CAPTAIN

One cutlass crashed against the other, both enemy captains fighting. One which once had a broken jaw and a missing hand–now replaced with a golden hook. The other scarred from the prosthetic.

Francis, the slightly taller pirate captain had snarled, his teeth baring in an evil grimace of hatred. “Ye think you can jus’ kill me? Ye should be lucky it almost happened... I barely survived!” he hissed out, intending for himself to sound threatening, “By the end o’ this, yer gonna be dead, swab.”

That slur he spoke harshly of had come out in a sneer, voice so full of hatred and rage; full-blown revenge swarming around in his mind.

[...] Another clash of cutlasses followed—Riley just barely blocked the swing of the sharp blade as he smirked; cocky as always. "Try me." They challenged. Clash, clash, clash. Sparks of a fiery orange color flew through the air at the contact, landing on the damp deck of the ship they fought on.

The storm was raging. Lightning lit up the cloudy sky as the rain poured down on them, illuminating and making the shiny blades, jewelry, and golden decoration that the two rivals wore.

"Try ye? I will!" Francis roared, landing a swing, the edge of the cutlass cutting through the skin on the Ironfist's arm, crimson beads appearing and pouring down with the rain. Riley let out a pained grunt. The new wound wasn't too deep. He wasn't defeated yet.