Templar's Creed

Chapter 47

With a fierce cry, Edward threw all his remaining strength into a final, desperate blow. The swords met with a sound like thunder, the impact sending a shockwave through the very air. Yet, it was El Tiburón's blade that emerged victorious, cutting through Edward's guard and plunging into his chest. The pirate captain felt a coldness spread through him, the warmth of life seeping away like water through his fingertips.

El Tiburón stepped back, his eyes gleaming with triumph, as Edward staggered. The pirate's legs buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, his cutlass slipping from his grasp to clatter on the stone. The fortress had fallen silent, the storm outside the only witness to the battle's end.

The pirate hunter looked down at Edward with a twisted smile. "You fight well, for a pirate," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his contempt. "It's a pity you picked the wrong enemy." He nudged the skull's shattered remnants with his boot, the once-powerful artifact now a mere curiosity.

Edward, though grievously injured, managed a grim smile of his own. "Perhaps," he rasped, blood bubbling at his lips. "But I've lived free, and I die fighting for what I believe in." His eyes searched the battle-scarred faces of his crew, the flicker of hope that had burned so brightly now just a dying ember.

El Tiburón's smile grew colder. "The freedom you seek is a mirage, a curse that brings only pain and death. The world needs order, not chaos." He bent down, grabbing Edward by the collar, and yanked him up to his feet. The pirate captain's eyes searched for any sign of mercy, but found only the cold steel of the Templar's resolve.

"I regret that it has to end this way, Edward Teach," El Tiburón said, his voice carrying a strange mix of sorrow and finality. "But you leave me no choice. You have become a symbol, a rallying cry for those who wish to tear down the very fabric of our society."

Edward, barely clinging to life, forced out a harsh laugh. "And what society is that? One built on the bones of the oppressed? A society that worships power over freedom?" He coughed, a spray of crimson painting the stone beneath him. "That's not a world I want to live in."

El Tiburón's expression grew somber, his grip on Edward's collar tightening. "You speak of freedom," he said, his voice a low growl, "but what have you truly known of it? You've been a pawn in a game you didn't even understand."

Edward's eyes blazed with defiance. "I know enough," he said, each word a struggle against the tide of pain that threatened to drown him. "I know that I stand for something more than your twisted vision of order."

With a sudden surge of strength, he reached for the dagger hidden in his boot. The blade was cold and comforting in his grasp, a silent promise of vengeance. In one swift motion, he drove it into El Tiburón's throat, the pirate hunter's eyes widening in shock. The Templar released him with a gurgling cry, stumbling backward as blood spurted from the wound.

Edward watched as the life drained from El Tiburón's eyes, his body slumping to the ground. The storm outside seemed to echo his triumph, the thunder booming as if in approval. The pirate captain felt a surge of power, not from the skull, but from within himself. The Caribbean's fury had become his own, and he would not be denied.

Tiburón laughed, the sound a wet gurgle as he clutched his throat. His eyes rolled back, revealing the whites as he choked on his own blood. Edward stumbled back, the reality of what he had done setting in. The man he had just killed had been his final obstacle to the skull's power, but in that moment, it felt like so much more. It was the culmination of his anger and grief, a declaration of war against the tyranny that had taken so much from him.

He took a deep breath, the taste of coppery air filling his lungs, and tried to stand. His body, however, had other plans. His legs buckled beneath him, sending him crashing to his knees. The world swam before his eyes, the pain of his wounds now screaming for his attention. He coughed, the sound a wet rattle that echoed through the silent fortress.

"You...," Edward gasped, pointing a trembling finger at the dying El Tiburón. "You're no better than the monsters you hunt. The Templars...they're the true villains here." His voice was weak, but the conviction behind his words was as solid as the rock beneath him.

El Tiburón's eyes fluttered closed, and his body went still. Edward's hand fell to the ground, his strength leaving him like the retreating tide. The storm's fury mirrored the battle within his chest, the rage that had fueled him now dissipating like the storm clouds above. His vision blurred, and the world grew cold.

With his last breath, he cursed the Templars, their greed, and the endless cycle of suffering they perpetuated. The words tasted bitter on his lips, a final rebellion against the tyranny that had claimed so much. His gaze fell on the shattered skull, a symbol of the power that had brought him here, a power that had ultimately betrayed him.

As the world grew dark, Edward felt the warmth of the Caribbean night envelop him like a lover's embrace. The whispers of the ancients grew faint, their cries for vengeance replaced by a soft, melancholic lullaby that seemed to carry him away on the wings of the storm. His eyes grew heavy, and the shadows of the fortress swallowed him whole.

The skull's shattered visage stared back at him, a silent testament to his failure. The whispers grew fainter still, the power that had once surged through him now a mere echo in the vast emptiness that consumed him. His thoughts turned to his comrades, to those he had left behind, to the cause that had driven him to these distant shores.

He cursed Tiburón, the man who had taken everything from him. The pirate hunter had been the embodiment of the Templar's corruption, a monster who reveled in the suffering of others. And yet, in his final moments, Edward felt not victory but a crushing weight of regret. He had been a pawn in their game, a tool of vengeance in a quest that had cost him everything.

The storm raged on, the thunder a mournful dirge for the fallen pirate king. The skull lay in ruins beside him, a silent witness to his final moments. Edward reached out, his trembling fingers brushing against the cold stone, seeking solace in the artifact that had been both his salvation and his curse. But it was too late. The power was gone, leaving only the bitter taste of defeat.

The world grew darker, the sounds of battle fading to a distant murmur. Edward felt the warmth of life abandoning him, the cold embrace of death wrapping him in its icy tendrils. His eyes searched the shadows for any sign of his crew, for the faces of those who had stood beside him in his quest for vengeance. But they were gone, claimed by the tempest of steel and fire that had ravaged the fortress.