165 Fishing in troubled waters

His eyes took a dark and brooding turn as he stared at the flapping uniform that had fallen to the ground. Flashes of that climactic battle raced through his mind as phantom pains struck his side. His arms throbbed as he chopped down, burying his dagger in a marine officer's shoulder before twisting it in for maximum effect.

With a mean sway to the side he dodged an incoming foe, their faces had all faded to the background as he fought them. Who they were didn't matter to him. All he saw was threats to his family, a concept that he thought he would never understand.

With a rapid jump, he sailed over a passing sword stroke, using the flat of his blade to leap onto the railing on the side.

He danced from side to side, as he swept past a litany of weapons coming his way. Then he winced, a bullet had grazed past his face, drawing a small line of blood.

Instantly his attention snapped back to the present. With a masterful leap, he vaulted onto the marines in his way, burying the heel of his shoe into the top of their clavicle.

Within a matter of seconds, he was at the very centre of the ship where the mast rose. Around the wooden mast a collection of heavy-duty ropes hung, ready for any amount of insanity that they would be subject to.

With a high jump, he held onto one of their thick ends, twisting downwards before flinging himself off board toward the ship right beside it.

This was the last standing ship on the armada that hadn't lost its head. He was about to change that.

As the momentum of the swing reached its absolute peak, he flicked his hands letting the curved dagger in hand fly over toward them.

With a wicked sound of flapping wind he landed atop the ship, right beside the marine man that had been downed by the bladed weapon intruding on his throat.

He waved his hand, yanking harshly against the curved blade. A squirt of blood gushed out as the man crumpled.

Terrick waved to the right, bringing his hand up in a bloody and cruel predatory talon. His left hand clenched against a bloody pistol that he had salvaged off one of the bodies from the first ship.

He cleanly sliced with his dagger drawing a guttural scream from the soldier whose shoulders he had carved, before he placed the muzzle of his gun in his mouth and fired.

The out spurt of blood and the noise hid his form for a second as the men around showered in the recently deceased soldier's brain matter.

Now the area around Terrick had cleared. He could see the Captain, barking rapid orders as he made his way forward.

Terrick surged forward, accurately sliding into the arm's range. With a twitch of his waist, he lunged forward, a deep inhale filling his nose with the scent of blood and rain.

A dull groan rose from the marine, as he swished to the side, accurately catching the hem of his opponent's cloak at the tip of his blade. Terrick waltzed around, dodging the sword that came for his side he thrust forward, letting the bloodied dagger tear at the man's skin.

He let the momentum carry him forward, before hunching down beside his right leg and tearing brutally into the man's thigh.

A garbled roar sounded out as the enraged captain turned around, startled by the dagger hilt that was smacked into his nose.

Terrick stepped forward, burying the muzzle of his pistol into the hole in the captain's throat.

With a flick of his fingers the roar of the bullet sounded, and though the captain guarded against it to the best of his abilities, his Haki was nowhere strong enough to take a bullet at point blank range to a lethal spot.

With a dull thud the marine captain collapsed, and with it fell the morale of the rest of the crew.

Wails sounded as the soldiers at the edges leapt off deck. Those that did not make it in time, found themselves bathing quite unwillingly in their own blood as lethal lines were drawn across their throat.

Terrick sighed, allowing the adrenaline from the battle to cool off a little, the thudding of his blood on the base of his skull made him uncomfortable. That of course paled in comparison to what he was about to do next.

With a face full of regret, he dragged at one of the few remaining cannonballs on deck, before loading it into the cannon's mouth.

He stared morosely at the ship in the horizon, before lighting the fuse in resignation.

'Terrick - died while foolishly sitting within the barrel of a cannon!' he could almost see these words on his eulogy, alongside the sad face of his crewmates and the gloating face of the captain (the guy that suggested the course of action) and the first mate (The guy that implemented it without asking for permission from the people involved).

As the boom sounded, he let his Haki trickle outward, as he sat on the ball. He could feel his but heat up as he sailed through the air, the black smoke having already turned his countenance into that of a miner doing overtime.

He briefly opened one of his eyes, immediately regretting the course of action.

The frothing water was extremely close. Too close for comfort, and the ship was still a few ways off.

With a massive tumble he fell off of the hot ball of death, hoping against hope that his captain would be amused enough with his sacrificial behaviour to save him before he drowned in the harsh waves below.

Fortunately, that seemed the be the case, for right before his landing he could feel a gritty feeling on his face, contorting around his body restrictively.

It was a net. The bastards were fishing him out of the situation with a mouldy net that they had found in the ship's storage...

On second thoughts, that summed up his situation just right...