The blaring of rifles echo through the darkened mist around us. From silence to thunder it echoes across the corpses of the enemy; peacefulness broken by ear-splitting cries from barrels as the remaining heroes rush to rescue their unconscious comrades from the hell-fire of lead. The brave and valiant Peregrine, Buck, and Belarin rush to pull some of the bound individuals away and successfully save 3; Bonnie, Tibles, and Nakisha respectively. As the bullets pelt our heroes Buck and Peregrine grip each others hands with an air of bromance. Belarin, furious as he is, is deflecting almost every pellet that spikes towards him.
As the flurry calms and the thick gun-powdery smoke clears. Buck and Peregrine are standing, blood spilling from their still stable bodies, while Belarin remains virtually untouched. As the two martyrs now lazily drift to their backs, words struggle out of Buck's quivering mouth; "So this is the end?" They fall prone and spill blood into thick, crimson pools; their faces tell tales of friendship and hardship, good and bad, but being together all the way. Fond regard of this time together is shared between them as liveliness fades from their faces. Rain drops start to drizzle over the barely living souls that are collapsed on the ground, glaring at the sky.
Rain falls, blood drips as silence fills the air, descending faster and faster as they fall. Arms increasing to flex and contort around the hilt of his blades, Belarin stares down at the bodies of his friends, his comrades, his new family. Raising his pale and sunken face, a single tear runs down his left cheek and falls to the ground. His own blood trickling down his arms and across to the tips of les épée. Various emotions brooding, he slinks forward.
The crew of the ship quickly drops their now exhausted ranged arsenal and draw various melee combat tools. Ranging from clubs to long swords to halberds they all shuffle towards Belarin. Both blades gripped tightly he reels around and quickly guts a pirate. They all begin to draw upon him. Both blades flying independently yet in unison, they blocks and shield attacks left and right. Rain pouring across the sleek metallic shafts gives them hints of glory, bloodied they are not, and valiant they will stand upon this impossible battle.
But alas, an impossible battle cannot be won, as a halberd flies down he has to use both blades crossed to block, a moment of opportunity taken by a pirate behind him. Sleek crimson spires jut out from the weakened hero then quickly retract. Falling to the knees... blood spilling from an open stab wound into puddles of water and blood onto the deck. The rain dribbles down his armor to the ground with an air of completeness, from ground to sky then it returns to ground, finishing it's only goal just to start it again. Wild eyes turn to disappointed ones as they close for the penultimate time. Foot steps trod across the damp wooden deck towards Belarin. His eyes glance up and a figure seen through warm tears and cold rain is possibly the captain. The eyes close shut and a sharp push backwards sends Belarin to his end. The great, intrepid adventurer sails backwards and clatters lifelessly against the cold, wet wood.
With all of them unconscious, this may be the end… the end to love, hate, agreeance, and debate. The end to smiles, frowns, empty-pockets, and crowns. The end to it all.