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Everyone knew that the pirate captain Phantom killed his prisoners.
Just, no one knew how exactly.
Once they’d been taken prisoner by him, none of his captives were ever seen alive again.
They were never seen again, period.
No bodies, no clothing, no nothing.
Well… that’s not entirely accurate.
There had been something, once.
A single right hand, thought to be that of some poor fisherman, entirely unremarkable in life but whose death had caused quite the uproar.
For a pirate like Phantom, one who had been plundering the seas upwards of a decade, it was so incredibly strange that so little had been found of his victims.
And little indeed, as the hand had also been missing a large chunk of itself.
But now, as Vladimir Masters stood in the lower deck of Phantom’s ship, the lack of remains didn’t seem quite so strange.
Because what would be left after one is devoured by a bloodthirsty siren?
As he was shoved closer to the edge of the platform partially covering the tank, Vladimir pondered how Phantom had come to possess such a creature. The siren flicked its tail, splashing him, and Vladimir amended to himself that it didn’t very much matter. Nothing much mattered to dead men.
Tumbling off the platform and into the tank, Vladimir couldn’t help but admire how efficient Phantom’s method of execution was.
And as the siren tore into his flesh, Vladimir Masters thought about how lucky that fisherman’s family was, that the siren had only taken a single bite from the hand, that the siren had left behind anything at all.