Captain Charles Vane Black Sails Novels & Stories

I pushed ahead stubbornly, “you’re really going to sit back and watch—“ The next slap sent me sprawling to the ground, more vicious and gum-damaging than the first, and as my skull cracked against the tiled floor, I blacked out. -----

They were made of wood and iron, their sails tattered but proud. On the lead ship, a flag was flying—a simple black field with a single, white zero. And standing on the deck, looking through a brass telescope, was a man who looked exactly like the charcoal sketches in the shack. He wasn't Silas Vance. He was someone else—someone the system had never even accounted for. "The story isn't over," Xander said, his grip tightening on my hand. "It’s just moving to Volume Four."

Noone on board the ship that the three traitors are on move to see what is happening. I watch as three ships sink as I wiggle my fingers and the waves consume them. Not taking my eyes from Carter, he looks at me with a blank expression. I lift my hand and point my finger at him. “You are a traitor. You will die a traitor’s death.” I throw my head and shriek loudly into the sky as the winds pick up and swirl around the ship and I smile as it groans under the weight of the wind. Metal twists and comes alive. The darkness seeps from my fingertips and swirls around me.

An actual wooden ship like the ones in Peter Pan and Treasure Island. It has a more modern take to it. The curves and edges are sharper and smoother than they would be in an old ship. It's an ominous shade of black. From the boat itself to the sails. On the deck are a few of the sailors lined up waiting for the truck to approach. There is no fucking way the three of us are going to be able to take all those vampires on. "Pull back," I order.

She always has a new gist whenever we talk. I pulled off my clothes and took a quick shower. Once I was done I tried to do my assignment, and when that didn't work cause I was a bit distracted by images of a certain captain, I turned on my laptop to read a book and when that didn't work either, I simply gave up and lied down to sleep. And was inevitably assaulted with dreams about a dark skinned, curly haired captain. So much for being calm and getting a good nights sleep. Thanks for reading Please,

Carla Rodriguez Black, Later that day... Location: Northern Atlantic Ocean After the last consultation with Ethan's doctor, he suddenly decided to surprise me with a date on his private yacht, christened BLACK DREAMS. My heart fluttered with excitement as I stepped onto Ethan's private yacht, my eyes widening at the sight of its luxurious interior. It was my first time on such an extravagant boat, and I savored the moment, knowing it would be a night to remember. The evening sky, painted in hues of orange and pink, created a breathtaking backdrop as I made my way towards Ethan, who stood near the edge of the deck, a gentle smile playing on his lips. His presence was comforting, and my nerves

After the tenth match, the captain of the Dornishmen appeared in full grey-and- blue armour and a cape. "Theo Alexand, the Black knight," Daerason whistled. "I guess he just wants to test his strength. What a bully." Apparently, Theo Alexand had not seen defeat in any of his battles, his might insured that he was feared. "Who shall face me?" Barked the knight. No one dared to come out. Everyone feared the big, black knight. "Seriously no one is foolish enough to take him on," laughed the Prince. "You over exaggerated Theo's strength. He can still bleed. That makes him man," the king said calmly.

Who gave you permission to stop?" The captain of the Black Wolf staggered back. He tripped over a coil of wet rope. Ethan didn't move a muscle, but his presence filled the deck like a storm front. The winter-blue in his eyes burned. "The—the harbor chains are up, my King," the captain stammered. He pointed toward the stone throat of the capital. "The Regency. They’ve blocked the inlet. If we move closer, the ballistas will—"

The morning after Inquisitor Vane’s ultimatum, the Blackwater River looked like a graveyard of iron. Three massive Southern warships sat anchored in the center of the flow, their steam vents huffing rhythmic clouds of grey smoke into the pristine mountain air. They were "teeth" of a different kind—not bone and sinew, but coal and steel. ​Rhea stood on the battlements, her fingers tracing the rough stone of the manor. Beside her, Elias was a statue of suppressed fury. The grey-gold veins on his neck pulsed in time with the thrumming of the ships' engines.

The burning skeleton of *The Leviathan* sank into the Pacific with a low, hissing groan that sounded like the final breath of a dying era. By 0800 hours, the black smoke from the harbor had merged with the gray morning fog, wrapping Blackridge in a heavy, protective shroud. The naval destroyer was gone, its multi-million-dollar hull broken against our concrete reefs, leaving the coast entirely under the unyielding law of the road.