Pirates of the Caribbean Oneshots

In Battle

She was a deadly whirl of silver knives and firey auburn hair.

Blood flew through the air, covering her white shirt until the fabric was soaked with it and sticking to her.

There was nothing flamboyant or theatrical about her movements, only a controlled, lethal precision.

She knew where to put her blades, knew where every organ and major artery was located on a body.

Her victims stood no chance.
For her, killing someone was merely a well-rehearsed dance, something she did almost without thinking.

Avoiding swords was as easy as breathing, slitting throats as natural as blinking.

The EITC officer's smirk faded as she parried his sword, a scowl of frustration replacing it.

Her face was expressionless, flecks of blood dotting her freckled cheeks, but there was a manic glint in her bright eyes.

Cursing, her opponent struck at her.
With a grin, she avoided his blade, moving as lightly as a dancer.

Back across the deck, dodging swords and slaying those who wielded them against her.

Her blades were no longer shining, instead they dripped with dark scarlet blood.

She engaged another man in a duel, an agile fellow who was half her age and skilled with weapons.

The cannonfire, gunshots, clash of swords and screams of the wounded were filling her ears, though she had long ago learned to focus on nothing except the battle and the people on the ship who mattered to her.

She twisted, the point of the man's sword ripping her shirt, and the skin beneath.

A kick caught her off guard and sent her flying, slamming into a bit of broken railing, which pierced deep into her side.

Winded and dazed, she clenched her teeth to stifle a cry of pain. The man stepped slowly towards her and she lifted her chin defiantly, raising her knives.

Blood dripped from the blades, covering her hands and shirt sleeves.

He laughed. "You put up a good fight, killed a lot of good men. Now, behave yourself and put the knives away."

"Fuck you."
The words were a gasp, firey pain shooting through her side.

At the ship's stern, someone noticed her situation and began trying to reach her.

Cruel eyes looked her over. "The ship's doctor. Who'd have thought you capable of killing so many people?"

A pistol was now pointing at her chest.

She glared fiercely, spitting at his feet and moving towards him.

Their blades clashed briefly, in a short struggle before he pinned her between himself and the railings, holding her tight with his sword across her throat and pistol at her head.

"Not a position you're familiar with, I imagine. You'll only have to put up with it for a few more minutes."

A gunshot rang out and she took advantage of his momentary distraction, kicking him viciously and pulling free, staggering a little due to the pain in her side.

She lunged for his throat, and he fired the pistol.

The flash of steel ended his life, a shot firing from the gun as he fell.

For a moment, she stood, savouring her victory, then staggered and slowly began to fall backwards.

Blood gushed from the deep puncture wounds above her hip.

Strong arms caught her, lowering her gently to the deck.

Her knives were in her hands, the light of battle still in her eyes.

"Soracha."
There was somebody, ripping her bloody shirt off, kneeling beside her.
"Soracha, talk to me. Stay awake."

She tried to speak, coughing on blood.
"No...use..."

"Don't say that. I'm not letting you die."
Edward Teague tried hard to keep his voice steady as he saw the extent of his friend's injuries.

The shards of wood had stuck in deep, one was still there. The amount of blood she was loosing told him immediately that the wounds were serious.

He looked around for someone to help but Soracha's gaze met his.

The thrill of battle was still there, now mingled with agony and acceptance.

Teague moved, carefully supporting her upper body, hands tenderly holding her head.

"It's my time Eddie." The nickname managed to bring a slight, sad smile to his lips as she slipped into Gaelic, voice quiet and weak with pain.
"I've fought my last battle. There is nobody who can help me now."

"You fought so well. I'm proud to be able to fight with you, to call myself your captain and incredibly privileged to have been your friend."
His hand ran soothingly through her hair as she struggled to draw breath.

"Glad I...got to go...in battle..."
Her breathing was now shaky and slow.

Teague continued to caress her hair, tears falling silently as he helplessly watched his oldest friend, covered in blood, lying in agony as she took her final breaths.

"I'll..."

Her lips parted, but no more sound came out, the life leaving her emerald eyes.

"Soracha? Soracha, don't you dare-"
His voice broke, shoulders shaking as sobs erupted from his chest. Head in his hands, he cried openly and freely in front of those gathered on deck, feeling like a shot had ripped a hole in his torso as he folded himself protectively around Soracha's body.

After all the times she'd saved him, he hadn't been able to save her.

His stubborn, sarcastic, fearless and often infuriating best friend was gone.