The man in the blue cloak kept watching Davy Jones's daughter from afar.
His cheeks turned red flushed with something between excitement and obsession as a smile spread across his face. Drool came from his mouth, thick and glistening, trailing down his chin, dripping onto his blue cloak. He didn't notice. Didn't care. His eyes were fixed on her on the dark skin, the pink attire, the tears that still streamed down her face.
"Damn fine shit," he murmured, his voice low and breathy. "She's really a beauty."
He shifted his weight, leaning forward as if to get closer, though the distance between them remained vast.
"You know, it's not fair at all." He shook his head slowly. "How does that girl have those types of genes? She's strong." He ticked off her qualities on his fingers. "She's tall. She's good looking. Classy."
He paused, his eyes widening.
"And let's not even talk about the fact that she's stunning." He laughed a soft, dreamy, almost unhinged sound. "Oh my. Oh my, oh my, oh my."
He pressed his hands against his chest.
"I can already imagine our future together."
A hand emerged from the darkness behind him.
It struck him on the head THWACK a sharp, precise blow that made his body jerk forward and his nose twitch.
He sneezed.
"AH CHOO!"
The sound was loud, sudden, completely absurd. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, his face twisting into a pout.
The figure from the darkness came out.
He was taller than the man in blue broader, harder, his face carved from stone and disappointment. His uniform was immaculate, his posture rigid, his eyes cold and calculating. He looked at his brother with something between annoyance and exasperation.
"You should really get your head straight," he said, his voice flat. "And not have stupid and useless dreams."
He crossed his arms.
"We were deployed here by the head of the navy. By the British Empire." His voice hardened. "And our goal is to conquer the Infinite Sea. With any amount of force necessary."
He leaned closer.
"You shouldn't sound like an idiot."
Another figure sat nearby, drinking fine rum.
He was the youngest of the three softer in feature, looser in posture, his uniform unbuttoned and stained with alcohol. His face was flushed from drink, his eyes glassy, his smile crooked.
He sighed.
"Hey, hey, brother." His voice was light, almost playful. "Now that's really not fair."
He took another swig from the bottle.
"We all know we're going to die here." He shrugged. "Well, if not in the Infinite Sea, then it's going to be somewhere in Valhalla."
He looked at the sky at the storm clouds, at the lightning, at the grey nothing that stretched above them.
"I mean, no matter how strong you are, you really can't avoid death." He chuckled. "It's truly inevitable. Not even in this world."
He raised the bottle in a mock toast.
"As we fight to bring the British nation to immortality..." He paused. "Our lives are just candle flames that will be blown out."
He chuckled again, then took down another bottle. In one gulp, he consumed the entire thing the liquid burning down his throat, warming his stomach, blurring his vision even further.
He set the empty bottle down with a clink.
"You guys shouldn't fight." His voice was softer now, almost gentle. "We're brothers after all."
The brother who had spied on the daughter of Davy Jones the one in the blue cloak was named William Hannam Henderson.
He looked at his brothers at the stern one, at the drunk one and felt something stir in his chest. Not guilt. Not regret. Something else.
"But you know..." He rubbed his chin. "Though I like her, I hate being here."
He gestured at the sea around them at the monsters, at the storm, at the endless chaos of the Infinite Sea.
"While the others are battling against that monster Napoleon on land..." He shook his head. "And yeah, you're right."
He paused.
"But that's exactly what I want."
He looked at his hands at the hands that had held a scope, that had watched a woman weep, that had done nothing but observe.
"When we were alive, what did we truly accomplish?" His voice was quiet, almost contemplative. "We were the same as now. Just the same."
He looked at his brothers.
"But there is a difference."
He touched his chest over his heart.
"The gods have granted us immortality."
He smiled a slow, spreading smile that held no warmth.
"Do you think I'm really loyal to that beast called the British Empire?"
He laughed a short, sharp, bitter sound.
"Their collapse in this world is soon." His eyes hardened. "So I shall go after my goal. And I shall carry both of you my brothers along."
He raised his fist.
"We shall attain immortality." His voice was fierce, absolute. "No matter what. We will not die."
He lowered his fist.
"And if we are to die..." His voice softened. "Then let's give it our all. Every being of ourselves into that battle."
He looked at the sea at the waves, at the monsters, at the endless horizon.
"Imprint yourself on the enemy so deep that they will live to remember you." His voice grew harder. "And if you must die, make sure you die at the hands of someone who would not think about death."
He paused.
"Then, at least if we are not able to attain immortality we will attain the second best thing close to it."
He touched his chest again.
"Impact on a life."
He dropped the scope he had used to view Davy Jones's daughter.
It clattered against the deck the glass cracking, the brass denting, the tool useless now. He rubbed the underside of his nose with his thumb, his face twisting into a grin.
Then he burst out in joy.
"HAHAHAHAHA!"
The laughter echoed across the water wild, unhinged, free.
His two brothers watched him.
The drinking one the youngest, the softest, the one who had emptied bottle after bottle while the world burned around him was named Reginald Friend Hannam Henderson.
He picked up another bottle, uncorked it, and took a long swallow.
"To impact," he said quietly, raising the bottle in a toast. "To life. To death."
He drank.
The one who had hit him on the head the tallest, the sternest, the one who carried the weight of command on his shoulders said nothing.
He stood in thought, his eyes fixed on the horizon, his mind churning with questions that had no answers.
What is the true meaning of life?
He did not speak the words aloud.
But his name was Frank Hannam Henderson.
And he was still searching.
William laughed.
Reginald drank.
Frank thought.
And the Infinite Sea churned on.