Marcos looked upwards as he watched the crew of one ship fight the crew of the other, people being shot, stabbed, and sliced. Shrapnel would be flung his way from time to time at the destroyed masts. Still, he didn't let go. Even when embers where flung his way and stung his body. The heat and stinging wasn't unbearable to him anymore. He'd felt it well enough before, many times over. One could tell from the brandings all over his body. A slave was branded in the same was farm animals were. Get a hot poker with the slaver's insignia on it, heat it up until it glowed reddish orange, and drive it onto the body. The pain was always excruciating. Marcos lost count of how many times his previous brands have been slashed and new ones were placed in a different area. 

Marcos quickly looked up to see a face peering right back down at him. It was not an angry, superior face. It was friendly. He was friendly enough; he was friendlier than the slavers, anyways. This was all he needed to trust the person. He grabbed onto the floatation device and climbed up with only his arms, having a built body from a life of slavery. He climbed over the railing and made it aboard, falling face-first onto the deck, before rolling over and looking up, breathing heavily. Marcos looked up to the man who helped him and said, "Thank you." After a moment, he made the decision to help. He tugged the bindings off of his feet and stood, seeing both crews trying to cross to the other ship. He would stay on the ship and help.

Marcos would fight the crew of the opposing ship that came aboard, grabbing them by the clothes and throwing them overboard, or simply just throwing punches at them. It seemed effective on the few that managed to jump the gap across, there were not many people that came aboard. And luckily, they were lightly armed. A few of them recognized him as a slave from their ship, and said that a slave had escaped, and others may be as well. To this, Marcos just readied his fists for more fighting. He wasn't about to go back to slavery without feeding the slavers their own teeth. Whatever teeth they had left in their ugly gobs, anyways.