Side Story
The Goddess Who Walks Upon Earth, The Heavenly Demon, and The Forbidden Fruit of Man
Though the frigid wind and salty mist slap and sting at her calloused, marked flesh, she's never felt so afire in her short mortal lifespan.
It's like the sensation of molten gold runs below her skin, rippling and swelling with its hypnotic influence, blasting away the blades of sea frost.
In some time and distance in the future, Shalulia muses to herself on an empty ship, the merest small fluffy pink down feather pinched between a forefinger and thumb, and the deeply satisfying taste of sweet rot on her tongue. It's a repugnant taste that brands itself into her mind, and twists some part of her into something truly unnatural now.
For nothing but miles there's just gray clouds rolling in, the thrashing lull of the sea she's become accustomed to, and the solemn hum of salty winds rising to an enraged howl. Below her feet the ocean churns with ever increasing violence as if it is trying to shake off an irritation.
And maybe it's all a sign, of the world coming together in this brief span of time to reject the unnatural being that sits atop of it today. But today, Shalulia is no stranger to rejection- in fact, she welcomes it as a chance to kick down the doors that obstruct her path, and it is a sensation far more satisfying than having hired help do it for her.
When the time is ripe, she will be the one to strike fear into the hearts of those who witness her furious advance. Not the armed guards stalking her every move, nor the status of a Celestial Dragon, and certainly never the overstated might of a Marine Admiral. No, when the common masses cower in her shadow, it will certainly be because she is Shalulia, a vengeful and cruel war-goddess given human form, and not because of anything else.
The weight of her latest meal drags her palm down, and without a second thought, Shalulia hurls the wretched fruit far, far away with all her might. Her might is considerable these days, and the sea finally calms down enough to swallow down the remnants of her meal like a starving man.
Disgust twists her unpainted lips, her dark abyssal eyes. Her unbound hair flutters freely, toyed by the incensed breeze as every bit as the feather still caught pinched between index and thumb.
Everything is satisfying as much as it's repulsive, and she needs it as much as she reviles it. Shalulia sighs, and it's bitter as the fruit had been on top of every other repulsive taste known to man and beast alike. Upon Earth, nothing comes free at all, not even her own lineage, and she knows this to be a truth now. The price for her vengeance exacts toll after toll, slowly chipping away at the beholden image she tries to keep up between herself, the world, and the Gods above. And speaking of Gods above… she's so tired of always gazing heavenward these days. Walking the mortal plane means yearning for that unseen land, but wanting that paradise means loss. Her eyes drop down to frothy black seas threatening to devour her as well.
The feather twists and dances mockingly in her fingers, trying to tug itself free in all of the scale of a miniature war with her hand. Fruitlessly, her newly-freed hand slowly rises to caress the feather back into her clutches. It's just a little break, really. A well-deserved one at that. Relax a little, she soothes to the little plumage that defies her will with all the power of the wind behind it.
After all, she's sailed and walked this world now with her own two feet, from realms of relative safety- even on the Grand Line, to abandoned lands where the law of the wilderness is everybody for themselves. She's strolled amidst the great predators that would have sought to make an easy meal of her, yet it was she who'd feasted upon their flesh and bones in the end.
Her story is nowhere as expansive as the journey this one feather has surely taken, but even Dragons have to settle down and roost for a bit before spreading their wings once more.
It's fine, to rest a while. The silence and peace right now is a welcome satisfaction from the insane world she's chosen to carve her path through.
In the void, she finds only the emptiest of time, vast and sprawling before her eyes. Toll after toll takes from her, and today, everything she has ever known since departing the Holy Land is gone- the ship, it's crew lost and scattered, Shalence, gone with their respective promises fulfilled- freedom for a slave, proof the student had surpassed the teacher-, and her purpose, burning desire- abated and at rest.
For now.
There are many tiny steps to make before her final goal can be achieved, but today, Shalulia feels almost as if she's lunged forward just a little closer. Victory tastes as sweet as the vile remnants of her little snack. So what if the ship is scuttled and drowning beneath the strangling fingers of a cruel mistress? So what if her men have long since succumbed to her siren's call? Who cares if her mentor, teacher, servant, slave, has taken the sea by her hand and led herself astray? This venture certainly hasn't been fruitless- in contrast, it's been entirely too fruitful.
So she drifts, with the salvaged supplies left behind- there is never any shortage of luxuries, and even in the future while she thinks about her next moves, there will never be.
The Gods do not have to know that she drifts, without a bubble, with human blood on her perfect, calloused hands, and the Devil running through her very veins. More and more, she can greedily demand over and over. It's with their blessings, after all, that she's left home to kill a man and his crew. Of course, they need not strictly know she's on a self-appointed mission to kill someone.
Absentmindedly, she twirls the pink feather in her fingers, while the wind returns the favor with her loosened hair. It hasn't been styled in a while now- and if Shalulia ever desires to face her homeland and family ever again, she can only faithfully straddle the fine line between utility and length- to cut one's hair is the prelude to exile from the Holy Land, but to keep it long and free is courting death and being held hostage here in the Impure World.
Her Will on these endless seas is but a small speck in the turbulent new era that has once again consumed this world she is now certainly a part of. The time for observation from a sanctuary above is long over, but she does intend on riding the waves back to the very top.
If that man's target is the legendary treasure One Piece, then she will find him there, at the very end.
But… this world has taught her many things since she'd truly entered it. And patience is one of the endless lessons engraved upon her heart, in overcoming obstacles and hardship.
Certainly, Shalulia could enlist the help of the Marines. She could go home, return to the simpering role of a noblewoman and Celestial Dragon, and snap her fingers once more to have her every bidding done for her. With all the resources pooled together- experience, manpower, Celestial Dragon wealth- the legendary treasure is really but a lift of her fingers away.
It's Shalence's lessons that stays her hand though- what good is it for her if she cannot yet back up her vengeance with her own strength? No, her enemies are still growing in power, and when they finally arrive to reap their hopes and dreams, they will be at their peak.
And it will be one hell of a dish served cold, when she alone, knocks them from that precipice. Dreams, swept out from under their feet. Crush them against the stones, at the exact time when they'd come to believe they were unstoppable.
Glorious.
She smiles, but there's nothing but the deepest of anticipation and promises of pain in it.
A few soft steps sound off from somewhere. Then- a man's baritone voice. "Fufufu...yours, dear Lady Shalulia, is the smile of a true Goddess."
So he's finally arrived to collect his due. About damn time too. Shalulia rises, and without really thinking, her hands fall loose, releasing her captive.
With nothing but the coolest disdain disguising her impatience, Shalulia glances behind, knowing fully well where her acquaintance enjoys appearing. "Pleasantries are unnecessary, Lord Doflamingo. Useless as the promises of the Gods." She scoffs, betraying no sense of surprise or fear, even though she knows the man before her is a deadly martyr- a son of Gods, betrayed by humanity, abandoned by the heavens.
There's a peaceful sort of serenity between them- though it's one strictly dictated by the sheer imbalance in their power. If this man wants her dead, there is little she can do about it. Despite the furthest distances of her travels, this one is forged by the fires of the Impure World, and his Will far exceeds anyone's she's ever come across.
No- she's nowhere close to the precipice yet, but in a deal with the Devil, perhaps her goals are still attainable yet.
The leering grin on the man's ever stretched lips only grows. "So, the serpent has finally bared its fangs. Whatever would the Gods back home say?"
"And why would I care about the opinions of blinded fools leading the blind?" She returns, retaining her calm. Despite this, she knows she has much to lose back home should word ever get out-
She's breathed the air of commoners, defiled her hair that should only ever reach heavenward, sullied her own hands with the blood of humans, and now…
"So, how was it?" His all-knowing grin already indicates his intimate knowledge of her answer.
"The most rancid thing I've ever had the misfortune of eating." Shalulia responds without missing a beat.
It's always like this with this man- a fast pace waltz of uncertainty and observation, never knowing when he could decide to tire and put an end to everything. But for now, while their goals run parallel to each other, their mutually beneficial relationship can thrive.
"What else could you possibly expect, from the fruits of the Devil?!" He crows, a raucous wild thing that grates on her ears no matter how far she's come from the sensibilities of that demure, shallow wallflower.
She doesn't let the bitterness show though. Or the discomfort. Not before this man at least, where any weakness is dug into, ripped out with entrails still dripping, and tossed into his grinning maw like a starving man. Confidence, even a show of it, is the only logical route ahead. "A small price for great power." She lets her words hiss, and to her great satisfaction, a plume of fire escapes her now fanged maw, smouldering away the taste of decay into something ashy and burnt.
Even as she flaunts her new power, she's really under no delusions. The last living member of the Donquixote Family despises the Celestial Dragons for barring his way back to the Holy Land. The fact that she's too young to have been apart of any part of his family's banishment, coupled with her 'delightful defiance', has earned her some leeway from her own ancestry. That she seeks to defile and shred apart all traces of her own divinity with her own hands is but extra icing on the cake for the performance she knows she's playing for Donquixote Doflamingo.
After all, Shalulia is no longer a Goddess- she's already fallen from that pedestal that the last Donquixote seeks to shatter into pieces, to bring all of the Holy Land and its inhabitants down to his level.
And then he will rise above them all, to stand as the only King.
"Fufufu...you're so refreshing." He muses, craning his neck forward. "Not at all like the arrogant little lordlings holed up high in their Holy Land."
She tries not to think about where she might stand in this new world order he seeks to establish. It's not certain, to say, that she'll be spared, but in such a world, there's no place for dreamers like Monkey D. Luffy, or for weakness, so before that time, she needs power.
The commoners have a saying. 'Fake it till you make it'. Once, she would have scoffed, but now, more and more, Shalulia can appreciate the occasional competencies of the little folk. "Obviously. Have I not already drawn the line between myself and them? Cast myself down with eyes opened to the truth?" Then, to push it a step further in testing her boundaries, she swings around and smirks coyly at the feared warlord. "Back then, I would have welcomed you back as a conqueror worthy of your bloodline, Lord Doflamingo. A warrior God having returned from battle!"
Her words ring out, slicing through the din of the natural world around them. Two unnatural beings stand toe to toe.
Donquixote Doflamingo stills, but the ever present grin remains. Then, his shoulders begin trembling uncontrollably. "Fufufufu! Is that not right?!"
"Twenty Kingdoms." Shalulia continues, never letting her eyes stray from his madly cackling form. To do so when he is in such an unpredictable state is absolutely inviting her own death. "Twenty Kings who became Gods." It is a song sung endlessly by their people, and even the exiles, willing or unwilling, will sing to it as well.
"Twenty Conquerors who brought the world down under their thumbs!" The fallen Celestial Dragon snarls through laughter, completing the ancient stanza. "Through the blood of my last family drawn by my own two hands, sacrificed to the new family I have forged and the kingdom I have subdued- I am worthy of inheriting their will! I am worthy of being a true Dragon! A God above Gods themselves! But-"
Suddenly, he's quiet, and Shalulia's senses spike all over again, when he leans down next to her ear and whispers. "But they don't understand, do they, Lady Shalulia?"
"They never will." She breathes, confirmation and uncontrollable flames slipping out upon her lips. They flare out, snuffed out entirely too easily by the misty winds. "Not while they reside in their idyllic garden." Her words however, are steady and strong.
"You know what they will do to you, when they find out all of this?" He makes a little gesture, to all of her.
She smiles, all teeth and little else. She knows, all right.
It will be exactly as they did to this man, expunged as if she'd never been born. Cast out and exiled for good, unable to ever return to those lush green pastures. She's no longer worthy of being called a Celestial Dragon, not with the Impure World staining her very lungs. "But why should they need to know? There is still so much more to be won back from what you are owed. You needed but only a bridge to the Holy Land to take back what is yours before crushing them all underfoot! And I have agreed to be that bridge! Why burn it so prematurely, Lord Doflamingo? Were you really simply drowning in Legendary Devil Fruits that you could so easily afford to gift me one freely?" Her hands clench, and as if the fates smiled on her will, they unclench as scales and claws. She grins and a forked tongue runs over bladed teeth. "It is done! Our deal is sealed! Their days, numbered!"
"Fufufufu! You viper, Lady Shalulia. Ah, but, I forget! You are a mere snakeling no longer." Doflamingo stands without preamble. "Yes… our business is concluded then. Fly away then, my Dragoness. When the time comes, I will call- and we will bring Mariejois crashing down to this Impure World together. Until then, I look forward to seeing your waves upon this sea. Farewell!" With those final words, he steps into the air and bounds off, soaring and twisting through air currents and breezes until his signature pink feathered coat is nothing but a small distant speck.
Shalulia lets the breeze carry her hair into its next style, then stretches herself, feeling joints and talons that are there but not really. When she looks down at her hands, they are human once more.
Even so, it's almost as if another form has injected itself into her body- and she feels like herself yet not. The easiest thing to do is unleash the flames that have settled into her chest. The hardest, is calling out those scales, claws, and fangs- but Shalulia has always dreamed and yearned of this. It will only be a matter of scarce time, until she masters what's always been rightfully hers.
So she isn't a Goddess, and the blood of the Devil runs through her now, in stark contrast. It's fine, Shalulia thinks. If she, of all of the Celestial Dragons above, has no divinity in her veins, then none of them do. And if they, the Celestial Dragons, are just but a decaying delusional culture kept holed up by the stars in a Garden above, then it's only inevitable one day their reign will come to an end. The gears are already turning with the machinations of the two cursed exiles, the seas churning with the abundance of turmoil a new era brings. Someday, if given natural time, the garden will wither and its people will be cast out, and in all their arrogance and blind idealism, be helplessly dashed against the Impure World as surely as the waves crash against the flotsam she's perched precariously upon.
But not her, no. And not the one called by the name of Heavenly Demon. They've already fallen crushed to the Earth below, both willingly and unwillingly, but she's found her wings, and so has he. And if it's the height of arrogance to cast one's gaze skyward and fly toward the sun on nothing but thread and willpower, they will bring the heavens crashing down to them instead.
Someday, when the gates to the garden are buckled and cracked in fire and earth, she will be there once more to throw open that door and cross the threshold to announce the end of another era, and to commence the next. An era of true conquerors and not false gods.
What power do the heavens have against the entirety of a world?
Her lips sting from the careless bite of her newfound fangs, but Shalulia merely runs her tongue over the wounds while her grin only stretches further from joy to savagery. This Impure World deserved to be ruled by Gods, yes, but not by the false gods holed up behind an unseen veil of cowardice. And who better to lead it, than the ones who'd realized the truth of their world order?
Yesterday, she'd opened her eyes to the world around her and left the paradise forever lost. Today, she flies on, toward the end of a horizon on earth and sea that marks another changing era gone by. Tomorrow she will conquer in a rush of hellfire, like her ancestors had before her hundreds of years ago.
Shalulia laughs so the whole world may hear, and then focuses.
When the shadow of the great dragon finally leaves nothing but charred flotsam in its wake, all that remains is a small pink downy feather, carried off by the sea.
It too, sinks with the ashes.