Here is the revised version of On the Road to Hell. Enjoy!

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Master of His Own Fate

The rope was tight around the shin of his right leg. The chaos of screams and cannon fire continued around him as the Pearl yanked him across the deck and skyward. His hat came off and floated toward the deck, the tails of his plait and bandanna hung below him as he swung upside down by a leg. He had not let go of his sword and his pistol and dagger were still neatly tucked in his belt while he hung helplessly.

This was not happening.

I am the master of me own fate.

I will choose when, where an' how I will die.

Yet here he was, hanging by his right leg from a tackle line that had literally attacked him. One moment he had been piloting his precious Pearl, leading his men on a chase after the Ghost of Hispaniola when the Queen Anne's Revenge came out of no where and broadsided them. Then the rigging came to life. The boards creaked and groaned in protest. The cannons refused to fire. The sails had reefed themselves, halting all forward movement and the wheel had refused to budge for him. They had done all they could to fight back.

Yet it had not been enough.

I am the master of me own fate.

I will choose when, where an' how I will die.

I choose not to die today, not here an' not by Blackbeard's hand!

As the chaos around him continued, Hector Barbossa reached up to his belt and undid it, his pistol and dagger falling away to the deck below. He did not care. They would be useless against the magic that was being used against them. There was nothing he could do to save his crew or the Pearl. All he could do now was save himself.

Save himself he would or die trying.

With the belt tight around his thigh at the knee, Hector braced himself for what he was about to do. He kept telling himself it was the only way. The way to survive. The way to revenge. He would do this and he would survive and he would get his revenge against Blackbeard for attacking the Pearl, attacking his crew and making him do this to himself.

It was the only way.

I am the master of me own fate!

I am the master of me own fate!

He braced himself and brought his sword down upon his leg with a defiant scream.

I am... fuuu...!

With the chaos around him, his screams of agony were drowned out by those of his crew and the roars of the enemy's cannons. His world darkened for a moment as he hit the deck hard, crimson liquid dripping down onto him, his life blood spilling from the appendage he had severed. But he paid no heed to it, did not even look up to see his work or down at it either. He was moving, crawling, pulling himself away. He had to survive.

He would survive.

I... am... the master... of me own... fate!

A bloodied hand reached up to the longboat and pulled. Teeth gritted and eyes screwed shut against the pain, Barbossa pulled himself up and over into the tiny craft. He took only a second to rest, refused to look up at his doomed crew and the Pearl betraying them all. He refused to watch the Queen Anne's Revenge coming up alongside to inspect her prize as if it were the favored fat sow at a market fair. He would not, he could not.

To do so would put a halt to his escape.

I... am... the master... fuckin' hell the pain!... own... fate!

He forced himself to sit up, forced himself to hack at the longboat's lines. Saw them begin to come to life in protest to what he was doing. He almost panicked until his blade sliced through the last thread and the bow dropped. He held on and repeated the process until the aft came loose and both he and longboat plunged toward the Caribbean Sea.

The salt water did not help soothe his pain and mood. He almost blacked out again. But his stubbornness and determination to survive prevailed over the weakness of his own body. He reached up for an oar and pressed it up against the hull of his beloved Black Pearl. Only then, after he began drifting away, did he finally make himself look up at his ship. The screams had died down. The cannon fire was silent.

There was nothing but silence and his defiance.

I choose when, where an' how I will die.

The darkness of the night slowly engulfed him as he drifted away from the lantern light of his ship. Saint Domingo was only a day away. He could make it there if he did not pass out and stay passed out. But he was tired. So very tired. The pain was dulled but still persistently there. He lost more than blood this night, more than his leg.

He lost the Black Pearl.

She was no longer there. Only the Queen Anne's Revenge. Taken.

Blackbeard.

Jack is goin' to keelhaul me.

Funny how he could think about that wily pirate while he drifted in a longboat, his blood slowly pooling underneath him. Of all the things to be concerned with, he had to worry about his rival killing him for losing the Pearl to Blackbeard. He should be worrying about his own life in the here and now and not the later. The belt was securely tight. If he made it to port, he could worry about Jack later. He would survive. He knew it with all his being. What was left of it.

So Hector Barbossa rested back and finally let the darkness take him.

I am the master of me own fate!

An' I choose to live!