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[Ancyous]

---

Out of breath, Muerte collapsed at the edge of the pier too weak to keep on running. He had to get away, but how? The Escort was nowhere near and there was no way he could commandeer a ship all by himself. Maybe he should just give in - let her have his soul. If he never saw another Lord it would be too soon. Then again, seeing each and every one of them begging for his mercy as he sent them to their deaths . . . !

A shimmer of light caught his attention. It seemed to have no substance yet beckoned his approach with a demonic whisper. Steer with your instincts, Captaine. Loire's words drifted into clairty as a ship with black sails appeared before him through a parting fog. Barely able to move, Muerte forced himself to his knees. If he had to crawl then so be it . . . instinct was telling him there were answers waiting for him on that vessel.

* * *

The ninth Lord smiled triumphantly as he watched Muerte crawling up his gangway. He should pull it out from under him, send his arse to the bottom of the ocean, then haul him back up in grand welcome. He'd missed the entertainment the gypsy'd provided. Besides, every good soul deserved a bit of temporary haven aboard The Mire, he grinned. Ordering Muerte escorted to a cabin, he set his ship back to sea, cutting through the waves upon a torrent of evil omnipotence.

[Ancyous]

---

Notably a man of few words, the Ninth Lord had business to discuss with The Escort's captain. It was something he'd not planned to pursue quite yet, but Muerte's unanticipated arrival provided opportune convenience he may as well make use of. Slipping through the cabin door, he stood in silent eminence awaiting acknowledgement.

Muerte sat on the edge of the bunk, the warmth of the blanket wrapped over his shoulders effecting an uncommon sensation of healing as though closing his wounds and soothing the pain away with them. Whatever it was he'd been given to drink seemed to be doing the same from within. This was no ordinary ship. He could pass his hands through its walls like they werent even there, feel the ocean churning beneath his boots as if the hull were non-existent. And the crew . . . . .

His thoughts interrupted by the ninth Lord's sudden presence, Muerte greeted his visitor with hesitation, uncertain as to the status of his welcome. "Yours was the first vessel that I came upon," he attempted to explain. "I didn't realize you were about to leave port or I wouldn't have boarded. Sorry." Pausing, he extended his hand. "I am El Corazon del la Muerte, Captain of The Starfire Escort."

The ninth Lord nodded. Briefly glancing down at Muerte's hand, he did not extend his own. "I know who you are. I know where you've been and I know how you got here, so stop wasting my time."

"Who the hell are you?" Muerte scowled, anger beginning to gnaw at his nerves. "And how do you know so much . . . if indeed you really do?!"

"You've changed, Ancyous. For the better I might add."

"Ancyous? Did I not just tell you my name is Muerte?"

"I'm not deaf, but you very well could be if you don't shut the hell up and listen to me!"

Lowering his mug to the table, Muerte refused to back down. "Am I supposed to be afraid now? You walk in here as though you own me, call me by some strange name and threaten to . . . to what, exactly? Take my hearing? Or are you yet another Lord seeking to take my heart?"

"I DO own you, gypsy! And as for your worthless heart . . ." The ninth Lord placed his hand over Muerte's chest. His fingers tearing through muscle and bone, he closed his fist around the pulsing organ and ripped it free of the surrounding tissues. "Give it to your woman when she comes for you," he laughed, tossing it to its owner. "I couldn't care less!"

The pain was instantaneous, paralyzing; the act horrific, terrible beyond imagining. He was going to be sick. Swallowing back the bile rising in his throat, Muerte fought the darkness closing in on him as he looked down at the gaping hold in his chest. Who was this madman? What kind of power did he possess that enabled him to do what he'd just done? Was he the author of the book? Had it never really been about his heart at all?

"Ready to listen yet?"

"Listen to what?"

"To my proposition."

Still in a state of shock, Muerte did his best to appear attentive. "Which is?"

"In their ignorance the Lords will still come after you. Now we both know they are chasing their own tails, but that doesn't mean they won't be able to imprison you again, torture you. I can prevent that, keep you safe from further harm."

"At what price?" Muerte spat.

"Just bring me their souls. And ninety-two more. An easy task for the ferryman, no?"

"And ninety-two more? Are you asking me to bring you the souls of innocents to save my own? Or have you some alternate purpose in mind?"

"That is none of your concern."

"You are insane!"

"Not half so insane as Kaylor has become since your death. He misses you, Ancyous."

"What are you talking about? Who is Kaylor? WHY DO YOU KEEP CALLING ME ANCYOUS?"

Turning toward the door, the ninth Lord smiled over his shoulder before taking his leave. "Ask for Lord Makush Sutekh when you decide to concede. In the meantime, pleasant dreams Captain. Good night!"

[Ancyous]

---

Muerte threw off the blanket and walked to the door. Trying the handle, he found it to be locked. Great He'd escaped one prison only to run his arse straight into another. Damn fool! All that time spent fighting to keep his heart and this Lord Sutekh takes it from him as though it were a piece of rancid meat hardly worth the effort. Obviously he'd been wrong in his belief the Lords were being used. It was he who'd been made the pawn. Buf it that bastard thought he would betray the souls entrusted to him, exploit his ship and crew, for protection from a band of degenerate pirates, he had another think coming. I do own you gypsy. Gypsy? Ancyous? Kaylor? Who were these people? Why should it matter? All of this was nothing more than just another deceitful lure!

He walked back to the bunk suddenly more tired than he could remember ever having been. Pulling off Lafitte's waistcoat he laid down, the fact that his heart lay but inches from the pillow of little care as he fell into a fitful sleep . . . . .

Kaylor knocked lightly on the door. He'd not seen Ancyous since yesterday afternoon when they'd gone riding together. He hadn't come down for breakfast and though he'd promised to begin his squire's training, he'd left the lad waiting in the list all afternoon until he'd finally given up at sunset and gone home. This wasn't like Ancy. He knocked again. No response. Turning the knob, he eased into the ante-chamber.

"Ancyous?" he called softly, his concern increasing as he made his way through the room. "Are you alright, gypsy? Where . . . NO! ANCY! NO!"

Sprawled across the Persian rug against the far wall Ancyous' half-clad body lay in death's repose, the ring finger of his right hand stripped of its flesh.

Kaylor could not believe what he was seeing. Racing to his brother's side, he fell over the corpse in a fit of tears. "Damn you," he cried. "How could you do this? HOW? He was a good man! Loyal to you! WHORESON!!"

Muerte sat up slowly. Looking down at his right hand he closed his fingers over his palm, the images of what he'd just dreamt vivid in his mind. Or had it been a dream at all? Was it something more? A window to his past perhaps? A partial answer to his many questions?

Ancyous. Was that Kaylor who had mourned his death with such dire rage? Who was this Kaylor anyway and at whom had his rage been targeted?

[Ancyous]

---

"What in 'ell?!" Jamison leapt away from the wheel as it spun widly out of his grasp. "Where the devil ya be goin' wench?" he asked, rattled by The Escort's unexpected seizure of her helm.

She had no time for conversation. Muerte was aboard The Mire, his heart removed by Lord Sutekh. If she couldn't reach him by sunset tomorrow, persuade him to proclaim his heart as hers, its beat would ebb to its last thus condemning him to remain where he was - to spend eternity among the damned.

Veering sharply alee she chased the passing minutes with frantic urgency, bearing down upon the sea like a late summer squall, leaving a trail of panic in her wake. Where was he? How could she save him if she couldn't find him?

"Captain! My Captain! You must open your hand to me; accept the stone! Please! I don't know where you are, but it's not a choice anymore!"

* * *

Muerte sighed, glancing toward his heart where it lay still beating on the bunk. When had anything been a choice? Shifting his gaze to his chest he wasn't surprised to discover the wound had closed itself without the slightest scar. It seemed as though he'd been dancing through destiny since the moment he'd arrived in this God-forsaken afterlife. Underwater voyages and pirate Lords, prison cells and talking ships . . .

"If you can speak to me why can't you find me, perra?" He lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

"You will understand once we're bound."

"Oh, of course. When I become your Starfire slave I will understand everything, won't I?"

"It isn't slavery, Muerte. It's power, invincibility . . . love."

"Love? Sorry, but I happen to be fresh out of hearts today."

She could feel his frustration, the threat of defeat exhausting his will. There had to be a way to seduce his acceptance!

"Your crew will be so disappointed that you've left them to the curse. Who'd have believed you capable of such selfishness?"

"Curse?!" He swung his legs over the side of the bunk and stood up, his blood curdling in his veins. "What curse? What have you done to my crew?!"

"Nothing that cannot be undone, my Captain."

"Damn you, wench! This has been nothing but manipulation from the start! You want my soul? Fine! Take it - it's yours! You want my love? Why not? Take that too, my heart is right here! But by all that is holy, you WILL NOT have my crew!" He lifted his hand out in front of him uncurling his fingers with haste. "Give me the stone, mi amore! NOW!"

[Ancyous]

---

The crystal appeared in Muerte's palm, its pale emerald glow silhouetting his shadow against the cabin wall . An eerie sense of serenity crept slowly over him, a soothing calm drawing his attention away from the stone as it burrowed its way beneath his skin seeking to imbed itself. Mild surges of energy began coursing throughout his body. The intensity steadily increasing, he felt as though a firestorm had ignited inside him raging violently out of control. Balls of flame erupted in the air around him. The heat was tortuous, the pain excrutiating. He screamed in desperation to escape but the power refused to relent, reaching into every cell becoming one with him.

Suddenly all went still. He stood upon The Escort's quarterdeck. A diamond cuff encircled his left wrist, the opulent stones ablaze with radiant starlight. His heart beat loud and strong from somewhere deep within the ship. He smiled, understanding just as she'd said he would. He wasn't really there . . . not yet . . . but with his soul now at The Escort's helm, he would steer her to his spirit.

***

Loud cheers and wild howls of joy woke Jamison from a sound sleep. Irritated, he rolled over and grabbed a match striking it against the bulkhead. As flame flickered to life its light spilled over his hand, the reason for the crew's celebration immediately apparent. "Arrgh. Dammit, Cappy!" he groaned, speaking to Muerte as if he were there. "Why'd ya 'ave ta go an' do 'at? I been 'opin' this'd never come ta pass."

"Quit whining, Jami," Muerte teased, his voice a ghostly whisper over the quartermaster's shoulder, taking him aback. "The coordinates are marked. Get your lazy arse up here and help me go down on this wench! It's been a while for you, hasn't it?"

***

"Bold move, gypsy. Very impressive indeed." Sutekh strolled below deck ordering his men to the guns, overseeing their obedience. It had been too long since he'd last engaged in battle - nearly a week pissed away anchored at Siren's. The approaching frigate wouldn't be much of a challenge, but the prospect of destruction was the ultimate rush no matter the size of the quarry.

He couldn't help but wonder at the motivation behind Muerte's action. Was it honor . . . or defiance? Had he really wanted to save his crew that badly or was he attempting to nullify the offer of protection? It was amusing to think he may have believed a little power, a little strength, gave him the ability to turn his back and walk away. He'd only made things worse for himself . . .

. . . and far more interesting than anticipated.

[Ancyous]

---

Sutekh leaned casually against the railing, death's promise sweet in the air - intoxicating, like the heady bouquet of a rare vintage wine. Men of power fell to him as rapidly as the weak. Muerte was no exception. Despite his metamorphosis eliminating the gypsy would require little effort, but that was not his goal. Watching him slowly betray his precious conviction would be far more gratifying and the perfect punishment for his transgressions.

"She bears the British flag, sir."

The ninth Lord nodded acknowledgement to his first mate. "Match it."

The dense fog that draped The Mire made her true form imperceptible, but he would still fly 'friendly' colors, moving in close to the unsuspecting frigate before hoisting his own flag at the last minute. Semi-spectral, the vessel possessed the speed and maneuverability of a sloop. Although she carried fewer guns, her range and accuracy exceeded the firepower of a ship of the line. Physical items passed right through her rendering all weaponry and ramming attempts useless.

"Ship approaching on port tack! Come up, helmsman!"

Helmsman?! Thick mist swirled over the quarterdeck licking at Muerte's hands where they rested upon the wheel. To his right a tall hooded figure dressed in dark gray robes stood with arms akimbo waiting for compliance. Muerte scowled, lowering his hands and taking a step back. "Explain this!" His order was less a demand than a question.

"FIRE!" Sutek's command resonated in silence, heard only by those intended to obey it.

A warning shot rang out from The Mire's port bow. Thrown off guard, Muerte was appalled by what he saw. A direct hit, the frigate's structure remained undamaged while the man at her helm was instantly vaporized.

"Do I have your agreement yet?" Taking form directly in front of him, Sutekh placed a cold hand on Muerte's shoulder. "You gave your soul for a crew of men you barely know. What would you sacrifice to save a man you once called brother?" He paused, delighting in the tension apparent in Muerte's strained features. "Bring me those souls and I'll send you back to him."

"Whatever life I may have lived and whoever may have been part of it means nothing to me now. Nor do you! I can stand on my own!"

"It's a shame, Ancyous. You used to be such an accomodating little bastard." Sutekh's feigned sigh concealed his satisfied grin. "Alright then........STAND!"

Chill talons of energy ripped through Muerte's shirt lifting him into the air and, hurtling him the distance betwen the two ships, slamming him into the frigate's wheel with great force. Disoriented he reached an unsteady hand toward the balustrade, but before his fingers could touch the wood The Mire loosed a volley of cannon fire. The ship disintegrating around him, Muerte felt as though he were drowning . . . Impossible! Or was it?

[Ancyous]

---

The sky languished over the sea in molten blood red hues, a canopy of death further inflaming Rivero's rage. She was his! That Muerte now lay between her thighs helping himself to pleasures he had no right to claim made every day away from her more unbearable than the one before. He had yet to understand how the bastard had managed to overpower him, take the ship and pronounce himself captain. His memories were vague; a sweltering gale blown in from the south, waves cresting over the mainmast, two blinding flashes of light - the first blue, the second too bright to determine. He may have blacked out after that, he was uncertain, but he'd suddenly found himself alone on a beach, white sand beneath his boots and a scarlet sun sinking below the horizon.

He wasn't a spirit like Muerte. On the contrary, he was very much alive and very much in love. His service aboard The Escort had been voluntary - power and immortality, seduction and eroticism - and now all of it gone, stolen from him by a ghost! He should have taken Muerte's heart when he'd had the chance rather than giving in to his lady's wishes. Were it not for her desire to see him tortured in retaliation for his having separated them this torment would have ended at the point of his blade the moment he'd caught up with El Corazon.

"Soy su capitan, Muerte! Es yo que ella ama, no tu! Ella desdena tu cada tacto y ahora iguala diagramas contra ti de encountrar una manera de traernos detras junto." (I am her captain, Muerte! It is me she loves, not you! She despises your every touch and even now plots against you to find a way to bring us back together.)

[Ancyous]

---

PG - 13

The waves closed over Muerte cradling him affectionately. A spirit of the sea , honorable and brave, he was ever welcome, ever safe.

* * *

Jamison had mixed emotions as he lay the unconscious captain in his bunk. It was good to have 'im back aboard, but 'e'd paid a 'elluva price to get there. Easing Muerte out of his wet clothes, he pulled the blanket up covering him to his waist. "Watch yer back now, Cappy," he whispered. "Things ain't nowhere near what they be a'seemin'!"

* * *

She stood looking down at him savoring the way his long dark hair fell over his brow, the stern unyielding strength of his face, memorizing his broad chest and powerful arms. His sturdy back tapered to a trim waist and lean hips. Tight buttocks melted into muscular thighs and calves. She would never forget how beautifully he moved, the courage and grace of his carriage. Everything about this man was strong and dark and uncompromising . . . but he was not Manuel.

"Muerte," she purred, tracing a finger over his chest. "My captain."

His muscles rippled beneath her touch. Slowly opening his eyes he forced his frame to a sitting position, pleased to discover himself in familiar surroundings. "Stop staring!" he snapped with a teasing grin as he lifted a hand to caress her cheek.

She let him touch her. He seemed larger, stronger than before. An unexpected feeling rolled through her, a deep carnal longing threatening to drown her reason. His fingertips were hot and trembling. Her breathing husky and ragged, she lowered her lips to his gently capturing his tongue. His kiss returned warm and sure, beguiling in its sensuality. She hadn't been prepared for this betrayal of her senses. He was magnificent and she despised him for this sudden awakening of feelings that should not belong to him.

Lost.

He was lost in the honey of her mouth, the fascination of sensations she aroused and the wild, consuming urgency of his desire. The sudden need to have her overwhelming in intensity, he wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her down beneath him.

The touch of her hands and mouth were constant, pervasive, invasive. He wanted to cry out, couldn't breathe in the sensations engulfing him quickly enough. Hot, strong and vital he pressed into her. Joined together they moved as one, giving in to the passionate fury of an ageless savage rhythm.

An exquisite tremor passed through him and into her, an explosive instant of suspension. "I love you, my captain," she cooed, her breath warm against his shoulder. "You've suffered so much at his hands, but I promise it will all be over soon."

Muerte met his lady's gaze with burning question. "Rivero?"

"He's almost here," she smiled secretively. "He's almost here."

[Ancyous]

---

--Captain's Journal--

How long has it been since the day I surrendered to Rivero? I've completely lost track of time. I haven't even yet been out of my cabin for her presence. Until now she's not left my side. I am consumed, wanting nothing, needing nothing except the sweet magic she offers. Her love replaces the heart I have lost.

I don't know what she meant when she said "it will all be over soon" and that Rivero was "almost here", but should it become necessary I would forfeit my every hope, every dream to defend her. She is everything to me now. We are one. The next time I see the pirate king I shall rip out his heart and hand it to him just as Sutekh did mine!

I am greatly troubled by this Lord Sutekh and his insistence that I agree to provide him with 100 souls. He attempted to destroy me over my refusal. Why? He referred to me as 'Ancyous' repeatedly and 'gypsy' as well, speaking as though he knew me before my death. If so, then did he follow me here . . . or kill and bring me here? Who - or what - is he? And why 100 souls? No matter. I will give him nothing. Hopefully our paths will never cross again.

[Ancyous]

---

"Mierde!" Muerte sword, lowering his spyglass. A ship flying Rivero's flag was sailing toward The Escort from the west. "Seems you were right, mi amore."

"Yes, my love," she replied, instantly appearing at his side. " I know him . . . Stopping when she realized what she'd almost disclosed, she played her fingers through his hair tracing them along the angle of his jaw and kissing him lightly before continuing. "Well not him so much as his kind. They are all alike. You got away with their treasure. As king of the Lords he seeks their revenge. But you are too powerful now. As soon as he is close enough you will draw his energy away from him, taking it for your own. He'll become weak while you grow strong. All you need do is board him, Muerte. It will be quickly ended."

He forced a smile, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before joining Jamison at the wheel. Si, it would end quickly! The Lords had no reason to keep chasing him. The heart they so coveted now rested with his ship. If the bastard didn't know that yet he soon would. But there was more to this than treasure. Rivero didn't give a damn about avenging the Brethren Court. It was far more personal than that. Humiliated by his prisoner's escape 'The Ravager's' damaged reputation was sorely in need of repair.

"Hoist the colors, Jami! Ready the guns! We are about to put a permanent fix on Rivero's ego!"

Like the arrow of a compass is drawn northward, Muerte began to experience a strong sensation of involuntary focus centering his concentration upon a vague stream of energy that grew more tangible as the two vessels sailed upon one another. A sudden flash of bright green light exploded around him. Enormous power surged rampantly throughout his body catapulting him to the deck below where he landed upon a pile of timber stacked against the fo'c'sle.

"Cappy? Ya a'ight? Where the devil did ya go?"

Jamison's concern came at him as a strange, almost painful, vibration saturating the air with sound. Bracing himself to stand, the wooden deck bit into his hands, excrutiating like the teeth of a great white biting into its meal. Color assaulted his vision in a dazzling display of blinding illumination, forcing him to keep his eyes lowered as he made his way back to the helm. His every perception was magnified a hundred fold, an awareness of superior strength - potent and unrestrained - beckoned to be tested.

"Bring her to, Jami. Keep her steady, keep her cordial . . . but if he fires, fire back. No hesitation. Send the bastard and his crew of vermin to the depths!"

The quartermaster glanced over his shoulder, hearing Muerte but not seeing him. "She give ya the stone, did she?" He frowned. "Invincible power my arse! So what ay're ya gonna do, Cappy? Board the wench and forfeit what ya got left 'o yerself? How do ya know that ain't what she's 'opin' fer? How do ya know it ain't 'im what she wants?"

"I supose next you'll be calling me Ancyous and demanding I bring you one hundred souls?"

"What the 'ell ay're ya talkin' 'bout? I'm jes' tryin' ta . . . . ."

"Trying to what, Jamison?" Turning away, Muerte's voice was an echo of disdain as he headed aft. "You've got your orders!"

What was bothering Jami? The Escort wasn't hoping to lose him and she certainly didn't want Rivero. Hadn't she cursed the crew, blaming them when he was taken prisoner by that hijo de una perra? Maybe he was afraid to fight the pirate king again, afraid of the consequences should they be defeated. Well he had nothing to worry about!

Stepping into the longboat, Muerte loosed the securing lines and lowered to the water as quietly as possible. None of them had anything to fear. Rivero would fall to him today; tonight would find him celebrating in his woman's arms.

* * *

The Escort and the galleon now aligned and close, Jamison taunted a greeting across the space between them. "Still lookin' fer that 'eart, ay're ya, Ravager?"

"I happen to be looking for my prisoner," Rivero responded, attempting to mask the infirmity in his voice. "Perhaps you've seen him? A coward who goes by the name El Corazon who attacked a woman because he didn't want to bathe and left another one to die because he was too weak to withstand the lash."

"Sorry. Cain't say as I recall seein' anyone fittin' that description, Cap'n."

"Maybe this will jog your memory." Rivero nodded to his First Mate, a silent signal of attack. One gun then a second fired at The Escort, shot and grape tearing through her sails.

Muerte utilized the chaos of his ship's returned fire as an opportunity to stealth aboard. It wasn't hard to locate Rivero who stood leaning against the mizzen mast for support, barking orders at his crew while they scattered about like frenzied rodents running from the ratman. Noticeably shaken, he was pale, sweating and obviously having a great deal of difficulty maintaining hold of his sword.

"Buena tarde, Capitan. El Corazon del la Muerte en tu servicio." Muerte mocked Rivero, repeating back to him the exact words he'd spoken when he'd boarded The Escort not so long ago. "Tu corazon para tu preso?" (Your heart for your prisoner?)

[Ancyous]

---

Rivero lifted his arm using his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow. "Amperio hora, El Corazon! Recepcion Detras a bordo, mi amigo. Como precio tu esta tarde fina?" (Ah, El Corazon! Welcome back aboard, my friend. How fare you this fine afternoon?) Peering through smoke that now surrounded the ship he turned in the direction of Muerte's voice, unable to see him.

"Mejor que ti, diria, Manuel. No estas pareciendo tan bueno." (Better than you I would say, Manuel. You're not looking so good.)

"Oh and you are, dead man?" The Lord took an unsteady step forward. "Now, mi amor." His whisper a combination of rapture and hatred, he shifted his gaze toward The Escort. "Let's show this fool who your real captain is!"

The diamonds at Muerte's wrist burst into flame. White hot, they engulfed him, not burning but taking back all that had been his given by the stone. Collapsing in shock as the fire abated, he heard the sound of steel being drawn against leather and, looking up, saw that Rivero was now standing over him sword in one hand and a war cleaver in the other.

"I am the Starfire, Muerte. The Escort's true captain and true love. She gave you the stone temporarily, knowing its power would give you false confidence and lead you right where you are . . . on your arse with my blade at your throat." Rivero brought the cleaver to rest below his prey's chin. "Both your heart and your soul will now belong to me!"

Muerte shook his head consumed by rage and disbelief. "NO! You're lying!" Shoving Rivero out of his way, he leapt to his feet and drew his blade. "Nothing of mine will ever belong to you - not my heart nor my soul and certainly not my ship!"

Time and place receded, the two men co-existing in an odd half world where the only reality was the weapons in their hands and the need to use them. The chiming clash of their blades provided the rhythm to which they advanced and retreated. Muerte fought with discipline while Rivero was led by malevolence. Feinting, parrying, testing, they moved back and forth across the deck, their chests heaving, their breathing rasping in their throats.

Losing patience Rivero lunged into a virulent attack which Muerte parried with a scraping of blades that sent blue and orange sparks showering over them. He retreated deliberately then, meeting the silvery tongue of the opposing blade, he swirled with speed and perfect timing into an abrupt stop thrust. Muerte immediately seized the offensive, counter-attacking, driving Rivero back before executing a lunge with such power and precision it forced the Lord to resort to a twisting backward leap to avoid being stabbed. Refusing to disengage, Muerte advanced . . . . .

A shot rang out from The Escort, a thunderous blast from hell with deadly intent toward a single solitary target.

"Gracias, querida." Rivero smiled at The Escort as Muerte crumbled to the deck. Burying his blade in the spirit's chest, he tossed the lifeless body into the sea. "Adios mi Corazon! May you writhe in the realm of the dead for all eternity!"