The iron lantern, in his heavily injured stage, grabbed a hold of his abdomen. Blood flooded out of him thick, dark, endless as his organs were almost coming out. His intestines pressed against his fingers, pushing through the wound, seeking escape. His face was pale. His eyes were dim. His breath was shallow.
He laughed.
"HAHAHAHA!"
The sound echoed across the ship raw, unbroken, defiant. And all his men around that area laughed with him. Their voices rose together a chorus of pirates who had accepted their fate, who had chosen their end, who would not go quietly into the darkness.
Despite the fact he was surrounded by many navy men.
He stood at the highest point of the ship the crow's nest, the mast, the edge of everything. Below him, the navy pressed forward, their blades raised, their faces hard, their intent clear. They wanted to kill him. Wanted to end him. Wanted to erase his legend.
He jumped.
He was on the verge of death. His body had given out. His strength was gone. His blood continued to pour from his wounds, painting the air red, marking his passage.
And his ideal was to accept his death.
For his will is free and not bounded towards anything. If he chooses to live, he will live. And if he chooses to die... he will die.
He dropped his weapon.
The cutlass fell from his grip spinning through the air, clattering against the deck, lost to the chaos. He fell down, his body plummeting toward the wooden boards below, his arms spread, his eyes open.
He laughed more loudly than ever.
"HAHAHAHAHA!"
The sound tore from his throat wild, free, absolute. As his wounds opened up, the deep cuts all across his body spraying blood, painting the air red, marking his fall.
He looked where he was about to be impaled.
A broken mast stood below him its wood splintered, its edge sharp, its point waiting. He saw it. He smiled.
"A life without regrets..." His voice was calm, almost peaceful. "A life without an ending... no afterlife and no judgement."
He closed his eyes.
"It's almost tearing to die in this manner." He paused. "Truly... I am fulfilled."
He said to himself, his inner voice quiet but certain.
The world... I shall defy it. He felt the wind rush past his face. Nothing shall hold me.
Truly... I am the real winner of Valhalla. He felt the wood grow closer. For I chose my life... and I choose my own death.
He smiled.
Is there a greater victory than to be free?
He had no more strength in his body.
It had given out. Everything aligned along to his will. Not even destiny could stop him.
Then in a flash he could not even perceive him.
From the side.
His rival.
The man came from nowhere his body shooting across the deck, his arms extending, his hands grabbing. He caught the iron lantern mid-fall, his grip firm, his body twisting, his momentum carrying them both away from the impaling mast.
He grabbed him.
And he moved.
They rolled across the deck a tangle of limbs and blood and will fetching up against the railing of the ship. The iron lantern lay there, stunned, his wounds still bleeding, his eyes still open.
His rival stood over him.
His face was hard. His eyes were cold. His breath was steady.
He spoke.
"My greatest regret..." His voice was quiet, but it carried. "...was that expression you made during your death in the living."
He looked at the iron lantern at the blood, the wounds, the peace on his face.
"I stand against everything you represent." His voice hardened. "I despise your ideal. And what that ideal has turned you into."
He paused.
"Truly... for a man like you, there is no redemption."
He knelt down.
"Your death... the way you died..." His voice cracked just slightly. "...left me unfulfilled."
He looked into the iron lantern's eyes.
"I cannot let you die in that same manner." His voice hardened. "Rather... I will let nothing go your way."
He leaned closer.
"You, a man who always defies fate and plots his own path..." His voice dropped. "I hate that."
He grabbed the iron lantern's collar.
"What right do you have to be free? When your freedom is twisted?" He shook his head. "Such a twisted view of freedom cannot exist."
His eyes burned.
"I reject it."
He threw the iron lantern to the side of the ship.
Not hard just enough to move him, just enough to place him where he would not get hurt. The iron lantern's body slid across the deck, fetching up against a crate, his wounds still bleeding, his eyes still open.
His rival landed.
Not even drawing his blade against him he first proceeded to pay attention to his face.
He wanted to see it. The look on his face.
"Do you feel despair?" His voice was quiet, almost curious. "Do you feel hate?"
He paused.
"I want to know."
He leaned closer.
"Did I finally win?"
The iron lantern lay on the deck.
His rival stood over him.
And the sea roared.