over, trying to convince the entity behind him that he was no worth the trouble. And yet, of his own accord, he could feel himself turning. There was no divine power, no gravity, no calling from above that made him do it. He simply did, and he saw the face of the darkness that had passed over him and he trembled to his very soul. Standing over him, looming like the shadow of death itself, was the one man – the one thing in all of creation he had tried to avoid for fifteen years, staying in the opposite sea that he was rumored to be in at all times, as far away as possible. Now, he stood before the man, the thing that had hunted him downlike a fat kid in a candy bag. Ragnarok's face was black, black as night and the deepest pit as he said, “Oh, don't do that. You're embarrassing yourself, the Great Futtleschuckle, the man who got away...” the dead pirate leaned forward and the darkness grew. His prey quaked a flinch and fell onto his rear, staring up into the face of the one who would surely end his life. “Almost.” He whispered it. It was all that need be said.

He broke, Futtleschuckles mind became completely and totally overcome with fear. He snapped, all reason gone. He gave into base instincts, and the will to survive was most prevalent. Reaching down, he picked up his blade and with a horrible, animal yell and thrust it forward into the