Black Butler: The Lich's Compass

The Hellish Tides Prologue

The ocean roared beneath the jagged cliffs, the night sky a sheet of ink, splattered with dim stars. The Hellish Tide, a ship with sails as black as the void, sliced through the water like a blade. Standing at the helm, her long coat flapping wildly in the wind, was Elenora "Brass" Smithies—the infamous pirate captain who commanded both fear and loyalty from her crew.

Her eyes glowed faintly, reflecting the restless waves, her lips curled into a smirk of satisfaction. She was no ordinary pirate—she was a demon, and her crew? They had made a deal, one they'd regret the moment their souls left their bodies, but by then, it would be far too late.

"Captain," a voice called out from behind her.

Brass turned slightly, her gaze falling on one of her crewmen—an older man with a weathered face and hollow eyes. He had the look of a man who had long since realized the cost of his bargain.

"A storm is coming," he said, his voice strained. "Shall we drop anchor and wait it out?"

Brass chuckled, her laugh low and wicked. "A storm? Does the sea frighten you now, old man?" she asked, her voice laced with mockery. "You made a deal, remember? You don't get to be afraid anymore."

The old man swallowed hard, his hand instinctively clutching the chain around his neck where a medallion hung—the mark of his pact with her. Brass stepped closer, her booted feet making heavy thuds on the wooden deck as she approached.

"I gave you power, speed, and strength," Brass continued, her voice a silken whisper that cut through the howling wind. "But you already knew the price when you made that deal."

"I—" he started, but Brass cut him off with a sharp glance, her demonic aura pulsing around her.

"The storm will pass. We press forward. The tides belong to me now." She turned back to face the sea, her eyes narrowing. "Besides, we're close to our destination. San Juan awaits."

As she spoke, lightning split the sky, illuminating the darkness for just a moment, and in that brief flash, Brass's true nature became evident. Her skin, pale as bone in the storm's light, shimmered with an unnatural gleam, and her eyes—burning embers—held the promise of damnation.

Below deck, the crew whispered among themselves. They feared the storm, yes, but more than that, they feared her. Each one had made a deal with Brass for their soul, desperate for her power and protection. And now, they were bound to her, body and soul, cursed to serve until their time was up. None of them knew when she would collect, and that uncertainty gnawed at them like a disease.

Back at the helm, Brass gripped the wheel, steering the ship with a confidence born from centuries of ruling the seas. She could feel the tension rising among her crew, sense their fear and desperation. It amused her.

"Keep your wits about you," she muttered to herself, her smirk deepening. "The worst is yet to come."

As The Hellish Tide tore through the waves, Brass's thoughts drifted to her past—specifically to Captain Alejandro S. Colón. The memory of his death was a bittersweet one. She had taken him down in cold blood, claimed his life, and ensured her dominance over the seas. Marisol Colón, his adopted daughter, was still out there. Brass knew the girl had inherited Alejandro's fire and spirit. But she had a plan for Marisol too. The tides would soon bring them face to face, and when they did, Brass would ensure that the young lich would suffer.

"Captain!" another crew member shouted, pulling Brass from her thoughts.

This time it was one of her lieutenants, a hulking brute of a man with ink-black tattoos covering his neck and arms. "The crew's getting restless. They're starting to talk."

Brass turned to him, her eyes glowing with a demonic gleam. "Let them talk. It'll do them no good." She leaned in closer, her voice dripping with menace. "The only one who gets to question my orders is me."

The lieutenant hesitated for a moment before nodding and backing away. Brass watched him go, her smirk never fading. She'd dealt with mutinies before, and they all ended the same way—with her standing victorious over the bodies of those foolish enough to challenge her.

Her grip tightened on the wheel as she looked ahead into the stormy horizon. She could feel the pull of destiny, the threads of fate tightening around her. Soon, she would find Marisol, and when that day came, there would be a reckoning. Brass had unfinished business with the Colón family, and she wouldn't rest until she claimed what was rightfully hers.

For now, though, she had a ship to steer and a crew to command. The storm might have frightened lesser captains, but for Brass, it was just another day at sea. A demon feared nothing—not man, not beast, and certainly not the ocean.

With a final, defiant grin, she laughed into the wind, her voice carrying across the deck as The Hellish Tide continued its relentless journey toward San Juan.

The next morning, Sebastian made his way to Marisol's quarters, expecting to wake her for the day's activities. He knocked lightly on the door, but before he could open it, he paused, noticing something unusual. There was no sound of movement from inside, no rustling of sheets or the faint grogginess of someone waking up. Curious, he slowly opened the door and stepped inside.

To his surprise, the room was immaculate. The bed was neatly made with military precision—tightly tucked sheets, perfectly aligned pillows—looking as though no one had slept in it at all. The floor had been swept, and the few belongings Marisol had brought with her were arranged neatly on the small desk by the window. It was as if the quarters had been untouched, except for the faint lingering scent of salt and the sea, a reminder of the captain's presence.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, impressed. "She's certainly efficient," he mused to himself. "Up before dawn, I presume."

It was then he spotted a note resting on the desk. It was written in delicate, neat handwriting.

"Sebastian, thank you for offering to wake me. However, I've been awake since four. I thought it best to tidy the room before heading out to explore the manor. I'll be back shortly. – Marisol"

Sebastian folded the note and placed it back on the desk, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. Not many could rival his own fastidious nature when it came to maintaining order, but Marisol clearly had a strong sense of discipline, honed from years at sea.

"Well," he said to himself, "it seems our guest has more in common with myself than I initially thought."

He quietly exited her quarters, intending to find where Marisol had gone off to. With her already awake and active, it was clear she wasn't someone who would let time go to waste. As Sebastian made his way through the manor, he couldn't help but admire Marisol's dedication. Waking up at four in the morning, already cleaning and preparing for the day, spoke volumes about her character.

He would have to inform Ciel about this little detail—though knowing the young earl, it might lead to some rather amusing banter. For now, he would locate Marisol and see how she was finding her stay in the Phantomhive manor.