After that, the Gundam dissolved into light, piece by piece, until nothing remained but rippling air.
Daniel dropped lightly onto the surface of the sea, standing as if the water were solid ground.
"Alright," he muttered, scanning the horizon. "Now… where's the fragment?"
As if answering him, the water beneath stirred.
A soft golden glow surfaced, rising from the depths like a lost star. It hovered for a heartbeat, then shot straight toward him, sinking into his chest without resistance.
A familiar chime echoed in his mind.
[Congratulations]
[Fragment recovered successfully]
[New Ability Acquired: Death Domination]
[Description: As the Lord of Death, you may impose dominion over non-living entities, binding objects, constructs, cursed artifacts, and unnatural things to your will.]
"Hm," Daniel murmured, considering the implications. "This could be useful."
His gaze drifted briefly, imagination stirring. What would happen if I used this on my mansion? The thought of a house responding to his will was oddly amusing.
"Interesting," he muttered. "I'll try it when the moment's right."
With that, he stepped forward, water rippling beneath his feet as he headed back toward the Black Pearl, already planning how to test his new power.
After that Will agreed to become the captain of the Flying Dutchman without hesitation.
If that was the price for saving his father, then he would pay it. Curse or no curse, duty mattered more. In that way, he was nothing like Jack—no tricks, no running, no bargaining his way out.
Now, with the Kraken dead, Daniel was certain of one thing.
Davy Jones would be furious.
That rage was exactly what Daniel was counting on. Without it, drawing Jones out would be nearly impossible.
The Flying Dutchman did not sail like ordinary ships. It appeared where it wished, vanished when it pleased, and crossed the seas by rules no compass could follow. Searching for it blindly would be pointless.
So Daniel chose a different method.
A lure.
A very effective one.
Daniel didn't bother explaining the plan in advance. It was better experienced firsthand.
Night settled over the ocean, heavy and silent. The moon hid behind drifting clouds, leaving the water dark and endless. Far from any ship, a skiff drifted alone, rising and falling gently with the waves.
Inside it lay Jack Sparrow.
Bound tightly, arms and legs wrapped until he resembled a struggling caterpillar, barely able to move. A rope secured him in place, ensuring there would be no clever escape this time.
Jack stared up at the sky, muttering a steady stream of curses.
The plan was simple—use Jack as bait to draw out Davy Jones.
Of course, Jack hadn't agreed to it.
Jack Sparrow agreeing to be bait would have been absurd, which was precisely why no one bothered to ask him.
After all, what could attract Davy Jones more surely than the very man who had broken the oath sworn to him?
"Are you sure this will work?" Will asked, peering through the telescope into the dark sea.
"Of course," Daniel replied without hesitation. "Do you doubt my plan? I've successfully screwed people over many times. It runs in the family—my father, my grandfather, my uncle. We're absolute professionals when it comes to outplaying others."
After all, coming from a rich family, learning how to fool people was practically a basic survival skill.
Will slowly lowered the telescope and stared at him, clearly confused. What kind of family is that?
"So… your whole family is weird like you?" Will asked cautiously.
Daniel thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "No. But my uncle is even weirder than me."
Will blinked. "Worse?"
"He's too honest about his desires," Daniel said seriously. "No filter at all."
Then the water around Jack's skiff began to shift.
At first it was subtle—a ripple where there should have been none. The sea darkened, rolling unnaturally beneath him, as if something vast was moving just below the surface.
Jack felt it before he saw it.
The water split.
A massive ship tore up from the depths, black hull glistening with seawater, barnacles, and rot. Tattered sails unfurled like the wings of a corpse, and the air filled with the groan of wood that had not touched the surface in years.
The Flying Dutchman had arrived.
Jack stared up at it, shoulders slumping.
"…Of course," he muttered with a tired sigh. "It worked."
From the deck, two figures leapt down, landing in the skiff with unnatural ease.
They were not human.
One had the bloated head of a fish, eyes glassy and lifeless. The other's face was long and slick like an eel's, its mouth stretched into something that might have been a smile. When they spotted Jack in the skiff below, that smile widened—as if they'd just found a familiar nuisance.
Jack looked up at them and sighed.
"Long time no see."
Neither answered.
Before Jack could say another word, rough hands seized him. They didn't bother untying him—ropes and all, he was hauled up like cargo.
Jack squirmed uselessly. "Now really, this feels unnecessary—"
He was thrown onto the deck of the Flying Dutchman.
The impact knocked the breath out of him. Groaning, Jack rolled onto his side and lifted his head.
Boots echoed.
Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.
Jack's eyes followed the sound until they met the familiar, nightmarish silhouette.
Davy Jones stood before him—tentacled beard shifting, eyes cold as the depths, the captain of the Flying Dutchman in all his dreadful glory.
"…Jack."
Jack pushed himself up onto one elbow, forcing a crooked grin despite the ropes biting into his wrists.
"My friend Jones," he said lightly, eyes flicking over the tentacles, the barnacles, the whole dreadful ensemble, "you've grown positively handsome since the last time I had the pleasure."
His smile widened, as if he'd just paid a compliment rather than poked a sea demon with a stick.
*****
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