Legends of the Treasure Child : Demon Spawn

Jockard’s men were uneasy. There were memories in their heads – tales told by their fathers which had been passed down from generation to generation. Unlike western and eastern civilization, a story would maintain every last fact down to the last syllable, even if it took hundreds of years. No one changed details, or recounted the events in their own way. Like elephants, the Africans of old had flawless memory right to their very dying day. Now, their descendants shivered in their boots:



For Golden Eyes - the demon with a thousand souls – presently on board the Black Pearl which flanked The Ranger’s right side, was watching them. And flanking The Ranger on the left, was something unseen. Something profoundly evil. The flagship of Golden Eyes – the ship of the miserable undead. The crew could but hear the bone-piercing shrieks of the unfortunate souls on the wind occasionally, and those more gifted. They felt betrayed. Jockard never told them it was Golden Eyes he was aiming to do business with. Forced to pass time between two evils as the ships made their way across the Atlantic to the place where the slave galleon had surrendered to the sea, thoughts of rebellion frequently occurred in their minds. It was as if they sat around and waited for Golden Eyes to open Hell’s Mouth any second, and they could do absolutely nothing to prevent it. It was not something Jockard’s men were used to.



Jamie Scarborough pretended he took no notice of the commotion on The Ranger. He kept his eyes to the deck, scrubbing his way from one side to the next, glancing up when he thought no one saw him. Jamie got up, and took the bucket of water over to the railing. He tossed the content outside, used the rope attached to it to lever it down to the sea and fill it with fresh sea water before he pulled it up again. While doing this, he gazed over to the Black Pearl. He pretended to be glancing, but he was actually scouting for the Golden Eyes, as they’d called him. And sure enough, there he was. Tall and dark-haired, with beads glimmering in the strong sunlight. He was handsome and seemed well equipped in every direction. But he was a demon.

Jamie Scarborough pulled the bucket across the railing, sat down on his knees again and added a lump of coarse soap before he began the tedious task of scrubbing again. He considered his situation: He was a slave at the mercy of Jockard’s crew. Every night was spent in agony with someone’s black dick up his arse, and every day was spent trying to survive through starvation and endless work. Having become nothing but a shadow of himself, Jamie Scarborough, a street kid shanghaied from a small settler’s village off the coast of Florida, had at the age of sixteen come to hate his life.



And most of all, he hated Jockard and his crew and everything about the African race. He hated their big black hands groping his arse whenever he tried to get a moment’s rest in some dark abandoned corner during the night. God how he hated being dragged by his hair over to their hammocks and their circle at night, being handed from one black dick to another like he was a piece of furniture. Jamie stretched his neck to peer over the railing again, just to catch a glimpse of the demon, laying all his hopes on that tall, mysterious man. Jamie had to get the demon’s attention. Anything would be better than this, and if it meant selling his soul to get away from the abuse, then Jamie was willing go all the way.

The two ships sometimes closed the distance between them with some metres, and Jamie imagined he could run for it, jump up on the railing and grab the nearest loose line and swing himself over. But it meant either loosening the line on advance and hope no one saw it, or get himself a really sharp dagger which would snap the line straight away. Either way, Jamie realized, he was too weak to make the kind of jump required to make it all the way across. It seemed hopeless. He stood up, and gazed intently at the demon on the black hulled ship, hoping he would turn around and meet his stare. Just once. That’s all he needed.

Jamie failed to avoid the blow in time, and he was sent spinning to the deck with a serious pain to his stomach. Looking up, he realized that Jockard’s first mate was hovering over him, his whip ready and loose from his hand.



“What have we here then? Daydreaming, are we?!”



Jamie cringed, shielding his head with his arms as he saw the whip being raised.



“Where is your captain?!” a demanding voice right next to Jamie spoke. Glancing upwards, Jamie found himself looking at the boots of none other than the demon. “I would speak to him now and not endure this silly debacle.” The demand had its desired effect. The first mate lowered his whip, and immediately bowed his way away from them and made it to the captain’s cabin of The ranger. Seconds later, Jockard marched outside, followed by the first mate. Coming to a halt some metres away from John, Jockard put his hands to his sides in a hope to command some respect.



“I am bored” John simply stated, somewhat childishly, “and I see it as your duty to provide me with some fun until we reach our destination which I understand will, with our current speed, not happen until sometime late tomorrow evening.”



“I see. As I have explained it to you before, it is vital for us to be there when you ascend with the casket. So do excuse our speed, which I understand you as a demon find to be extremely slow. Perhaps..., uhm, this boy will be of some amusement to you in the meantime? Do you like boys?”



“He’s a little scrawny” John said upon surveying Jamie, “not much meat on those bones. But all right. Do you mind if I rip him apart, limb by limb afterwards?!”



“Of course not” gentleman Jockard smiled.



Returning the sly grin, John grabbed Jamie by the arm and pulled him with him to the railing. John waved with his hand, and a blue flash blinded Jamie. Upon coming back to his senses, he found himself standing on the deck of the Black ...no. This was not the Pearl. Gazing about, Jamie saw the foggy outline of The Ranger, and beyond that, a vague impression of the hulls of the Black Pearl. He tensed, sensing his blood freezing in his veins as he discovered the destitute souls which made up the crew.



“Welcome to the Crimson Lotus: Your new home, Jamie Scarborough” John Sparrow spoke softly. But Jamie hardly heard his words. They were drowned out by his increasing fear as he saw the ghostly shapes of the crewmembers closing in on them, falling over each other to get there first. John gently ushered Jamie to the captain’s cabin, and locked the door behind them.



“They can be a little...intimidating until you learn to master them. Personally, I find them only annoying.” John said, guiding Jamie over to the master bed. It was built into an alcove next to a closet, and the sheets were made from pure red silk. The very air of the cabin had an oriental aroma to it, as if there was incense burning somewhere. There was not much to see in the dim light as only a single lamp on the desk was lit. The walls were dark brown and otherwise void of paintings or tapestry. Still, the clothes casually left across a chair, boots and daggers carelessly tossed on the writing desk, and the hundreds of gold coins littering the floor in various places told Jamie that this was a place frequently inhabited.



“You are here for my entertainment. Forever. Do not think I didn’t hear your plea back then, Jamie. You offered me your soul, and I have accepted it. It cannot be given back. Prove yourself worthy and you’ll be first mate on this ship, and I swear you will be given opportunity to unleash your anger towards Jockard someday. Until then, you do as I command. Now, you’re starving and there’s no food on this boat. I shall go and fetch you some. You will not attempt to leave, you understand? If you open those doors to the deck, they’ll tear you to shreds. The door is protected by a spell, so they cannot penetrate it in any direction. Just sit on the bed until I return. Got it?”

John didn’t wait for Jamie’s reply. In a blue flash, the demon was gone.



Fiery red curtains covered the glass doors to the captain’s cabin of the Crimson Lotus. Jamie could make out the intricate symbols drawn around the doorway. It was as if some unseen force beckoned him towards the doors, and he felt his blood pump in his veins as he closed in on them, step by step. His knees felt all wobbly and he hardly dared to breathe, expecting those hideous ghosts to burst through any moment. He found the opening between the two curtains, and with one finger, he carefully parted them. What he saw instantly made him withdraw as terror rose to new levels inside him. They were indeed waiting outside, like wolves to a slaughter, sniffing the air, watching the door with eyeless sockets. Good God! Jamie stumbled backwards, unconsciously making his way back to the bed. He did not dare to retreat to the rear, to the stained glass windows in case more of them lurked outside. Jamie fancied he heard them stepping over the upper deck and then crawling downwards like spiders, to the large windows. He climbed up in the bed, realizing thus that he could at least hide from the stained glass window. He drew his knees up to his chin, and sat very, very still hardly breathing for what seemed like an eternity. By the time John returned, his head was filled with so much paranoia, he was ready to throw himself into the arms of the demon who now owned him.



Noticing the boy’s pale complexion, John said: “You didn’t go outside now, did you?”



Jamie only shook his head. His eyes went from John down to the serving tray he was currently placing on the writing desk.



“Here’s another rule for you: Do not steal from me” John said, lifting away the silvery serving bowl, unravelling a roast on a salad bed, steamy hot potatoes and cabbage stew in delicious white sauce. “If you put as much as one piece of gold in your pocket without my permission, I’ll send you straight to Hell, you got it?” Jamie only half listened to the demon’s words as he scrambled out of bed and over to the table. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for it to cool a little” John said. He moved to stand behind Jamie. Touching the young boy’s shoulders, he said: “That leaves us with a few minutes to get to know each other better. Now, as much as I’d like to ravage you right here and now, I’ll try to be patient.”



Jamie felt like he’d been hit hard in the stomach. Was this it? Was he going to have to endure another rapist?



John had turned his back to him, but suddenly stopped to glance over his shoulders as if he’d just read Jamie’s mind. “It’s quite warm in here. But not warm enough. You may remove your rags while I make it just a little warmer.”



Jamie watched him walk over to the fireplace on the wall opposite the alcove of the bed. The demon snapped his fingers, and the wood neatly placed inside instantly took fire. Jamie began to reluctantly remove his clothes, scratching his skin in the process. He hadn’t had a decent bath in months.



“The rags go into the fire. I don’t want your fleas spreading” the demon said with his back still against Jamie. Jamie realized the demon was actually courteously keeping his distance, allowing Jamie some privacy. That was something new. “So Jamie Scarborough, I believe your food is ready to be eaten now. Bring it with you by the fireplace so you stay warm, ey?” John said, turning towards the boy.

Jamie didn’t hesitate, but picked up the serving tray. Sitting down by the fire, completely naked, he began to stuff the food into his mouth. He was so blinded by hunger he had eyes only for the delicious looking roast in front of him.



“Gentlemen eat their food with knife and fork, Mr. Scarborough.”



Jamie promptly got up and fetched the utilities. This was going to be much harder than expected. With each passing minute, the demon seemed less demon and more like an educated human. Scary. Completely immersing himself in the food, Jamie quickly cleared the entire tray. Just as he felt like just tilting himself over on the floor and fall asleep right there and then, he realised that a wooden bath tub with steamy water in it was waiting for him. Not having the strength to protest or think another straight thought, Jamie dragged himself to his feet and sauntered over to the bath tub next to the demon. Once settled inside, the hot water seemed to soak right through Jamie’s skin, and in complete bliss he allowed himself to close his eyes for some seconds.



“Clean away their fingerprints from your flesh” John said, handing him a small piece of blue-coloured rose-scented soap. “The Queen of France gave me this. I’ll be smell and taste every inch of you later on. I am going to be very upset if I find anything I don’t like. Get it? Jamie looked up at him, craning his neck to find the demon’s handsome face. He liked his lips. Jamie fancied himself able to kiss those lips without difficulty. He received the soap in his hand, and looking at it, he found his thoughts drifting off to a lady in a fancy dress with an elaborate wig decorated with gold and jewels. And most impressive was her bosom: Twin skin-coloured watermelons in size, soft as a pillow stuffed with goose downs and warm as if she’d just gotten out of bed.

Jamie awoke with a start as water flooded his nose. He immediately sat somewhat bewildered over his situation before he realized he must have fallen asleep in the tub. He gazed to check the demon’s whereabouts, and found him sitting at his writing desk, back to Jamie and immersed in writing some kind of letter. The water was still hot and nice, and he began to clean himself with the soap. Hoping the demon would not turn to stare at him, Jamie slowly rose to kneel in the tub, cleaning his hair at least five times, rinsing and rinsing again to get the fleas out. He cleaned his torso, scrubbed across the burn marks, his nipples which had been mistreated every single night, washing his abs, the ribs and finally he stood to thoroughly clean his crotch. He washed his penis, taking care not to miss a single spot, washing inside and outside of the foreskin, with every nook and cranny investigated. Then it was his anus. Good God. The last place on his body he wanted to acknowledge that he had. Just thinking about it immediately brought back memories of those big black bastards and their rock hard cocks. Jamie was still sore from the previous night’s action. Suddenly, John stood, leaving the papers on his desk to dry.



“I wouldn’t want to force your hand, Mr. Scarborough. But I must insist. Either you clean yourself, or I clean your hole for you. I promise to be gentle.” Before Jamie was capable of producing a sensible answer, John had approached him, and took the soap. Jamie remained still, feeling the gentle strokes as John moved his lathered hand across Jamie’s butt cheeks. “I was just now writing a letter to Queen Marie-Antoinette of France, describing to her the beautiful smell filling my quarters, and once again thanking her for such a precious and intimate gift.” John moved his hands upwards, gently massaging the boy’s neck and the small of his back before moving further down again. He continued, noticing how Jamie slowly began to relax under his ministrations. Reaching down to the cheeks again, John gently parted them, massaging his way inwards, aiming for Jamie’s puckered entrance. “She gave me the soap as a token of her gratitude. I let her in on some tricks that she might try with her husband in the marital bed. They’re both incredibly clumsy, you know” John said, finding what he was looking for. Jamie tensed at the touch. His head was spinning, his senses filled with rose scent, images of a beautiful queen in billowy dress, the rumbling seducing breath and words from John in his ear, a growing sensation in his own crotch combined with the enticing, massaging thumb skirting the premises around his anus. Good God where was this going to end?! “Now the queen, you see” John continued with deep and eloquent voice in Jamie’s ear, “is very much of royal blood and a mistress of the art of royal etiquette. But she is very, very young, like yourself. And in bed, between the sheets, she is nothing more than a scared virgin. A young, voluptuous woman without education in the arts of lovemaking, without knowledge of how to entertain a man. I took pity on her, that frightened little thing. And in her naiveté and good faith she gave me her soap. Of all things. Not gold, jewels or virginity no, but a piece of soap. A cherished memory from Austria, her home country. Now, to give away something as little and really as unimportant as a piece of soap, though to one self it means everything in the world, more than one’s own life, now that is what I call a true sacrifice.”



Jamie could but moan as John’s fingers delved deep inside his entrance. Having immersed himself in the words, the melodic voice speaking softly in his ear, Jamie forgot about Jockard’s men and the shame. He neglected the pain at the intrusion, the fright of being raped once more. He supported himself on the railing of the bath tub as he closed his eyes and swayed his back a little all the while adjusting his arse to gain more of the good sensation John was giving him. Beads of sweat mingled with bath water covered his forehead, and glimmering in the flickering light from the fireplace, they looked like diamonds. His erection touched the side of the bathtub he was leaning against, and for the first time, Jamie discovered he really wanted to be touched. Swaying his back even more, shooting his arse up in the air, Jamie began to resemble a cat in heat. Through half closed eyes, he drank in the swirling sight of blood red curtains, the dark wood of the writing desk and the flickers of light dancing across the dark wood of the floor. Somehow, even the dead things in the cabin had a sensuous touch. Had he been asked to, he would have made love to the very floor. Good God!



“Would you just take me...?!” he hissed at John. The sharp request was met with a solid grin from the demon, and in the process Jamie discovered John’s fangs. Normally, such a sight as he was with his golden eyes glowing in half dark places and his flawless fangs displayed, would have scared any normal person senseless. But Jamie was already senseless with lust, so sight only intensified his lust for John’s body. He imagined those teeth buried in his neck just as he orgasmed. Riding sky high until his vision turned bloody red and then fading to black in total ecstasy had to be the proper way to die, Jamie thought to himself.



“We haven’t finished cleaning you, Mr. Scarborough” John said. He scissored his fingers once more before finally slipping the final finger inside Jamie. Then, he began to pump his hand in an out until Jamie howled with ecstasy in deed. Slowing down after a while, John pushed a little further, and just as he expected, he soon found his hand disappearing into Jamie. Sliding it ever so gently, inch by inch in and out, John tilted his head to see how Jamie was doing. Delirious with lust and obviously somewhere far away in his mind, Jamie was stroking himself. His eyes were closed, his mouth open and his breath heavy. He was currently supporting his weight on one arm, one arm which soon seemed to be collapsing as it was shivering with strain from hand to shoulder. John continued to move in and out with his hand, but he leaned forward to Jamie’s ear to nibble at the earlobe. Then, he whispered: “I said: We haven’t finished cleaning, Mr. Scarborough” with as much sensuality and hunger as he could, knowing it would send Jamie over the brink. Taking care to breathe into his ear a couple of times more, he heard Jamie stammer, moaning again and again in crescendo. Withdrawing from his entrance, John watched the boy come. Cupping his hand beneath Jamie’s erection, John gathered a handful of semen. Jamie promptly collapsed against the edge of the tub, before his knees gave way and he fell backwards into the water. Falling onto the spot which just had been abused so badly, he complained out loud in something between a curse and a moan before resting his head against the edge of the tub. Fighting to regain control of his breath, he watched as John poured himself a glass of red wine. Then he poured the seamen into the wine as well before nipping at it.



“Hm. Nice vintage. A little young and perhaps not quite mature yet. But with exceptional potential. I think I’ll go with this one. Care for a glass, Mr. Scarborough?”



A little taken aback with what he just saw, Jamie nodded. He was parched. John poured a second glass, and handed it to him. Sitting down by the tub, he reached for the soap and fetched one of Jamie’s feet, rubbing and massaging away at the sole. The treatment made Jamie’s eyes roll to the back of his head. The wooziness of lust soon gave way to wooziness of alcohol. Jamie had not a care in the world, this one or beyond or wherever the heck he was presently, as he was dried and put to bed between crimson sheets. He fell asleep to the sound of the crackling wood burning in the fireplace, the sounds of John drinking his wine at the writing desk, the ruffle of papers and the scratching of his pen.



Be the fox, John told himself as he teleported back to outside the door of the captain’s cabin of the Black Pearl. Like a fox sneaking into a hen house. He couldn’t teleport himself directly inside. The blue flash would only serve to wake Jack, and John wasn’t having any of that now. He ventured to open the door as slowly and as gently as he could. He heard someone mutter, and turned his head only to be met by the accusing stare of Mr. Gibbs at the helm.



“Quiet now, lad” Mr. Gibbs told him, then shook his head again. As silent as only a demon can be, John opened the door, nodded good night or good morning or whatever to Mr. Gibbs, and made his way inside. No sooner had he closed the door and turned around, before he realized his mistake. He jumped in the air as he came face to face with Jack himself. He was standing next to his bed, arms crossed and with sombre bloodshed eyes.



“Where have ye been, lad?!” Jack more hissed than whispered.



“Huh? Uh... at my ship” John said quite surprised at the sudden interrogation. “Are you..., uh, angry with me?” Feeling like a naughty boy caught in the act was somewhat unnerving. The tingle in his groin, which had been present during his stay with Jamie, seemed to grow in parallel to the sudden and obscene images in his head of his father giving him a thorough spanking.



“One moment I see ye on deck on The Ranger. Next time I look, ye’re not there. All I see is Jockard with a big grin on his face. I’ve...I’ve been worried sick!”



“Surely if I’d been held captive, the twins would have—“



“—next time ye go somewhere ye let me know! Now get to bed it’s way past yer bedtime!” It would have been the end of the conversation had not Jack happened to glance at John’s crotch. “What’s this, then?” Jack said, motioning at the bulge in John’s pants.



“What?!” He followed Jack’s gaze downwards. “Oh. That! Never mind that—“



“—have ye been someone, John?” Jack asked with suspicion painted all across his face. And something else too: Enjoyment over watching his eldest suffer thus. “Someone else but me?” he added just to really rub it in. He couldn’t hide the irony at the end though, and soon a grin forced its way from one corner to another of Jack’s mouth.



“Dad, I’m really sorry about not telling you. Had I known you would wait for me, I would have told you immediately. I came to check on you. Now that I know you’re all right, I need to go and check on my, uhm” John was going to say slave, but thought better to drop the tag and say, “new first mate of the Crimson. Now, if you’ll excuse me—“



“—I’ll be demanding some satisfaction for my trouble!” Jack said, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. John hid his face in his palms and sighed heavily.



“Satisfaction?! My God, Dad, what kind of..? Never mind. Of course. Upon my return you shall have all of me, savvy?!”



John was strangely glad to be out of there again. Did he have need? Oh yes. Was he in need of satisfaction? Oh that too. It was in fact on the top of his list, as he gingerly returned to the Crimson Lotus to find the young Mr. Scarborough still fast asleep. The boy had in fact not moved an inch from what John could tell. He left the cabin to stand at the helm. The Crimson mostly steered herself, though she could use an extra hand on the wheel now and then. She had long been without proper company, and from what she whispered in John’s ear, she agreed that the boy had potential to become such a companion.

John didn’t want to force himself on Jamie. It was much more fun to play with the boy, seducing him into a complacent sextoy. He would definitely take his time with this one. But at the moment, his needs grew more imminent by the minute. He settled on a vicar, a missionary man just extracted from a native village in South America. The villagers had come to John for help, praying to El Diablo for assistance. The villagers were being destroyed by disease and harsh treatment by the Spaniard settlers. The list of the Spaniard’s crimes grew long. This, the natives said, they could however tolerate, but being denied their own gods, now that was something different. They knew not how to endure if they could not communicate with their deities. So John took the priest, killed his wife and set fire to every place housing a Spaniard. The last the priest endured before being doomed to spend eternity on the Crimson Lotus, was the sight of the Spaniards burning inside their houses, their screams mingling with his own as John pinned him over a toppled chariot, ripping his robe apart to reveal a shivering, pale backside, then the first thrust as John had buried himself to the hilt knowing the priest’s rectum would be severely injured in the process. Ah, so sweet the memory, John thought to himself. He grinned maliciously at the priest, who came to an abrupt stop as he noticed John coming in his direction. The priest was now but a former shadow of himself. All newcomers to John’s harem on the Crimson Lotus instantly became outcasts, detested and hated by their undead peers. Their chances with John were ultimately bigger. They would be favoured, and would enjoy a moment of bliss since John could simply hold them by the arm and flesh would grow right back onto their bones. Any undead, regardless of disposition as a living, would assume a nature of jealousy against those who still harboured a beating heart.

The priest began to stumble backwards. He had grown thin, his skin had lost its previous glow, his golden sideburns were greying, and the skin on his body no longer fitted him. John could see it in his eyes: The vicar knew he was dying. He knew he’d eventually become one of them. His torn frock was quickly dissolving into rags. Only the white collar around his neck remained stainless. The area around his crotch was a bloodied mess, and his once proud and defiant, brown-eyed gaze was now void of the reassurance that God would deliver his soul and that the demon before him would cower in the presence of the One Almighty Lord. The priest crawled like a bug along the edge where the deck met the railing, crawling on hands and knees until his lungs as well as his knees hurt from the strain and the terror. He could no longer call on his God. John had cut out his tongue during a previous encounter, and the vicar now feared this golden eyed demon more than anything. More than death itself, for he had come to realize there would be no death – just endless agony on a ship with black hulls and red sails. Somewhere, a woman laughed seductively. John grinned in return to the lady of the ship, and was finally bored with chasing the priest around. He grabbed the blonde-haired man by the neck and hauled him off to the forecastle where he threw the vicar to the deck. John was not about to have any kind of sweet talking or foreplay. He simply said: “Kneel. Open your mouth. I expect you to take it. All of it.”

Crossing his chest, the priest made an attempt to defy John. He turned and threw himself to the deck, making himself as limp as a sack of wood.



“Fine. Have it your way then” John said. He was beginning to get annoyed, wondering if it wouldn’t be easier to just go back to the cabin and help himself with Jamie. Getting a rope, he tied the man to the foremast, placing him on a barrel to get the appropriate height. The vicar strained in his bonds, knowing he wasn’t to escape this torture. The demon was having his way. John then sunk his teeth in the man’s neck, and was instantly rewarded with a moan. The blood tasted metallic and warm, and John circled his lips with his tongue, wiping away the blood. The vicar was becoming docile, his gaze unfocused, his breath heavy with lust. John locked his gaze with him as he opened his breeches. His demonic manhood popped out like a ready bayonet waiting for its first kill, and when he saw it appear near his mouth, the vicar opened his mouth, enveloping it without another thought. And John knew it to be the truth. Lost in the momentary rush of lust created by the bite of a demon, the vicar did neither contemplate nor feel sorry for his situation.

Oh yes, the vicar took it all in, to the point of gagging. John held the man’s head still, pressing it to the foremast as to get a better advantage of the momentum when he thrust into the vicar’s mouth. There was nothing like a warm, wet hole no matter which end of the body it belonged to. In the background, he could hear the discontent murmurs of the remaining ghost crew. They remained on the main deck and did not dare to enter the forecastle. Saliva ran down the vicar’s chin in heavy streams as John kept pumping. He could sense that the vicar was coming round to himself, and soon, the moans were replaced by whimpers, choking sounds and complaining wails. Just then, John felt his orgasm build up like a warm steam in his chest which then pressed downwards to be funnelled out through his erect penis. Coming hard into the vicar’s mouth, he grunted and sighed satisfied. Withdrawing his erection, he paid no heed to the vicar, but put his clothes back in order before re-entering the main. The crew remained gazing jealously up at the vicar who now fought the sperm in his throat which was currently turning into solid gold. Coughing gold and blood as he did, it took but seconds for the vicar to realize that he would soon be welcomed as one of them. Fighting to draw the next breath, he blurrily saw the crowd of miscreants and ghosts viewing him, like a witch burning at the stake. His head was filled with terror, and he wanted so desperately to scream as his gaze shifted, watching the back of the captain of the ship who walked away to retire to the captain’s cabin.