What We Hunt

Chapter 1 - A League of His Own

- Ten Years Later -

The memory of his mother's death haunted him. The boy, now 23 years old sat in an old town saloon drinking his cares away. He is the captain of a pirate crew. Well... was the captain of a pirate crew.

Memories of what he saw came rushing back to him: blood scattered everywhere, bones hung as if some sick twisted decor on their ship. The top half of his right-hand man was pierced on top of the mast of the ship, his entrails emptied into the crow's nest. The Captain, named Cruciatul Renegat Blond, slammed his fist on the bar counter top and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Why me? Why was I the only one left? Damnit, I was supposed to go down with them! He looked up towards the sky. "I'm sorry I failed." He said aloud before putting down another mug of rum. It happened again. That's twice now! People I care for turned to mincemeat in the night. All while I sleep without a care in the world. Why has God cursed me so?

The swinging doors of the saloon swung open as an interesting character walked inside. A battle hardened man made his way to the bar, the loud sound of his black leather boots stepping across the floor. He wore a trifold hat, a cobalt blue trench coat, a dark red bandana that covered his face along with round lens sunglasses, white pants tucked into his knee high colonial boots all of which were tattered to the point any normal person would have thrown them away instantly. It's as if he hung each piece of cloth on a metal rod during a thunderstorm and allowed them to get struck by lightning, several times. However, perhaps the most interesting things he wore were his weapons. He had a large fancy looking sword on his back in a very clean maroon colored sheath lined with gold, a matching double barreled flintlock pistol hooked on his hip, three wooden stakes hanging from his belt along with several bottles of what seemed to be holy water. Cruciatul only had a simple iron flintlock with a polished ivory handle kept in the inside pocket of his red leather trenchcoat.

The man took a seat in the wooden stool beside Cruciatul. As he sat, Cruciatul noticed several people left.

"Who are you?" Cruciatul asked, running his hand through his tall, spiky, blonde hair. After a moment of waiting, he received no response.

"Uhh, hey buddy can you hear me?" He asked putting his hand on the man's shoulder to try and get his attention.

The man quickly slapped his hand away, "Hands off." He said in a grim voice.

"No need to get so defensive."

"I've got business."

"So you came to a pub in the middle of a rainy night?"

"That rain is about two minutes from clearing up." The main said checking a golden pocket watch he drew from an inside pocket of his coat.

"Why are all your clothes tattered?" Cruciatul asked him, again with no response. "Did you get trampled by a horse?" Once again, no answer. "How do you know the ra-"

"Do you ask every stranger this many questions?" The man said getting frustrated.

"Just the intriguing ones."

"And just what's so damn intriguing about me, huh?"

"Your eyes." Cruciatul said jokingly knowing he couldn't even see the man's eyes. He then turned his attention to the open window to see that the rain hast stopped and the full moon's light had begun to shine in.

"I don't have time to deal with you. Just keep your head down and be ready to run." The man said as he took out his flintlock and began loading it.

"What exactly do you plan to do with that thing?" Cruciatul asked him, reaching for his own gun.

"Save you."

During their conversation, there were two men by the window, one of which was now hunched over in pain.

"Woah, hey are you okay, man?"

"I- ugh I'm fine. Gah!" The man fell to the floor.

"Hey! Tender! We need a remedy, I think he's sick!" The man's friend shouted.

The bartender began looking for something, anything to help the man, before he could start, he saw the man beside Cruciatul put up his hand and nod his head as if to say, 'I got this.'

He then stood up and cocked his gun as he walked towards the man hunched over who had now begun tearing at his clothing and chest, leaving scratch marks, making himself bleed. His friend stepped in the way.

"Woah woah, what are you doing!? That's my friend!"

"Not for much longer. Move."

The people in the bar had fled, most had left due to fear of contracting whatever disease consumed that man. Others who were more curious were stopped by the exit, waiting to see what would happen but also preparing to split at any moment.

"Step aside, you're in danger."

"No man, please! You can't! He's my frie-" the man pleading for the life of his friend was silenced as he was ripped in two by the mighty claws of the beast his sick friend had morphed into behind him. His blood emptied by the gallon as the beast sank his teeth into the top half of what was once his friend.

Cruciatul jumped back in fear as he watched this happen. The other patrons of the bar fled, as did the bartender. The beast threw the two halves of the corpse aside and looked over at Cruciatul, ignoring the blue coated man infront of him. The creature dashed for the blonde haired pirate but before he reached him, he was shot in the back. The beast let out a whimper, like a dog getting hit, and immediately changed focused to the one who had shot him: the blue coated man. He shot again but missed the beast who then slapped the gun out of his hand and tackled him to the ground.

The man was holding the beast back but it was a losing battle. He reached down to his belt and snapped open one of the pouches. Silver beads fell out of the pouch and scattered across the floor. "Load the gun!" The man shouted as the beast snapped at him, just out of reach.

"What the hell is that thing!?" Cruciatul asked as he went for the gun and grabbed a bullet.

"Just load the godforsaken gun before you become my next target!"

With this, Cruciatul immediately started the gun loading process: he put one of the silver bullets in the top barrel and poured in gunpowder that he already had on him for his own gun. He packed it all down and tossed the gun back to the man who was still struggling in the floor, the beasts jaws growing ever so closer.

The man caught the gun, shoved the barrel into the mouth of the beast, so much so that it gagged, and fired. The loud sound of the bullet was accompanied by the gruesome sound of the beasts head exploding like a volcano from the back. It's body fell limp onto the man, its blood dripping from its jaws onto his clothes.

The man shoved the body off of him and lay there panting heavily for a moment before finally speaking, "Haitei."

"Excuse me?" Cruciatul asked as he stood up from where he loaded the gun.

"The name is Haitei Conducatorul."

Cruciatul just chuckled a bit. Damn. This guy is in a league of his own.