Rory didn't know whether he was dead or alive. His body felt heavy, as if he was chained to the ground and covered with a thick layer of sand. Was he buried? Had he reached the bottom of the ocean? 

It didn't matter, he didn't feel disappointed. He felt... free, like his mind was detaching itself from his body. 

He was floating. Through soft clouds and bright rainbows. The sea breeze toyed with his hair, whispering promises of endless freedom and memorable adventures. Seagulls circled around him; peaceful at first, until they started to shriek. Flapping their wings they tried to fly faster, screaming like they were in pain. 

Or was it fear? 

He looked over his shoulder, although he wasn't sure he actually had a shoulder. He might as well be some ghost. A dark shadow came closer, lightning crackling in it, accompanied by meowing sounds. Frowning, he stared at the approaching darkness. 

It were cats. Hundreds of winged, black cats, hooking their claws in the giant birds. 

"Rory!"

They all called his name, looking at him with pleading eyes. One by one the seagulls were shred, painting the clouds in a deep red. There were pools of blood everywhere, showing the reflection of panicking faces. Mouse. Lee. North. Mack. Erik. 

Dead, they were all dying. 

"Rory!!" 

A heavy wind picked him up and threw him into the sea. There was water everywhere, the wild waves tossing him back and forth. 

Something sharp pierced his shoulders, shaking him and –

Panting, Rory sat up straight. His clothes were sticking to his heated body, he could smell his own sweat. His lungs felt paralyzed, as if they still believed that he was surrounded by water. Clenching his hands to fists until his nails cut into his palms, he managed to get a grip on himself. 

After taking a few, deep breaths his heartbeat slowed down and his vision returned. The first thing he recognized, was the redhead who was leaning over him, his hand still on Rory's shoulder. 

"There ye are, finally back to earth! C'mon, there's a ship!" Lee grabbed his arm, helping him to swing his legs over the edge of the small bed.

"We're gonna fight?" Rory's voice was barely a whisper. 

"Dunno mate. Let's prepare for the worst, aye?"

Rory grabbed his belt and fastened it around him. His friend turned around and left the cabin to warn the others. Impatient as he was, Rory jumped out of the bed. His legs however could barely carry his weight and cursing, he gripped the side of the bed. 

"For fuck's sake," he grunted, attaching the two sheaths of his daggers to his belt. "C'mon Rory. You're actin' like a fuckin' weenie."

He almost fell when he bent over to pick up his boots, leaning against the bed as he stepped into them. His head was spinning, his whole body aching while he had the feeling he was locked up in a fucking oven. 

He was sick, was having a fever. 

But there was no time to be sick, they needed him. They all felt weak. And he wasn't weak. If anything, it was a miracle he was still alive. At least, that was what Lee said. He was the smallest of them all, the poison should have gotten him first but he still lived while others had died. 

It had taken them days to recover from the first poisoning. The whole crew had been plagued by hallucinations, lethargy and a terrible tiredness. After almost a week they had regained a bit of their former strength – and then tragedy struck again, as they found out that a part of the food in the hold had been poisoned as well. 

Some didn't survive the second wave of sickness. Lee was one of the few people who had shown to be resistant this time, probably the only reason they were still alive. The boy had done some bloodletting to get the poison out of their system, although some of the wounded had started to show signs of infection – Rory among them. As if the gods believed they weren't doomed already, they had sent them a storm which had almost killed them all. The mainmast was broken, they were almost out of supplies and this fucking ship had turned into a floating coffin since it lacked the manpower to navigate the sea. 

And now, there was another ship. Maybe they didn't deserve to die peacefully – after all, they were a bunch of pirates. Killers. Thieves. Or maybe, maybe this was a way out of their misery. Unwitting merchants might be willing to help them, not aware of the fact that they were pirates. Would they be able to enter the ship, to force the crew on their knees? 

The sudden fighting spirit gave him a strength he hadn't felt in weeks; he pushed himself away from the bed, using the wall to support himself as he made his way to the deck. 

Rain was pouring down, the water cooling his heated skin immediately. A small crowd had gathered at starboard. It was a pathetic little group, twenty men at most. How many others were still alive? Had they been too far gone to get up? Rory stumbled towards them, grabbing Lee's shoulder to keep himself from falling. 

"What's goin' on?" he asked the others. "Don't we have to – ye know, look terrifyin'?"

"We already look like a bunch of corpses," Beckett said. "Can't think of somethin' scarier." He chuckled nervously, failing terribly in hiding how frightened he was. 

Rory glared at the boy who was only a year older than him and who he hated as much as the moment he showed up on the ship and stole Erik from him. 

"Plus," Lee said, staring at the ship. "It's the Slayer. He ain't scared of anythin'."

Rory's eyes widened. He wormed his way through the crowd until he reached the railing and stared at the massive ship that was almost within reach. "Holy shit." 

He had heard about the man. Hell – everyone knew the tales about the captain of The Skull Crusher, who only allowed the most fearless men on his ship to slay the beasts that terrorized the sea. Rory had never gotten the chance to meet him, nor did anyone he knew, making him believe the ship and its captain were nothing but a myth. 

But he clearly was wrong.

In silence they watched the ship come closer, not wasting their energy in case this would lead to a fight. There was a negligible chance they would prevail, but they would all go down fighting. 

As the foreign ship fastened itself to the Imo Gen by grabbing hooks, the small crowd stepped back, swords in their hands. It wasn't fear that filled their hearts; they knew they were a dead man anyway. It rather was a hope that was blossoming up – a hope they didn't dare to fully believe in. 

Around ten men jumped aboard – only a small part of the crew. If they wanted to kill them, they all would have came, right? Maybe they just wanted to rob them. 

The two groups stared at each other, calculating, neither of them knowing if they were friend or enemy. 

"Where's North?" Rory asked Lee in a whisper, assuming the captain was the one who should do the talking. 

Lee looked over his shoulder, to the other side of the ship. "He's in a bad shape. Thought he would be here by now, Erik's with him."

Rory aimed his attention back to the newcomers. 

"You all look like shit," a man with brown hair noticed. He sounded a bit preppy, Rory thought, as if he was raised as a noble and still had to get used to their way of talking. "Yer scurvy captain still alive?"

Rory gritted his teeth, his hands curled around the hilts of his daggers. He let out an offended growl – whoever the hell this was, that was not how you spoke about a captain. 

Mack squeezed his upper arm, giving him a warning glare. "Go get 'em."

Rory nodded before he would say something he was going to regret, then he rushed to the captain's quarters. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, expelling the exhaustion he had felt before. 

He was close to the galley when he met the two, stumbling up the stairs. 

"Captain! Let me help you!" 

The man stood with head and shoulders above him, but Rory was stronger than a stranger would give him credit for. Even in his current condition. 

"Good to see you standing again." North gave him a weak smile. 

It was hard to look at the shell of a man in front of him. Someone who had been so powerful, but who was now broken because of the poison festering through his body. His protegé was taken from him and his abductors had given the captain the highest dose of whatever had already killed so many of them. 

"Ya ain't gonna believe whose ship it is," Rory started as the men reached the end of the stairs, swinging an arm around the man's lower back so North could lean on him. "It's the Skull Crusher. It's the fuckin' Skull Crusher! Ya know – dyin' in a fight with 'em ain't the worst way to go out, aye? Better than by bein' poisoned by a fuckin' coward."

The brown haired man waited for them, his sword slowly swinging in his hand. During Rory's departure the unknown men had managed to stand between them and the rest of the crew. 

The pirate with the weird accent studied North with a demeaning smirk on his lips. "That all? That pathetic mess that..."

Rory could no longer hold himself back – maybe he had been in bed too long, been plagued by too many weird dreams but he just couldn't stand that guy any longer. Letting go of North, he stepped forward and drew his daggers. 

"One more insult addressed to my captain I will slit your fuckin' throat!"

The man laughed scornfully. "You sure boy? You can't even hold a proper sword."

"I don't need a sword," he hissed. "I will..." 

"Enough," a chilly voice said. 

With a loud thud, heavy boots landed on deck. 

Hands grabbed the back of Rory's shirt, pulling him back. "Don't be stupid," Erik hissed, trying to shove him behind him. Rory broke away from his grasp. He didn't need protection. Maybe he was the youngest, but he could take care of himself. 

Rory forgot about the pirate who had been insulting him; instead he stared at the man that could only be The Slaughter. 

He was nothing like Rory had imagined.

He was young, barely older than North. Twenty-five at most. And he was fucking handsome, but in a tough, wild way. His eyes were blue as ice in the moonlight, taking Rory's breath away. 

"Enough with your power play, Markus," The Slayer said. "This is not how we treat our kind. They are our guests."

The brown haired man, Markus, bent his head, clearly not feeling so confident anymore.

The captain walked past him. Rory thought he wasn't even going to acknowledge his presence and was close to panicking when the man's eyes landed upon him. Rory didn't know what to do; was it ruder to answer his glance or to avoid it? He chose not to look him straight in the eye – even though it was hard not to look at those mesmerizing gems – and focused on other details. His blonde hair that was tied up at the back of his head, resulting in a small ponytail, the small curl close to his temple, his full beard that was a little darker than his hair, his dark eyebrows, the small birth mark an inch below the corner of his right eye, his stretched ears...

"Ye lost ye tongue now, little spitfire?" he asked, lifting the corner of his mouth in the hottest smirk he had ever seen. 

Fucking hell. This guy's gonna be the death of me.

"No sir," he answered politely. "I've learnt to show respect to men like you."

The man chuckled. "There are no men like me."

Well, that's certainly true... Rory felt a blush creep to his cheeks, very aware of the fact that he, an insignificant lookout, was the first one having a conversation with a godlike captain. 

Nervously he shifted his feet, not knowing what to do. There wasn't much left of his confidence now he couldn't surrender to his anger. 

Finally – finally, the man moved his glance to captain North. 

"Why are so little of you left?" The Slaughter asked. 

"One of my men has been taken because of the bounty on his head. The bastards poisoned us and our food to keep us from comin' after 'em," North spoke. "We've been adrift for almost two weeks, the ship isn't in the best shape after the storm."

His voice sounded more powerful than he looked, yet Rory could still  hear the pain he was in. Not only because of his physical condition, even more because he hadn't been able to protect his lover. 

The blond captain nodded, holding out his hand. "Then I guess it's safe to shake hands?"

North shook his hand. "North." 

"Rogier."

Rory peeked at the man, who looked so powerful and confident. The name suited him. It sounded exotic, the g pronounced in a way he had never heard before, and it held a promise of mysteriousness. 

"You're welcome at my ship," Rogier said. 

"Does that mean you're gonna hunt down Mouse's abductors?" Rory blurted out, his voice thick with admiration. The moment he heard his own words, he bit his tongue. Thinking straight just seemed impossible in the man's presence. 

Rogier gave him a once over, looking amused. 

He believes my stupidity is funny. Like I'm some dumb ignorant kid. 

"We find pleasure in hunting monsters," the man said, giving him a wink. Rory swallowed, becoming all wet inside. "Whether they look like beasts or humans." He shrugged, aiming his glance at North again. "I'm sure we can work something out."