Captain Armando Salazar

The cabin was filled with the dim light of a candle lamp, barely piercing through the thick darkness. Jack Sparrow, as usual, was sitting in his quarters. Lately, he had done almost nothing—a heavy, sticky fatigue, like a sea harpoon net, had entangled him. He was lazily marking something on a map with a pair of scissors, trying to focus on the next goal. His thoughts were muddled, but he stared stubbornly at the map, as if it could answer all his questions.

And suddenly—a light, barely perceptible chill. He grew alert, glancing over his shoulder: the door was closed, and beyond the windows was nothing but solid night. Then again, why be surprised? It was the dead of night, the crew was asleep, and he, like a fool, was sitting alone.

But the cold didn't leave. It was faint but unpleasant—alien. Jack slowly scanned the room. His gaze fell upon a dark corner, hidden from the candlelight. The light simply didn't reach there.

He squinted... and noticed a silhouette in the shadows. The figure of a man.

His heart sank. Jack leaped up from his chair, grabbing the scissors like a weapon.

"Step into the light! Or it'll be worse for you!" he shouted, his voice trembling yet firm.

The shadow shifted and stepped into the dim light. Whether to be glad or afraid—Jack didn't know. He simply froze. Standing before him was none other than the Sea Butcher.

The scissors slipped from his hands, clattering loudly against the floor.

Salazar smirked, as if he had seen an old friend.

"What's the matter, Sparrow? Why so frightened?" he asked calmly, taking a step forward.

The cabin was filled with the dim light of a candle-lamp, barely penetrating the dense darkness. Jack Sparrow sat in his cabin, as usual. Lately, he'd done almost nothing—fatigue, heavy and sticky, like a harpoon net, had ensnared him. He idly marked something on the map with scissors, trying to focus on his next target. His thoughts were jumbled, but he stubbornly stared at the map, as if it could answer all his questions.

And suddenly—a slight, barely perceptible chill. He became wary, glanced over his shoulder: the door was closed, and outside the windows—solid night. But what was he surprised about? It was the dead of night, the crew was asleep, and he, like a fool, was sitting alone.

But the cold didn't go away. It was faint, but unpleasant—alien. Jack slowly moved his eyes around the room. A dark corner, hidden from the candlelight, came into his field of vision. The light simply didn't reach there.

He squinted... and noticed a silhouette in the shadows. The figure of a man.

His heart sank. Jack jumped up from his chair, grabbing the scissors like a weapon.

"Come out into the light! Or else it will be worse!" he shouted, his voice trembling but confident.

The shadow shifted and stepped into the dim light. Jack couldn't tell whether he was happy or scared. He simply froze. Standing before him was none other than the Sea Butcher.

The scissors fell out of his hands, hitting the floor with a loud clang.

Salazar grinned as if he saw an old friend.

"What's wrong, Sparrow? Why are you so scared?" he asked calmly, taking a step forward.