grunts meant orgasm. Grunts would pool up into a roar. And with the roar came the orgasm and uncontrolled thrusts. He stood as still as he could, shaking with fatigue and fright. The grunts turned into a low growl. Jack could feel the powerful thrusts, he could see the half-demon's legs shaking with restrained force. But instead of uncontrolled thrusts came the opposite. A series of short, forceful thrusts deep inside Jack as the warlord obviously made an effort to hold back. It didn't go unnoticed. This was a behaviour so different to Jack that it left the former pirate completely dumbfounded. Was this the same demon warlord?! Jack didn't have time to ponder much, as a sudden roar exploded from the chest of said warlord. It was the kind of roar which announced to the universe that this body was his territory. Saieros was the victorious.

The diversion hadn't worked as well as they'd hoped. Despite sacrifices by the thousands, the angels still homed in on the Crimson Lotus. Her dark magic only held off the first one hitting her. The second one grazed the hull on starboard side, and she caught fire immediately. The flames were acidic, searing and burning with the intense and immaculate light of God. A shudder rippled through the hulls as immense pain blossomed. She could feel the wood disintegrate, feel the light eat its way. She would hold on for as long as she could. She would withstand the pain, for she had grown to quite like the people who hid there, inside of her. Imagining them to be her own, that she held power over them, gave her a perverse pleasure. Particularly Jamie Scarborough. Her naughty, little boy who, with his lover, had given her quite a spectacle, time after time. She'd lost count of all the various positions and places she'd seen them, in. She writhed as the flames continued to lick upwards. It was like having billions of rusty nails hammered into her at once. Long, bent and rusty nails which would cause her serious infections in her beautiful timber. Her beautiful scarlet sails caught fire as well. It smelled almost of burned flesh. The timber shrieked in the divine flames, and she partly screamed, partly growled in anger. Oh how she hated the light! This abuse, this pain! She hated the angels for their righteousness, their pride and their power. Most of all, she hated the light.

Instead of despairing, she cursed them. She swung out as much evil and malice into the vicinity, as she could. Demon upon demon came to her aid. They packed themselves around the fires like a blanket, willingly covering the angelic fire, until their own twisted and greasy bodies caught fire. They lay themselves on top of one another before the one beneath them came ablaze. They packed her in, cocooning her. But it only helped to slow the angelic flames down. Their numerous sacrifice would never kill it. Another angel dived down towards the Crimson Lotus. She veered over, hard to port, sending the people and inventory skidding to one side. The angel missed and plunged into the water. The demons below the surface were quick, they plastered themselves to the angelic warrior, and wrapped it in. The angel's light seemed to diminish, sinking to the bottom. Minutes would pass, before the angel burst upwards, shining as bright as the sun.

John finally made it to the surface. He flexed every muscle and flew on board with one leap. He had to wait for half a minute for his body to grow his legs back. He felt her panic diminish as he'd landed with a heavy thud on the deck. Connecting himself to her mentally, John did his best to soothe her. He hushed her cries and let his dark magic flow. He lessened her pain by absorbing some of it. It was a tingling sensation to his skin, like a severe sun-burn. He hissed in pain as he got up. He clasped his fingers around the railing, digging his black claws into her wood. And then he poured into her as much of his dark powers as he could muster. All of his passions, his desires and malice flowed through the veins of her wood, empowering her. She fell silent. The searing pain was subsiding along with the flames. The flames turned green. The flesh of the demons burning, still sizzled. But now, all demons shunned her. He owned her, John told her mentally. She was his, and no one else would dare to touch her. His talk, his possessiveness was balm to her tortured would. The flames died. The Crimson Lotus was a mess. She resembled an unfortunate, high-born lady, skulking home to her castle, with her garments torn asunder, tears staining her cheeks, her body defiled and her virginity stolen. Her once crimson, breathtaking sails were nothing more but charred rags here and there. Her wood looked half-rotten and devoured, like something a cat ate before spewing it back out. But unlike any high-born defiled lady who would have hidden away with her shame, the Crimson Lotus was angry. She yearned for a re-match.

Captain Jack Sparrow waited for the usual. But the usual didn't come. Instead, he turned his head to the left and watched. It was Saieros. And the demon warlord was crawling on hands and feet towards the railing. He was looking anything but victorious. The beast dragged himself across the railing. Then he fell, all feathers and white skin. There was a momentous splash. A scarce minute later, Saieros shot out of the water, with renewed power. He flew upwards, dodging angelic fire and lightning strikes. Then he was gone, just as abruptly as he'd come. And that at least, was behaviour Jack knew.

It had to have been the stones. The tears of God. They had weakened the demon just like they had weakened John. Stiffly, sore-limbed and with sore backside, Jack got up. He cradled baby Jonathan in his arms and took shelter inside the captain's cabin. He felt so inexplicably empty, drained of all emotion. The braincell-popping moment had taken its toll. It had to have been a really big braincell, this time, Jack mused, since he was feeling so devoid of strength. He undid his shirt. Mechanically, he put Jonathan to the tit. The smell alone was enough to wake the child, who instantly latched on. The sensation it brought, was nothing short of divine. It was a moment of surrealism, going from complete shock of losing Jonathan, and back to this. The sweetest and most blissful of intimate moments.

Captain John Sparrow tore the door open to the captain's cabin on the decaying Crimson Lotus. The door fell off at the hinges which had been etched away by the flames. The rank smell of fear filled his demonic nostrils as well as his groin. He eyed them in turn. Jamie Scarborough and his Elijah. Unharmed. Gilbert Monterey. Sweating, shaking and looking concerned. Then prince Angwyn and his modest court. They were the ones who were the most upset. Being elves, they knew the wood. The sap of the Crimson Lotus coursed through it, like any sap in any living tree. They had felt her pain. Felt her anguish. Prince Angwyn stood. His cheeks were moist with tears, and his eyes glowed with restrained anger. He walked over to John and slapped him across the face.

“She needed you, my lord, and you abandoned her despite the fact that you knew what was coming!” he thundered against John. But no sooner had he exclaimed those words before dizziness overcame him. Angwyn's knees buckled beneath him. John caught him easily, and helped him over to the bed.

“The wood, she – !” he began, “ – the ship …! she … cried …!”

“Your Highness” John hushed him softly, “I've stopped the flames. But it doesn't mean she's out of danger. I must be out there. I am relieved to see that you are all well. All of you.” John left his side. His absence was immediately filled by the presence of his peers. He hurried out, ignoring Gilbert completely. There it was, another angelic halo aimed straight at the Crimson. John extended his arm, forming a shield with his hand. Did he believe in Jesus Christ? Oh yes. Did John believe in saving what was most precious to him? Yes. Keeping one's conviction was the key to any successful defence. Faith alone could shield any man. Or demon. So John waited. The angel hurled downwards. A deadly projectile, God's kamikaze. Then, just metres away from the top mast, the angel hit something. And it bounced off. From God's view high above, it probably resembled a ping-pong ball bouncing off some invisible barrier.

“Jamie Scarborough!” John then shouted. “Get your scrawny ass out here and steer this ship!”

It took precisely three seconds for Jamie to leap out of the cabin. Seeing how the ship was in fact not burning, he leapt up the staircase leading to the upper deck.

“Where to, Captain?” he shouted, attempting to mask his apparent fear.

“My dear first mate” John said when he realised what state the boy was in, “we need to find the White Swann, or whatever might be left of her. You will take care of the sailing, while I will take care of taking care of us, savvy?!”

The raging waves did not seem to want to diminish. Jamie Scarborough squinted, stretching his neck to see beyond the waves, which in one minute towered above their heads, only to crash down upon them, the very next moment. Jamie shuddered. He was wet from head to toe, his hands frozen. Every time he tried to move a finger, it ached in his hand. He held the wheel so hard the white of his knuckles showed through the thin flesh. He glanced upwards hopefully, praying the fierce halos of angelic powers would cease to rain down on them. The sky was a dark patchwork of blue and grey clouds, stealing away any glimmer of sun and light. This was a battlefield on a narrow space of water. Everywhere Jamie turned his head, he could catch glimpses of coastlines, now and then. So if the distances weren't greater, then where was that white ship?!

“Captain?!” Jamie decided to call. He watched as John spun on his heel, catching his eye. “Captain, I can't see the White Swann! It's as if – !”

“ – they're hiding her from us!” John replied through the crackle of another lightning.

“They, Sir?!”

“The angels, Mister Scarborough. The angels.”

Jamie looked at the waves. The angels? He looked again, imagining that the white top masts would appear at any moment as the next crescent crashed down. A long moment passed, in which Jamie began to realise that the angels probably made him see what they wanted him to see. And once that fact was established, the White Swann was easily spotted. He jumped on the spot as there was a loud crackle above his head. It was closer than any lightning he'd ever witnessed, and when he dared to look up, he saw one of the angels flare up as it bounced off and into the frothing sea. John leapt up the stairs to stand beside him. The captain's presence imbued the young first made with more confidence.

“I've spotted her, Captain” Jamie said. He nodded in the White Swann's direction.

“Who's that by the rudder?”

“Captain Jack Sparrow, Captain” Jamie answered. “Will you be leaving us, then?” Jamie looked at his commander.

“No” John replied briefly. He was busy reaching out to Jack with his mind. He could feel and see Saieros' hand prints all over his body. Jack seemed relatively unharmed. John had been there. Just below the surface beneath the White Swann. He had seen the outline of baby Jonathan, and he had been ready to catch him. Then Saieros had flown in low, and there had been no need for John. Whatever that had possessed his winged, white-skinned brother to be the hero of the day, John would have to find out some other time. Still, the incident with Jonathan had made him postpone his return to the Crimson Lotus. And his beloved ship had paid the prize.

Jonathan had been given his fill, to his heart's content. He'd been dried, cuddled and re-dressed into warm, comfortable clothes. Then Jack had wrapped him in waterproofed leather, tied him across his chest and gone back out. The world itself would have to tilt up side down before Captain Jack Sparrow abandoned his blue stones to the dark abyss. It was also about setting an example to the crew. And he barked out orders the moment he appeared. He strode across the deck, hauled the men up by their arms and threatened them back to work. The first mate was the first to stand by his side, helping him with the tedious task of shaking the men out of their fears and back into practicality. Captain Sparrow had then walked up steadfastly to the wheel and taken command. He had spent some time in these waters before. There was that tiny speck of isle which Jack had seen before. Then the next, on his left side. Then the Isle of Scyros appeared ahead. At first it resembled a grey speck, like some lazy whale cruising on the surface of the sea. Captain Jack Sparrow was going to get there, no matter what.