Pirate?

Why does hell have a salty scent??

It's been a long time since i wrote any stories in Wattpad, and now i'm back, with crazy new ideas for a crazy (and hopefully good enough) story. I have always been fond of crossovers, so here i'm making a KHR x OP story, hope you guys enjoy it!
About my other story "Delinquent?" I haven't abandoned it...yet. And it's not like i'm lazy (probably) or something, i just don't have the inspiration and ideas for it. I really like the story so i will go back to writing "Delinquent?" when i have the ideas...or the mood :)). Anw, enjoy!

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The first thing he noticed upon reaching consciousness was the constant sway of the thing he was lying on. It was probably a boat, he concluded, feeling the hard surface of wood against his back and a faint sensation of what felt like small waves through it.

'Where am i?' He thought, slowly rubbing his temple to ease the throbbing headache. His whole body hurt like crap, the dull pain all over the places made it even harder to think clearly. His foggy mind slowly drifted to the last memories he had, the sound of guns, the smell of gunpowder, the acute pain in his chest, the feeling of blood flowing down, the cries of his family, the shocked and terror-filled eyes of his friends...

He was dead

Dead by a mere bullet, dead by a second of carelessness eventhough he had been through hell and survived (Technically, Reborn's training was hell itself). The feeling of guilt seared him as he remembered the pain on his family's faces when they gathered around his moribund body, calling out his name, begging in hopelessness for him not to die, not to leave them. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, 'At least i won't have to worry about their well beings in the battle, it's almost the end of it anyway' he reassured himself, not that it helped much with the creeping guilt he was feeling.

Now that he knew about his supposed death, the next thing to find out was his whereabouts. For a second there he even thought he was applied to some depraved customs of letting corpses floating on rivers, but quickly disposed the idea because dead people couldn't be... well, alive to be aware of their surroundings. This brought up another question as to why he was still able to think. 'This must be the mythical river of hell that Mukuro was telling me about' he thought, nodding to himself with certainty. The idea was absurd, but it was the answer best fit in this situation. Something in his mind was screaming about this whole river thing being ridiculous, but he just ignored it for now in favour of enjoying the last mythical ride of his life.

Or so he thought...

Poke...

The sudden feeling of something poking on his head and body were unnerving. He wanted so badly to just swat the thing away, but remained still when he thought about what, or who could be poking him in this place other than those who took people's soul. The thought of being poked by those bony fingers of one death god made him shudder, he considered opening his eyes ( which were still closed from the beginning) to look, but decided against it, not wanting to lose any last bit of his sanity as he had seen enough crazy things already (living in the mafia and all). So he kept his eyes shut and tried his best to ignore the poking, which was becoming more difficult with his growing annoyance.

"This should be worth it" he grumbled before slowly opened his eyes only to be blinded by the sunlight, blinking a few times to adjust with the sudden brightness, he sat up, noticing a good amount of seagulls on his body before they scattered away, and looked around. He was indeed on a small boat, but instead of the river of hell, the boat was floating freely on the open sea.

"So that's why hell has a salty scent in the air" he muttered to himself, realizing how dumb he was for coming up with the hell-river thing  in the first place. He sighed, feeling the last precious bit of sanity dripping away at the thought of his miraculous coming back to life and somehow stuck in the middle of the sea. "If people often call these kind of thing smell fishy, i would think of it to smell like espresso and marshmallow'  This, however, was proved to be the least he could worry about when he felt something sticky on the shirt he was wearing. It was blood, he realized. He didn't feel any pain though, nor could he find any injury, then it would means this was someone else's blood.