John wick in one piece

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The sun blazed high above the open sea, its rays shimmering on the waves. Michael gripped the wheel of his sloop, the wind filling its patched sails as it glided toward the next destination marked on his map. His muscles still ached from the pirate encounter, but he was alive. That was what mattered.

He had been sailing for days, following the currents and navigating with what little experience he had gained. The solitude of the sea was peaceful but unnerving. Every creak of the ship, every distant shadow on the water could spell danger. The East Blue might have been the weakest of the seas, but it was far from safe.

Michael's thoughts wandered to his encounter with the pirates. The fight had been brutal, and while his skills had prevailed, he knew he had only survived because his enemies were weak and inexperienced. He wasn't delusional—this world had monsters that could crush him without breaking a sweat. He needed to find strength, fast.

As he adjusted the sails to catch more wind, he noticed a shape on the horizon. At first, it was a dark smudge against the endless blue, but it quickly became clear—a ship was heading toward him. His jaw tightened. After the last fight, he wasn't eager to face another group of pirates. But there was no avoiding it now.

The ship drew closer, and Michael could make out its details. It was a merchant vessel, smaller than the pirate ship he had encountered but larger than his sloop. Its white sails bore no insignia, but something about the way it moved set him on edge. A chill ran down his spine as he noticed the lack of visible crew on the deck. He reached for his revolver, checking its cylinder. Three bullets left.

Michael maneuvered his sloop closer, wary but curious. As he neared the ship, he called out. "Ahoy there! Do you need help?"

There was no response. The vessel drifted eerily on the water, its sails slack despite the steady breeze. Something was wrong. Michael's instincts screamed at him to turn away, but his curiosity got the better of him.

Securing his sloop to the larger ship, Michael climbed aboard. The deck was eerily silent, the wood creaking underfoot. Crates and barrels were scattered about, as if abandoned mid-loading. A faint metallic smell lingered in the air. Blood.

He moved cautiously, his revolver drawn. The ship had been ransacked. Splintered wood and broken cargo littered the deck. There were signs of a struggle—deep gouges in the planks, scorch marks that hinted at gunfire or perhaps something worse.

A noise broke the silence. A faint rustling, coming from one of the cabins below deck. Michael froze, his grip tightening on the revolver. Slowly, he moved toward the stairs, each step deliberate and silent.

The rustling grew louder as he descended. The lower deck was dimly lit, the air thick and suffocating. Michael followed the sound to a room at the end of the hall. The door was slightly ajar, and inside, he could see movement.

He kicked the door open, his revolver aimed and ready. Inside was a young girl, no older than twelve, cowering in the corner. Her clothes were torn, and her face was smeared with dirt and tears.

"Don't shoot!" the girl cried, shielding her face with her arms.

Michael lowered the revolver, relief flooding through him. "Hey, kid. It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you."

The girl peeked out from behind her arms, her wide, terrified eyes fixed on Michael. "You're… you're not one of them?"

"One of who?" Michael asked, stepping closer. He kept his voice calm, trying not to scare her further.

"The pirates," the girl said, her voice trembling. "They… they attacked us. Took everything. My parents… the crew… they're all gone."

Michael felt a pang of sympathy. He holstered his revolver and crouched down to her level. "What's your name?"

"Lia," the girl whispered.

"Alright, Lia. I'm Michael. You're safe now. I'll get you out of here."

Lia nodded hesitantly, wiping her face with her sleeve. Michael helped her to her feet and led her back to the deck. As they emerged into the sunlight, Michael scanned the horizon. The merchant ship was too damaged to sail, but his sloop could carry them both to safety.

As they prepared to leave, a distant roar cut through the air. Michael's blood ran cold. A small, fast-moving ship was approaching—a pirate cutter, its crew shouting and laughing as they closed the distance.

"Get below deck," Michael ordered Lia. The girl didn't argue, scrambling down the stairs.

Michael braced himself. The cutter drew alongside, and a group of pirates leaped onto the merchant ship. There were six of them, their weapons drawn, their faces twisted in cruel grins.

"Well, well," one of them sneered. "Looks like we've got a hero."

Michael didn't respond. He raised his revolver and fired, dropping the pirate closest to him. The others hesitated for a moment, surprised by his speed, before charging at him.

Michael moved like a shadow. He ducked under a swinging cutlass, firing another shot into a pirate's chest. The revolver clicked empty, and he tossed it aside, drawing his knife.

The fight was brutal. Michael relied on his agility and precision, using the narrow confines of the deck to his advantage. He disarmed one pirate with a well-placed kick, spinning around to block another's attack. His knife found its mark, and the pirate crumpled to the ground.

By the time the last pirate fell, Michael was covered in sweat and blood, his breathing ragged. He leaned against the mast, his knife still clenched in his hand.

Lia emerged from below deck, her face pale but determined. "Are they… are they gone?"

Michael nodded, wiping the blade clean on his shirt. "Yeah. It's over."

The girl ran to him, clinging to his arm. "Thank you. I… I thought I was going to die."

"You're safe now," Michael said, patting her shoulder. "Let's get off this ship."

They boarded the sloop and set sail, leaving the wreckage behind. As they drifted away, Michael glanced back at the merchant ship. It was a grim reminder of the dangers that lay ahead.