Chapter Two

The Wakening

"So, human civilization," Ace said, walking backwards ahead of Marco on the road. The old stones were worn from hundreds of years' worth of wheels and footsteps, but Ace moved as though tripping never even crossed his mind. "What's changed?"

"We don't want to make some gaff on accident," Sabo said.

"Well, first of all, 'gaff' doesn't mean 'mistake' anymore," Marco said. Sabo's eyebrows went up. Marco racked his brain for anything else. "For the most part, observation should get you through. Fortunately, the common tongue has not changed a great deal in the past few hundred years. Ogres, trolls, and goblins are allowed within human civilization, but are generally not trusted. If you need something to talk about with someone, complain about the quarterly taxes."

The demons nodded sagely. Marco resigned himself to several stints of awkward conversation before they acclimated.

Ace suddenly shifted so he was walking in front of Sabo and assumed a rather ridiculous posture. "My good sir, I say, what fine weather we have today!"

Marco bit down on a sigh when Sabo perked up.

"I can agree, I do so enjoy travelling this way," Sabo replied.

"The roads are cleared, the stonework fair," Ace sang. "Oh, how good it is to breathe fresh air!"

The two infernal brothers grinned at each other. Marco kept walking.

"I'm so glad you two have discovered the other eternal topic of conversation," he drawled. The twin looks of amusement he received were painfully similar to the one he would get from Thatch when catching the man in the middle of one of his many harmless pranks, and Marco's patience ran out. Ace's grin was especially familiar and it wrenched something in Marco's chest to see it. "How about we walk in silence," he said, and it wasn't a question but an order. Ace's mirth died and he scowled, but Marco's implied command prevented any sounds from escaping his mouth.

For the next two hours they walked in silence. Ace and Sabo watched everything as though missing a single swaying branch would cause the end of the world. Marco left them to it; as long as they were distracted, he could easily think about what it was he had to do.

Fallow was a town well known for its library, which contained more books in a single location than any other place on the continent. Marco had no doubt that Teach was searching for ways to awaken the artifact, which had been dormant for centuries. If any place was to have that information, Fallow's library was it. Teach had already scoured the Mage Guild's library of texts; an hour or so of digging had uncovered that easily. But the Guild's repertoire was sadly lacking, and the artifact was so old that any texts detailing its creation had likely been lost to time.

But, he had two demons walking next to him who had been alive for centuries even before the Great War. Marco opened his mouth to ask, only to see that Ace and Sabo were staring at the tree line about ten yards from the road.

"What is it?" Marco asked, implicitly waiving the silence command.

"Bandits," Ace replied.

"Roughly ten to fifteen of them," Sabo added. "An ambush party."

"So close to the castle," Marco muttered, observing the trees as subtly as he could. He could just barely make out flickers of movement as restless men shifted among the leaves. He had heard that there was a particular band getting rather bold, but an attack this close to the castle was unprecedented.

Ace smiled, and the glamour hiding the claws on his fingers flickered. "I say we turn the tables on them."

"No," Marco snapped. "Under no circumstances are you to reveal you are not human."

Ace managed a perfectly flat look. "No, really? I'm glad you said that order, or I would have forgotten the clause in the fucking contract that commanded it."

Marco, who had pulled his staff out from the straps on his back that held it in place for longer journeys, glared. "Forgive me for thinking that your bloodlust could cloud your judgement."

"Listen, mortal," Ace hissed, eyes flashing, "I've been alive longer than your petty little kingdom has existed. Do not think to lecture me on clouded judgement when I am able to plan on a scale you cannot even compreh—ow!"

Sabo lowered his hand from where he'd flicked Ace on the forehead. "Calm down, Ace. He has never met a demon before. He does not know the ways we think."

Offended, Marco opened his mouth to refute that, only to pause. Sabo wasn't wrong.

"Now," Sabo continued, adjusting his gloves, "Ace and I are both perfectly capable of incapacitating these mortals without revealing ourselves to be anything more than we seem. Do we have your permission to harm them as much as necessary to ensure our safe passage?"

All this time, the trio had been standing in the road. Apparently tired of waiting, the bandits were emerging from the trees, crude weapons held aloft. Marco debated his odds; he wanted to conserve his magic as much as possible, and while he could handle this group on his own, he did not want to announce that Court Magician Marco was out of the castle. The less Teach knew, the better.

He sighed. "Yes, you have my permission."

Ace pulled a dagger out of thin air. Marco blinked; one second Ace's hand was empty, and in the next he held ornately-handled weapon that flashed in the light. Sabo wielded no weapons, but his body glowed with magical aura. The bandits charged with a roar and Ace and Sabo met them halfway. Marco stayed back; while he wanted to conserve his strength and maintain the secrecy of this mission, he also wanted to see the demons fight.

And Hells, did they fight.

Ace moved like an acrobat in one of the troupes that performed monthly at the castle, only faster. He ducked a swipe from the first bandit to reach him and opened up the bandit's stomach while simultaneously kicking him into two of his friends. He then jumped over a sword swing, kicked off that bandit's shoulders, and did a flip before landing on another's shoulders. Ace's weight proved too much for the bandit and he fell, but Ace was already moving on, never staying still and moving so quickly that Marco's eyes ached from trying to follow him.

All this while he was hiding his true demonic strength. Marco made the mental note to break their connection as soon as this task was done; the world did not need these monsters in it.

Sabo lacked Ace's fire, but his attacks were cold and ruthless. Spells launched from his fingers with pinpoint accuracy: paralysis, electricity, sleep, dizziness, confusion, binding—all low-level, but cast with such efficiency that no bandit got within ten feet of him. Sabo's expression remained impassive even as he unleashed a quantity of magic that would have exhausted half the mages in the Guild. Even Marco doubted he would be able to do so much so quickly with so little apparent effort.

All seventeen bandits were dealt with in short order. Marco watched the last one fall, the man's eyes still wide with shock. He hadn't even seen Ace before the demon had buried his dagger in his neck, severing the spine. Ace yanked the dagger out and, after glancing around the ensure that no one else remained, he tossed it into the air. The weapon turned to flame and vanished. Sabo adjusted the short cape attached to his coat and faced Marco right when Ace drew level with him.

"We left some alive, in case your kingdom wishes to question them," Sabo said.

Still awed by the display, Marco merely nodded. He drew his notebook and pencil from his satchel, wrote a quick message, and burned it with a spell that would sent the message to Izo, the captain of the patrol branch of the Knights Mobius. He made sure to include a note of secrecy within the message so that Izo wouldn't reveal the source of the tip.

"They'll pick them up within the hour," Marco said. "Let's keep moving."

"Don't want to stay to make sure none get away?" Ace asked curiously.

Marco gave the groaning bandits a cursory glance. "Have you left them in any position to run?"

"Point."

They kept walking. They walked for most of the day, only breaking for meals. Marco felt his legs beginning to ache—it had been a long time since he'd been able to leave his studies in the castle to adventure like he had in his youth, and that showed. Ace and Sabo, of course, appeared to be exactly as they had been hours before. When the sun set and the road became too difficult to navigate in the dark, Marco found a clearing a little ways into the trees and settled against a tree to sleep, a minor protection spell keeping him insulated from bugs and the elements. He ordered Ace and Sabo to keep watch and then closed his eyes.

Sleep eluded him. Perhaps because his mind refused rest with Teach still at large, perhaps because he had two demons watching over him. The sounds of the night didn't completely cover their hushed conversation; Marco listened almost without meaning to.

"It smells different," Ace said.

"I don't think it does," Sabo replied. "The Great War tainted the air with too much magic. We smelled the burning towns and the destructive spells. The world itself, I believe, is the same."

Ace snorted. "So you admit it smells different."

Sabo sighed. "Fine, Ace, it smells different. Slightly."

They were quiet for a minute. Marco had almost fallen asleep when Ace spoke again.

"Do you think they buried him?"

Someone shifted. "Ace."

"No, I know, but—they had to, right? It's what humans do. They bury their dead."

"Ace."

"Stop giving me that look, Marco. I'm not—he's not—"

"He's dead, Ace," Sabo said softly. "He's dead, and whether he was buried or not will not change that."

Marco nearly cracked his eyes open to see what the demons were doing but stopped himself. He wanted to hear more; who was dead? Why did Ace care so much? What mortal being could be so important to a demon? Demons only used mortals as anchors, nothing more.

"He's dead, and we're helping his killer," Ace said, and Marco stiffened without meaning to. The conversation died for several minutes. When it continued, the demons spoke in the infernal tongue, which even Marco—for all his studying—couldn't understand.

He fell asleep to the rumble of an approaching storm.


When Marco awoke, the world was wet. Water dripped from every surface; the storm of the previous night had dwindled to a miserable drizzle that hung in the air like a fog. Marco's shield had fizzled out hours ago, but Marco was surprised to note that he was still dry. Standing, he examined himself and realized that someone else had put a shield over him.

"Figured you'd want to stay dry," Sabo called from where he was perched in a tree, his clothes as impeccably untouched by the elements as always. He shifted slightly and dropped down from the tree, landing with a splash. "Ace is…keeping watch from farther away. He can join us when we reach the road."

Marco nodded and spent a minute collecting himself before he and Sabo left the clearing. Marco snacked on bread, nuts, and berries that he had left over from the previous day. Sabo watched him eat.

"Do you eat?" Marco asked after several minutes. Sabo smiled and looked away.

"No, I don't—well, I don't have to. I can. Apologies; I was remembering someone."

Marco felt a flicker of curiosity, but movement to his right stifled it. Ace dropped down from the trees. His hair was dripping wet, and he had a thunderous scowl on his face. Sabo, still perfectly dry, looked innocently ahead.

Ace growled something in the infernal tongue but Sabo didn't break stride. The two demons flanked Marco, apparently unwilling to walk side-by-side. Marco got the distinct feeling that whatever part of the conversation he had missed last night was significant.

Every few steps, Ace ran a hand through his hair and shook his head a bit, spraying Marco with water. After ten minutes, Marco recast his elemental shield.

Their general misery continued for the four and a half hours it took them to reach Farrow. In that time, Sabo struck up a conversation with Marco about the politics of Whitebeard's kingdom. Marco obliged as much as he was able; as Court Magician, he kept close tabs on the Court and other dealings that passed through the castle. Ace pitched in every now and then, usually with disparaging comments. Marco put up with him with all the patience and humor he'd picked up from years as Thatch's friend. By the time Farrow was in sight, Ace's mood had improved, but he still didn't look pleased about his nature-induced shower.

"Halt!" called the guard at the gate. "Who goes there?"

Marco already had his story prepared. "Scribe Vale, with my two hired guards. The head librarian is expecting me."

"Wait right there." The armored guard signaled his fellows in the nearby tent, who checked a list of expected arrivals. They waved.

"Aren't you smart?" Ace asked under his breath. Marco shot him a look right as the guard let them through.

"Thank you," Marco said to the guard, who nodded and returned to his post.

Farrow was a town-turned-city that didn't quite know what it wanted; narrow, winding streets opened up into wide thoroughfares that became twisting alleys in turn. The only landmark providing any reference at all was the library, which towered over every other building from the center of the city. Marco led the way with confidence; he had been to Farrow many times, and the route to the library was a familiar one. Ace and Sabo followed a step behind, each demon examining his surroundings with the same intensity as before.

The pair garnered more than a few curious looks, not just for their dress. While most mortals weren't attuned to the magical spectrum, most could sense—at least subconsciously—the auras of magical beings. Fortunately, Ace and Sabo's admittedly good looks worked as an excuse for any second glances.

"What, exactly, are we looking for at this library?" Sabo asked.

"Information," Marco replied blithely. "Just stay quiet and let me lead."

The head librarian was a bookish old woman whose name Marco never quite caught.

"I set out all the manuscripts, scrolls, and other documents in a back room," she said, leading Marco through the towering stacks of books. Staircases spiraled up among lantern-lit platforms, the magic within those lights pulsing a gentle yellow. The Fallow library was an architectural marvel, and many of its visitors didn't come just for the books. Marco caught sight of a few gapers among the scribes. Even Sabo and Ace were craning their necks, looking around with undisguised amazement. Holding fast to Marco's order, though, neither made a sound.

"Right here," the head librarian said, gesturing to a room neatly obscured among three bookcases. Marco only saw the door when he was right in front of it. "All the texts that man asked for are there, alongside any others I thought were important. If you need anything, I will be at the front desk."

"Thank you, as always," Marco began, turning to face her, but the woman was already gone. He blinked, shook his head, and went into the room. He took one pile of scrolls while Ace and Sabo divvied up the rest.

"Again, information would be useful," Sabo said. The order must have worn off without a set time limit. Marco pocketed that information and sighed.

"The artifact Teach stole is powerful. Immensely so. But it needs to be awoken before it can be properly used. I have no doubt that Teach came here to consult old texts the Mage Guild's libraries don't hold."

"So we're looking for high concentrations of magic, or ritual sites," Ace said flatly. "There are thousands of them within a hundred miles of here, never mind the rest of this country. We passed a man in town who claimed his well was magic and would grant wishes for a coin."

"Not pittance sites," Marco clarified, ignoring the derision in Ace's tone. "These will need to be powerful. Old battle sites from the Great War. Concentrations of Ley Lines. Things of that nature."

Ace and Sabo exchanged a look, then Ace stood. "I'm going to look around. The architecture here is too impressive to pass up an examination."

"No, you're not," Marco said. Ace scowled.

"Sabo can read fast enough for the both of us."

"Ace," Sabo said, "I don't think that's what he has an issue with."

Ace glowered and then drew a finger across his palm, his claw momentarily flickering into view—just long enough to create a line of blood across the skin. Ace clenched his hand into a fist. "How about this? I solemnly swear on my demonic blood that, on this day, I will cause no harm to any individual or thing in this library."

Marco thinned his lips, not liking the idea of Ace just wandering around. But swearing on blood was no small matter, especially for demons. "Fine. Be back within two hours."

Ace mock-saluted and left, but not before Marco got a glimpse of his hand. The line on his palm had already healed. Shaking his head, Marco turned his attention to the closest scroll. Behind it, a stack of another seven stood waiting.

No helping it. Marco braced himself and set to reading.


"I've got another one," Sabo said, glancing up from within his veritable mountain of texts. He shoved aside a tower of books that teetered ominously before stabilizing so that he could hold up a yellowed roll of parchment. His eyes were like marble, and he didn't sound nearly as pleased as he had when he had uncovered the last potential site. "It describes the site of a battle during the Great War. Old magic lingers there."

Marco nodded. "Add it to the pile."

The "pile" was, in reality, only two other texts. Marco had discovered one, and Sabo had found the other. Sabo added the scroll and then sat back.

"It's the last of mine."

After a beat, Marco glanced down at his own space and realized he had reached the end of his book. "Mine as well. This has nothing but faerie stories; no concrete locations. Not even hints." He shut the book and set it aside, rubbing his forehead. Then he examined the scrolls they had deemed worth looking into. "Three possible locations. One church that was burned during the Purges and holds the remnant souls that were trapped within; one ancient ring of Waystones that have sat next to the road to Alawane for longer than written record; and one battlefield."

"It's not a battlefield," Sabo said. He stood and began to clean up the mess they'd made. "It's an old castle. A keep, really. I doubt it still stands."

"You doubt?"

Sabo hesitated. Marco sensed that, if his tail had not been glamoured, it would have been lashing back and forth. "If what the text describes is true, even the sturdiest of walls would have been hard-pressed to stay standing."

"I see."

Ace stirred in his sleep. He had come back after little more than an hour and gone to nap in the corner without a word. Marco hadn't wanted to put in the effort to make him help, and he and Sabo had been making good progress regardless. Now, though, with their reading finished, it was time to wake him up.

"Ace," Sabo said, taking initiative. "Ace." The demon groaned and levered himself up on one forearm.

"Sabo?"

"Wake up. We're done here."

Ace blinked a few times and then got up. He stretched, and Marco heard the distinct sounds of joints popping. "What did you find?" Only, his yawn got in the way, and Marco heard something closer to, "Whaddayafine?"

"Three locations," Marco cut in, and Ace snapped to wakefulness at the sound of his voice. "A church, a monument, and a keep."

Ace glanced at Sabo and his expression lost the last lingering traces of sleep. "Sounds exciting."

"Perhaps." Marco stretched and then let his arms drop back to his sides. He stood there a moment, thinking. His brain felt strained from all that reading, and he knew he needed a break. He spoke while he collected his things. "Discussion can wait until we find a place for dinner. I'm quite done with this library for now."

"For now?" Ace muttered, but he and Sabo obligingly followed Marco out.

They ended up eating at the tavern next door to the inn, a battered old place called the Hollow Bottle. Whatever picture had been above the door had long ago been worn away by the elements, but the inside was teeming with life. Two serving girls expertly worked their ways among the tables, distributing drinks and acquiring corns with cold efficiency.

Marco found a spot in the back, slightly away from the worst of the noise. Ace and Sabo sat on either side of him and then both jumped when a third server—this one a young boy—suddenly appeared behind them. While the demons hid their reactions, Marco ordered a round of beer and, once the boy had relayed the available options for dinner, two stews and a leg of lamb with potato. He tossed the coins to the waiting hand and turned back to his companions.

"I want you two to blend in," he explained to the two confused demons.

The beer came quickly; the food did not. All the while, whispered conversation threaded around boisterous arguments that never actually broke out into brawls. Marco tried to listen, but the varying volumes and constant movement made it nearly impossible.

Fortunately, he had magic. A subtle spell enhanced his hearing and allowed him to focus on specific conversations. He only realized after the fact that Sabo had copied him, both for himself and for Ace.

Nursing his beer, Marco listened.

The closest table was talking about the roads. And how the weather was affecting those roads. Marco immediately moved on. The next three tables were all having conversations central to their own lives; jobs, family, the like. But the fifth table—the fifth table was set in the far corner and occupied by a trio of scribes. Marco recognized one as the man who had been organizing a shelf in the restricted section that they had passed on their way to the back room.

"I'm telling you, we have two texts about it. Two." Scribe One, when he finished, took an irritated swig from his mug. "Greatest library my ass."

"Calm down," said Scribe Two, who had her back to Marco. "It was a long time ago."

"Only a few hundred years. We have texts going back thousands that cover things more mundane than the death of the Mercenary King."

Across from Marco, Ace stiffened.

"Sure, but it's all about what survives," Scribe Three pointed out. Scribe One grumbled something. "What?"

"I said, it's ridiculous. That glorified bandit goes 'round, doin' what he pleases while the world falls apart, and all we've got to prove anything is word-of-fuckin'-mouth. Ridiculous."

Sabo watched his brother warily. Ace had gone still as stone.

Marco knew a few things about the Mercenary King: surviving during the Great War, the King had amassed quite the following before dying in a climactic battle against…something. Records surround his death were few and far between, and none seemed to be truly accurate. With the way Ace was reacting, though—it was almost as though he'd been there.

That brief moment of distraction cost Marco a few lines of dialogue, and he only snapped back to the present when Ace stood up so fast that he upset his chair, causing the heavy wooden thing to tip over and crash back onto the floor.

Marco froze at the fury simmering in Ace's eyes, and he didn't react quickly enough to stop Ace from marching over to the scribes' table.

But Sabo did. Catching his brother by the elbow, Sabo yanked Ace aside and hissed something Marco didn't catch. Ace snarled back, and the conversation grew more and more heated until Ace finally shoved Sabo back and stalked out the door. Marco began to stand, but Sabo hesitated only a moment before he returned to the table.

"It may be a bit presumptuous to you for a demon to advise his summoner, but I highly suggest that you do not follow him," Sabo said.

"He's—"

"Angry, yes. Dangerous, no." Sabo sat down and, after a moment, Marco followed suit. The blond demon stared at his mug of beer, brows knitted in thought. Then he looked up. "Ace has always been the more…hot-blooded of us two. He feels deeply, intimately."

"And you?"

"Less so," Sabo admitted. "At times, anyway. We cover each other's weaknesses, augment each other's strengths." Marco thought about the fight against the bandits. The two had worked seamlessly together; Ace drew the attention to himself and Sabo made sure that attention didn't get too dangerous. "In any case," Sabo continued, shaking his head slightly, "it's best to leave him alone for now. Give him some time to cool off, as you humans like to say."

"I'm not comfortable with having an angry demon loose in this town."

For just an instant, Sabo tensed; but the anger in his eyes was gone so quickly that Marco wasn't even sure it had truly been there. "For now, trust me that he is no danger to anyone but himself," Sabo said lowly as the serving boy arrived with food.

"I will seek him out after we eat," Marco said, daring Sabo to challenge him again. Sabo gave him a long, tired look.

"For what purpose?" He paused to slide Ace's portion closer to himself. "You're our summoner. You have made it quite clear that you trust us only as far as you can control us." That rage flashed again. Marco wondered if he was truly imagining it. "All you would be doing is ensuring that Ace has not broken his contract, which you should know without needing to see him."

"That is true," Marco acknowledged, and only admitting it out loud made him realize how childish it made him sound. Sabo and Ace had demonstrated no desire to wreak any kinds of infernal havoc. Hells, Sabo seemed more incline to talk Ace down than join him. Still—"But I want to make sure that nothing happens."

Sabo snorted something and tucked into his food. He finished in just a few minutes, to Marco's equal amazement and horror.

"I'm going for a walk," Sabo announced. His challenging look was met with silence. Marco finally nodded, and Sabo left. Marco, alone at the table, looked down at the stained wood under his hands.

His left hand slowly curled into a fist, but he forced himself to stay still. Two demons, both of incredible power, wandering without supervision but bound by contract. It sounded like the premise of a bad joke.

His stew, when he remembered to eat it, was cold.


Marco found Ace on the rooftop of the local blacksmith's shop. The tiles were warm under his feet and the chimney released a near-constant stream of smoke. Rhythmic slams of metal on metal echoed into the night as the blacksmith worked on a late-night project.

Ace was sitting just below the roof's peak, left leg drawn up and his left arm thrown carelessly over his knee while he absently rubbed the orange bandana tied to his belt between his right forefinger and thumb. His gaze was far away, fixed at a point past the clouds and the stars they tried to hide. He had dropped his glamour—there was no one around to see him—and his tail flicked in response to Marco's approach.

Rendered humble by the pain held in Ace's eyes, Marco sat a few feet away, careful not to slip on the tile. Ace didn't react to his presence, and soon, even his tail settled again.

"His name was Luffy," Ace said, breaking the silence so suddenly that Marco only realize he'd spoken when Ace shifted his gaze from the sky to the bandana at his waist. "Most people knew him as the Mercenary King, but that—that was postmortem. To me, he was always just Luffy. He was—he meant the world to me." Ace glanced at Marco, a challenge in his eyes that Marco refused to acknowledge. He knew when to stay silent. Ace looked away again after a second, his mind pulled to the past.

"This was during the Great War. Luffy summoned Sabo and I on accident. He was a powerful mage, though he didn't know it. He just needed help, and we helped him. Kept helping him, even though he never made a formal contract with us."

Despite his intentions to remain neutral, Marco felt one of his eyebrows ticking up. Beneath them, the blacksmith had finished his project. The chimney's smoke began to wane.

"See, that's the thing. These days, everyone thinks we demons need to be leashed. Back then? Back then, the angels and us were two sides of the same coin. We warred, yes, but the Great War was the tipping point. That's when our realms separated completely and the angels sealed us away and declared us infernal. It was a betrayal millennia in the making." Ace shook his head. "But Luffy—Luffy was an island in the middle of all of that. He didn't care about the war raging around him or the towns that got destroyed or any of it. He had a goal, and he saw it through." Ace's voice turned wistful. "Sabo and I never left his side."

In the distance, a cart on its way out of the town rattled over the cobblestone streets. Ace waited until the night was quiet again before he continued. "Luffy had enemies. A lot of enemies. His quest for the amulet—" Ace stopped talking, his hands balling into fists. He only continued after his right hand had relaxed again.

"Luffy's quest for the amulet ended in tragedy. Trust, hope, determination—none of it was enough. He sacrificed himself to save his friends. Sabo and I lingered as long as we could, but without Luffy anchoring us to the mortal realm, we couldn't stay." Ace shook his head. "The Great War found us, in the end, and it took everything."

"What do you mean, it found you?" Marco asked when it became clear that Ace wouldn't continue on his own. Ace sighed.

"There was a mage tasked with guarding the amulet who wielded power the likes of which this world has not seen since. Sabo and I could not defeat him. Luffy and his friends did all they could, but it wasn't enough. We faced off to battle in the keep's final chamber. The amulet was in sight—so close I could taste it—and Luffy. Inflike, Luffy." The infernal curse made Marco's hair stand on end. "The loyal bastard sacrificed himself to save his friends and it didn't even work. Sabo and I barely managed to hold the mage off long enough for Zoro and Nami to escape. I don't know what became of them, but that mage—the angels put him there, blessed him. I doubt Luffy noticed, but the angels themselves had stood in the way of a mortal's quest, a violation of one of their biggest tenants."

Ace made eye contact with Marco and his red eyes smoldered with centuries-old rage. "That mage stole everything from me. Everything."

The air crackled with hate. "Ace," Marco cautioned, and the demon sneered.

"You carry his blood."

Marco froze. "What?"

Ace's tail lashed back and forth. Flames flickered along his skin. "You are his descendent, Court Magician Marco, head of the Phoenix Clan. I knew it from the moment I looked at your little contract." Ace summoned the document with a wave of his hand. It floated in the air, innocuous and powerful. "Your ancestor had a contract, too. With an angel. Your handwriting is practically identical."

"Ace." Now it was a warning. Marco could feel Ace straining against his invisible restraints even though the demon had barely moved.

"Because of that contract, no matter how many times Sabo and I killed that inflike mage, he would not die. He rose, again and again, more and more powerful each time, until his mere presence burned us like holy fire. He killed Luffy for no other reason than because the angels ordered it. His contract, Marco, doomed the world to another fifty years of war. That amulet could have ended it all. Luffy could have ended it all. But no." Ace's eyes were literally burning now, tongues of flame licking around his eyelashes, casting his face in harsh light. "No, the mage had a job, and a contract, and a selfish desire to join the ranks of the beings using him as a tool."

On the last word, Ace's right hand closed into a fist and the contract went up in flames, burning to ash in the span of a second. Marco felt the heat inside himself and gasped in shock and pain, only then realizing just how enraged Ace truly was.

"And now," Ace continued while he got to his feet, "now, the descendent of that mage asks for my help. My. Help." He took a step. "I thought I could bear it. After all, this plane is the birthplace of all demons. It was a return to my true home." Another step. "But you. Stars above, you act as though you don't even know. And your clan. I looked into it today, at the library. The records they keep are thorough, you know. That ancestor of yours ascended. Living up to the name of the Phoenix Clan. Rising from the ashes." A third step, a broken laugh. "Those ashes were my friends. My family. My blood. And you stole them from me!"

Ace lunged forward and Marco scrambled back, hastily erecting a barrier between them. Ace broke through it like it was nothing and Marco saw his death reflected in Ace's eyes. He stopped moving back, knowing there was no way out. His magic—without his staff, his artifacts—was no match for an enraged demon prince.

Ace's claws went for Marco's throat and the magician closed his eyes, sent a silent apology to his king, and waited.

And waited.

He opened his eyes. Ace was caught mid-lunge, eyes wide with shock. Behind him, Sabo stood with one gloved hand outstretched. A spell of sealed movement, cast instantaneously without an incantation. Marco swallowed. Sabo's gaze left Ace and went to Marco.

"I take it my brother told you our history," he said. Marco nodded and slowly adjusted into a sitting position a foot farther away from Ace's claws. Ace's eyes moved, tracking him, but the demon remained otherwise frozen. Sabo snapped his fingers and Ace's eyes widened in the instant before his body contorted. Marco watched, transfixed, as Sabo manipulated Ace into a position on his knees, head bowed and hands restrained behind his back. Ace's chest rose and fell with his breathing, but he did not move or speak. Sabo moved to stand next to his brother, his expression cold.

"Let me be clear," he stated. "I share Ace's anger. Luffy's death is not one so easily forgotten, and we will never forgive it. But," and here Sabo's eyes narrowed, one hand coming to rest on Ace's shoulder, "what I do recognize is that you are not that mage. I thought Ace understood that when I discussed signing the contract with him, but I was evidently mistaken."

Ace growled something in the infernal tongue and Sabo's grip on his shoulder tightened.

"The sins of the father are not always the sins of the son," Sabo said, giving Ace a pointed look that the other demon wasn't in a position to see. "And from what I have observed, you do not share much of anything in common with your ancestor save your blood. Your intentions, your goals—I am reminded much more of Luffy than that man."

Ace stiffened, his head whipping around to look Sabo in the eyes. Sabo knelt down and cupped Ace's face in his hands. Only then did Marco get a glimpse of the restraining spells Ace was still bound by.

"You would see it too, brother," Sabo murmured, "if you were not so blinded by rage."

Ace's eyes remained narrowed. Sabo shifted his grip and pressed his thumbs into Ace's forehead. "Sleep," he commanded. Ace's eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed against his brother.

Marco remained speechless while Sabo gathered Ace into his arms.

"I am still bound by our contract," Sabo said calmly. "Like Ace, I do this by choice. I could destroy that document as easily as he did." Marco struggled to maintain his neutral expression in the face of Sabo's blunt admission. "You humans have forgotten what it means to be a summoner. The contracts were an invention of the angels. We are not so disloyal, so fickle, so feral as to need leashes."

With that, Sabo turned and leaped away, landing several rooftops over, jumping again, and quickly disappearing into the night. Shell-shocked, numb, and beginning to shake, Marco got to his feet and made his unsteady way back to the inn.

He didn't remember returning to his room. He didn't remember undressing, getting into bed, or falling asleep. He didn't remember his dreams, and only when the sun reached his eyes from the window did he return to consciousness.

Marco sat up with a groan. His room was empty, and he didn't know what else he expected. The events of the previous night hummed a quiet, discordant melody in the back of his mind while he dressed. Sliding his staff through its straps, Marco paused.

What was he doing? The two demons were gone. He knew without needing to check that he would find no trace of their infernal presences in the town. He had let them go without even voicing a word of dissent. Ace had burned his contract, Sabo had stated that he could choose to do the same.

But—

Sabo's contract was intact. Marco summoned it and stared at the words scrawled on the magic-imbued parchment. His eyes went from line to line until he got to Sabo's signature written in blood at the bottom. Though the contract had been sealed days prior, the blood still appeared fresh.

Marco stared at the paper, Sabo's words echoing in his ears.

"We are not so feral, so disloyal, so fickle as to need leashes."

It went against all of his training as a magician. His entire clan's history as he'd been taught. Even thinking about the idea made him consider the possibility that he had gone mad.

"If I am mad, then so be it," Marco whispered, and destroyed the contract.

The simple act was more reckless than anything he had done before. The summoning ritual paled in comparison and, as the shredded contract faded from existence, Marco wondered if this would give the Mage's Guild enough evidence to have him stripped of his position and banished to the Sunken Lands.

But, of course, position and prestige would mean nothing if Teach succeeded. Besides, Marco had cared little for power all his life. He had begun this quest, not for glory or honor, but to avenge a friend, and to prevent Teach's rise to power. This had never been about glory or—magic forbid—ascension.

And he could understand Ace's rage, even if it was terrifying. Ace wanted revenge he could never possibly get. Marco was the closest thing to his target; in a twisted way, it made sense. Marco had learned the true meaning of family under Whitebeard and Thatch's near-death was showing him the lengths he would go to get revenge. He couldn't imagine Thatch actually dying and having to spend centuries stewing on all the things he could've done to prevent it.

Marco sighed. Without their contracts, Ace and Sabo were not bound to Marco's word. He was still their link to the mortal realm, but they were free to do as they pleased. All the magical texts taught that demons could not be trusted on their own, that they had to be tightly controlled lest they go wild. But after seeing Ace and Sabo, even if only for a couple of days, Marco suspected that the texts were wrong on some key level.

Time would tell just how wrong they were.

The inn served breakfast for a fair price, so Marco dropped a few coins and ate a breakfast of hearty stew and buttered bread, an uncomfortable echo of his meal the previous night. He was mopping up the last of the stew with the last of his bread when two people joined him at the table. Marco glanced up, suspicious, and nearly dropped his food.

Ace and Sabo, glamoured but easily recognizable. Marco, for lack of anything to say, settled for finishing his bread.

He washed his meal down with a drink of water and gave Sabo a questioning look, but the demon merely inclined his head towards Ace. Ignoring the trepidation winding its way around his stomach, Marco turned to Ace.

The black-haired demon had his head bowed and his hands clasped in front of him on the table. At Sabo's silent prompting, he lifted his head and met Marco's gaze. Marco saw flickering embers where Ace's rage had burned the previous night, and the lines of Ace's face held a pale shadow of their former hostility.

"I can't forgive what your ancestor did," he said, speaking slowly and deliberately. "But you are not him. I should have seen that." He bowed his head again. "I apologize for my actions. They were rash and, as I should have seen before, undeserved. Please, forgive me."

Marco stared at Ace's bowed head, unable to process the apology coming from the demon's mouth.

Demons did not apologize. They did not come back after having their contracts burned. They did not admit mistakes or change their minds and, above all, they did not beg forgiveness.

But forgiveness was exactly what Ace was asking for and, while the terror Marco had felt last night would never fully leave him, he could not hold a grudge against the man sitting across from him.

So he sighed, and shifted in his chair, and finally said: "Lift your head, Ace." The demon did, and they locked eyes. "I forgive you."

Ace's eyes went wide and he quickly glanced at Sabo as though to confirm that he hadn't misheard. Sabo, a wry little smile on his face, nodded his confirmation. Ace ducked his head and then looked at Marco.

"You are one reckless mage, you know that?" he asked. "I nearly killed you. Would have, if Sabo hadn't stopped me."

Marco's expression didn't change. "I know."

Ace stared. Blinked. Sighed. "You were right," he muttered to Sabo. "He is kinda like Luffy."

Sabo smiled. "Told you."


Please review.