Chapter 10 – To Slice a Stone

I awoke to the most horrible pain I've ever felt in my life. I staggered to my feet, leaned over the side, and vomited, a torrent of pink sticky fluid and chucky meatloaf.

"Wow, you weren't joking when you said you get seasick," Peachy chuckled. "Would you like a canteen?"

I took a deep breathe, fu̵̷̕c̨k ̸̕h̕i̷̡m̶͘ fu̵̷̕c̨k̷ h̕i̷̡m̶͘ fu̵̷̕c̨k̷ ̸̕h̕i̷̡m̶͘ trying to control my anger. I could feel it bubbling up inside of me, ready to erupt in a torrent of blood-splattering demolition. With a shaky hand I turned the nail in my head, letting the sharp pain drown out the screaming within me. "I would."

The water felt heavenly on my lips, and while washing away the vile taste of puke. I swished and spat and drank, feeling the clear liquid sooth my aching throat. "Thank you."

"My master told me to keep you alive," Peachy intoned, as serious as ever. "And that is what I shall do." He smiled. "Admittedly, I should have known better then to feed you meatloaf."

"And I should have known better then to eat it," I said. I sat back down and took another drink. He really wasn't so bad, this priest of the Order; he didn't deserve to die just yet. He had actually gotten me interested in meeting his master, whoever that might be.

Peachy looked to the horizon, another smile creasing his lips. "We've arrived. Goa Kingdom is up ahead."

A thick line of green and blue lay on the horizon, growing closer and closer at a rapid rate. Soon I could make out the white stone of the docks, and the tiny colorful buildings that lay beyond it. I thanked Neptune for just a quick journey, and for the inconspicuous fishing vessel that had made it so speedy.

At least until it started rocking in the waves again, and I felt bile rise to my throat. Damn this abominable ship and this blasted sea!

"My master lies within that ship," Peachy said, pointing to a monstrous vessel near the end of the harbor. I took another deep breath, looking in the direction of his finger.

My heart stopped beating. My blood stopped circulating. Everything seemed to freeze, as I beheld the craft for what it was."

"No…no, NO, NOO!" I grabbed Peachy by the throat, slamming him against the side of the mast. The rage, oh the rage, I could feel it building a̷͞nd̨͝ ̀͞b͡u̸̸̧i͞͏l̶͘͠d́̕͠i̵n̸͏g ̸̛aņd̸͝ ̕͡b͏͟͡u̕͢ild҉i͘͡n̴͘g̢.

"You're giving me over to the Nobles!" I roared. "You lied to me!"

"He did no such thing."

I whirled, and behind me stood a new man, one that had not been on this boat before. He was tall and muscular, his long hair a light brown, dressed in a skintight purple bodysuit that encompassed all but his hands, his head, and his legs. Over this he bore a set of chest and thigh armor, black as obsidian, decorated lightly with a pink belt, its buckled shaped like a heart. Jet black boots enveloped the lower legs, like a pair of bulging leeches. His square face seemed made of stone, and his eyes gleamed a bright red.

I blinked, and paled; I had been mistaken. His buckle was not a heart, but a hoof. The Hoof of the Dragon, pink to offset the purple, but unmistakable in shape.

"I am General Cupajoe," the man growled, voice rumbling like an avalanche. "Commander of the Saint's Guard. My master is expecting you."

"THE ONLY THING HE CAN EXPECT IS DEMOLITION!" I roared. I couldn't handle it, couldn't couldn't couldn't, it was too much, this man, this ship, I had lost the battle with myself. N̢̢ơ͢w ̨̕a̕l̸l m̛ust͟ ̶͜͏d̶͢i̛͝ę. Mỳ ̛͢͡s͘pįk̕e̛͟,͘͞͞ ͏m̛̛ý́ ̶̕h̀a̶̕mḿ̕e͢͏͜ŗ, ̨̕͜ś̸w̛͠͠iņ͝g f̴ór̶ ͏m͠͏͟ę̵,̵̀ ͟i̸͏̸m͟p̀ale f̛͠ó̷ŗ͢ m͝͏̢e͢!҉̵

…huh?

My spike…where did it go? My hand was gone. WHERE IS MY HAND?!

"My hand!" I jumped back, and my hand reappeared, the spike clutched within it.

"You don't want to attack me," Cupajoe stated, a small smirk cracking the stoniness of his features. "I will not end well with you."

I rushed forward again, and once more my hand disappeared, but now I saw how. A black hole and appeared before it, right in the air, and I had sent my hand through it. With a shout I jumped back, and my hand reappeared from the darkness. The hole closed, as if it had never been.

"Don't be alarmed," the general soothed. "My Void-Void Fruit is harmless. There's plenty of oxygen in there. I'll even give you a light source."

"That's enough!" Peachy thundered. "You've had your fun, now follow your orders. He is not to be harmed, yes, but that includes his psyche as well. Don't make him snap."

"It's too late, you fuckers," I spat. "I can't wait to form an art piece out of your-"

He was right in front of me, and with two hard yanks, my hammer and spike were in his hands. Two voids opened beneath them, and he dropped them in.

"NOOO!" I threw a punch at his face, hoping to shatter his nose. His hand was already there, ready to catch my arm, and when his fingers closed around it, he smiled. "Do you want to keep this arm?"

"…yes." I felt tears spring to my eyes. How? How had this all gone so wrong? Damn them all, damn them all!

"Then shut up and sit down," he rumbled. His eyes blazing like twin murderous fires, and when I stared into them the rage within me fled, choking on its fear. I collapsed to the floor, and the boat rocked again.

"Get him over the railing," Peachy ordered. The general did so, just in time for me to eject the remaining bile in my throat.

"I'm sorry Dareda," Peachy apologized, and he really did sound sorry. "Please remain calm until we get to my master. I promise, this will all be worth it."

It sure as hell didn't feel worth shit right now, but I relented, sagging onto the side of the boat. Cupajoe let go of me, flexing his arms. "I'll give you back your tools soon."

We drew ever closer, and now I could make out the Goa Kingdom much more clearly. The harbor was massive, constructed entirely of the whitest stone I had ever seen. A lighthouse sat upon a jutting pier, and that too was made of stone. Now wooden docks or piers anywhere in sight, and few ships as well.

"A small dock lies to the side," Peachy explained. "There used to be a vast trash heap to the east, but it was burned down several years ago. Now it's being restored as farmland. Isn't that wonderful?"

I half-listened to his chatter, but my attention was soon fully on the city, as it grew steadily larger before me. I had seen pictures of it before, and I knew its layout, but nothing had prepared me for such stunning construction, a builder's magnum opus as ever there was one on this accused ocean.

The harbor had a second level, wide stone stairs leading up to it, where glistening cranes moved large crates and bundles, before loading them onto carts to be pulled into the Kingdom's marketplace. And just behind this loading area was the town proper, stretching almost from one horizon to another. Dozens of colors, primary, secondary, tertiary, bleeding into the stone and bricks that made up the walls of the buildings. Gold ringed the towers and roofs and topped the parapets that lined them, the sun gleaming off a few with such brilliant I had to turn away.

I counted twenty, no, thirty on the edge of the harbor alone. How many more of these stunning castles lay within the wall that encompassed the city?

Speaking of which, I could barely make out its edges on the ends of the harbor, thick cannons guarding the potential weakness in an otherwise impregnable defense. It rose, gray and stern, over the buildings closest to it, any towers taller located too deep in the city to be used to cross over. It truly seemed like one piece of rock, smoothed and bent until it encircled the Kingdom's borders.

Just beyond, I could make out the thin greenery of the farmland Peachy had mentioned. I'm not farmer, but I could immediately tell it looked terribly unhealthy, the ground gray and ashen, unsuitable for good crops. What on earth had happened here?

"I think the master will be very pleased with you," Peachy continued. "There's absolutely nothing in this world he loves more than an interesting person. And you've become quite interesting as of late."

I gulped nervously, as he grew closer to the massive ship that served this particular Celestial Dragon. I had heard enough horror stories to know that nothing good could come of bringing about their vile attention, but now as not the time for rage. I need to remain calm, to build myself escape route out of this nightmare. Damn it, I should have killed Peachy the moment he found me? No, now was not the time of regret. Calm, Dareda. Calm.

We pulled up the ship, now towering above us like a giant. It must have been the size of a battleship, I realized, and just as destructive as one, twenty-two massive cannons lining its side. The figurehead was almost too grandiose for words, a golden falcon wearing a helm of silver, with jewel encrusted wings and legs that must have doubled for anchors. Royal blue and golden encrustments lined the bow, and four masts, as thick as hundred-year oaks, held up vast folds of cloth, topped with golden crow's nests that looked like crowns.

As soon as we bumped into the smooth, wooden hull, a ladder cascaded down the side, stopping just short of my chest.

"Climb," Cupajoe commanded. "Unless you want me to carry you."

I scowled and reached for the first rung, pulling myself up with all my strength. Within seconds I was darting up like a rat, unwilling to hesitate for even a moment, as I climbed higher and higher. I chanced to look down and paled at the sight of the small fishing boat, the tip of its mast now twenty feet below me. But I had been up high before, repairing windows and cracks, scrapping out gutters, and remove birds' nests. Nah, this wasn't that bad.

I scampered my way up the rest of the side, finally reaching the railing. With a groan I pulled myself over it collapsing onto the deck.

"Welcome aboard the Pangaea, Mr. Dareda." A young woman stood before him, dressed in a simple black suit, her pink hair tied up in a long chignon. "My name is Coo Zuzy, and I'll be your guide to the master."

"Just call me Dareda," I ground out politely. "You creeps keep calling me Mr. Not a fan."

Zuzy smiled. "I'll keep that in mind! Now, please come this way."

The sterncastle was surprisingly plain, a giant wooden rectangle adorned with round windows. She let me through a gilded door, through a narrow hallway lined with more gilded doors, finally into a large chamber near the back of the ship, a place that had the looks of a study.

Despite my dread, I couldn't help but admire the elegance of it Apart from a golden chandelier, dangling a hundred hard-cut crystals, it wasn't a very extravagant room. A simple oakwood desk dominated the space before the windows, a white high-backed armchair facing away from it. Shelf after shelf of books lined the walls, many bearing the marks of much use. A large globe flanked the desk's right side, a strange plant on the other.

Chancing a glance behind, I noticed two paintings beside the door I had just entered through, held in golden frames and stretched upon a strangely thin canvas. One showed the world, but bright green instead of blue, the Red Line dotted with gold. The other displayed an eagle, tearing into the body of a stereotypical pirate. I smiled at the visceral detail, especially the entrails. And that's when I recognized the canvas.

"Human skin? Very creative."

"Thank you. I thought you'd appreciate that." The Noble had a deep voice, but smooth and mellow, unlike the rough growl of his general. "Zuzy's ability can create flesh. I had two of my entourage tattooed to my specifications, and she slid the artwork right off their backs, replacing it simultaneously to avoid injury."

"All of this for me?" I asked hesitantly.

"And for me," the Noble replied. "To remind myself of what I'm fighting for. And what I must destroy."

The chair began to shift, and the Noble rose from it, into the light streaming from the windows. He turned, and for the first time, I saw his face.

I had heard many rumors about the World Nobles before this day, each more monstrous then the last. That they made their slaves dance on beds of hot coals and fed young mermaids to piranhas. That they shot in the streets anyone who ran across their path and captured young women from their homes, to be made brides against their will. Stories always depicted them as grotesque creatures, stuffed inside fancy space suits and helmets, as to not breathe the air of the 'wretched commoners.'

The young man before me looked nothing like that. He was gorgeous, face and body chiseled to perfection, like a marble statue from the ancient Empire of Grekado. His light blonde hair waved unkept from his head, and emerald green eyes shone under equally blonde lashes.

His untucked, buttoned shirt glowed pure white, as were the pants he wore over his golden shoes. A transparent ascot sat under his collar, and it too had a glistening sheen to it, like a small cloud of pixie dust frozen in time.

Damn it all, I didn't even swing that way, but his presence, the look in his eyes, the soft smile on his lips…

My throat dried up, words failing to form. I couldn't even breathe.

"I think our guest needs a glass of water," the Noble chuckled. "Zuzy-"

"Already prepared, my lord." She held a glass of water and handed it to me. I gulped it, careful not to let it go down the wrong pipe. I coughed once anyway, to better clear my throat. "Who…who are you?"

"There are nineteen noble families," the Noble explained. "I am from the second, the Brangolo family. My name is Saint Brangolo Dimolo. But you can just call me Dimolo; no need to trouble yourself with saint or lord or anything like that."

I boggled, unable to comprehend what I was hearing. A World Noble, getting chummy with someone like me?

"B-b-but…your grace-"

Dimolo laughed, an eerily cheerful sound. "There you go, giving me titles! Don't be afraid; nothing untoward is about to happen to you, I promise."

I couldn't speak again, and this time I had now water. So I nodded, working saliva back into my mouth.

"You were expecting someone a little more…rotund?" Dimolo laughed again. "Those damn rumors, always trying to lessen the glory of the Dragons! Did you know that's what we call ourselves? Noble is such a generic term, the adjective 'world' only giving it the slightest enhancement. Now, Celestial Dragon…doesn't that sound so much better? More worthy of our status?"

He said all of this with such an abject lack of arrogance that it was almost disconcerting. He seemed genuinely interested in my answer to the question.

"…yes, I suppose so," I choked out.

A black void opened before me, a large armchair rising out of it. It shrunk just enough for the legs to rest upon the floor, and Cuapjoe's hands sank back into the darkness, which promptly closed behind them.

"Take a seat Dareda. Why, you look quite shaken! Is this your first time seeing the power of a Devil Fruit?"

"…I thought they were a myth." I took a seat, just as he asked. The rage sprang suddenly to life within me, but I pushed it down. Not here, not yet. N̴͞ơ̡͜t̨͠ ̡͠y͢͜͡e͝͠t̵̨.͏̴̵

"I like the look in your eyes," Dimolo quipped, as he took his own seat behind the desk. "Do you wish to kill me, Dareda?"

WHAT? How had be known? The rage vanished as if it had never been.

"You won't, of course," Dimolo continued. "You wouldn't even get close. Not that it matters either way."

…what the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Why do you want to see me?" I asked, as politely as I could.

"I'm interested in your work," he stated plainly. "And more importantly, I'm interested in how your work can benefit me." He opened a drawer I couldn't see and pulled out a large envelope. He slid it across the desk. "Why don't you have a look? I'm sure you'll be quite interested."

Tentatively, I picked up the envelope, opening it slowly. Blueprints lay within, page after page of complex drawings and sketches. I looked them over carefully, my incredulousness growing with each turn of the page. By the end, I didn't know whether to cry or laugh. "What…what is all this?"

"Your new project," Dimolo said with a smile. "I would like it done by the end of…let's say…July. Yes, that would be perfect."

"But that's only two months!"

"Today is the twentieth, Dareda. You have a bit more than just two months."

My hands trembled. My teeth chattered. I could feel my heart racing, already the back of my chair was slick with sweat. How long had I been sitting in it? How long had I been in this room?

"You are a lover of death," Dimolo said quietly. "And I've just given you the plans to the greatest deathtrap every devised. Well, aside from Impel Down of course, but that's not 'officially' a death trap."

"Why do you need me to make this?" I said shakily. "If you already had someone draw the prints-"

"I drew the prints," Dimolo corrected. "But alas, I don't have the technical talent needed to construct this. Nor are there many builders and repairmen out there with the…shall we say, loose ethics, necessary to take the job. But then I heard about you."

I looked at the plans again, and this time I felt a new emotion, one unexpected but not unwanted. A jolt of elation. This…this could be magnificent! The magnum opus that I so desperately wanted to create! Spiked chambers, blades doorknobs, rusted claws…it even had edged hammers built into the ceiling, for clean beheadings!

And there was space, whole chambers with nothing within them! Everything I had ever imagined making, ever imagined designing, could be easily integrated into this already superb, literally torturous labyrinth! These plans were beautiful, absolutely bee̕e̛e͢͢a͟͜u̡t͠i̧̕͟f͘̕ưl̕͏!

"Do I have your contract?" Dimolo asked.

"It's yours," I breathed. "But…I have two requests…I know I shouldn't be asking someone like you-"

"Request anything you want," the Dragon purred. "If it makes the construction go any faster, I'm more than happy to grant it."

Thunderstruck, I merely stared at him for a moment. A Noble…no, a Dragon, willing to give me anything?

"I want to do this myself. It'll take a wee bit longer, but this project…I'm already in love. I couldn't bear the thought of anyone else trying to bring this to life."

"But of course," Dimolo chuckled. "It is your magnum opus."

"And one more thing." It was ballsy, but what the hell, he had offered. "I want test subjects. A lot of test subjects. Just to make sure it's all running smoothly by the deadline."

The request just made Dimolo smile wider. "How many are we talking?"

"Dozens,"

Dimolo shook his head. "Dareda, I do believe great minds think alike. I was already prepared to give you a significant number of guinea pigs."

"Really?! Who?!"

There was a soft knock at the door. "Dimolo," Peachy called from the other side. "Sir Outlook the Third and his son are here to see you."

Dimolo rose. "Our meeting has come to end, Dareda. But rest assured, you will have your subjects."

"Wait." I tried to contain my excitement; this was a professional relationship now. "Why? Why build all this? Is there a greater purpose?"

The Dragon merely smiled again. "Like I said, Dareda…great minds think alike."

.~===)==============={%}

The little town of Dirt lay over the mountain now, out of sight and out of mind. Nothing but stony wilderness now, as far as Volta could see.

He squinted, the bright light of the sun making peering upward a challenge. He quickly ducked his head down and continued to write.

"What are you jotting down now?" Zoro asked.

"We've learned of a lot of criminals," Volta replied. "I'm trying to keep track of everything we known so far. Alright, done. I wrote it in English for you."

May 20th, 1520

The Organization – powerful pirate crew/crime family, one thousand strong, plans on growing to five thousand and finding the One Piece.

The Administration

Don – leader (possible suspects: Bear King, "Four-Play" Krieg?)

Combat Commander (trainer?)

Three Gems (enforcers?)

Idea Man (general manager?)

Wingo Walkaway – defected, still at large

Yit-Yot Horasha and Copasta – deflected, under Navy protection

Dareda – serial killer, violent and depraved. Worth 13,000,000.

"Iron Mace" Alvida – Capt of Alvida Pirates, extremely hard to track. Worth 5,000,000.

Eureka "Flowerblood" Yurikah – Capt of Tulip Pirates, raids florists. Worth 6,000,000.

"How many more wanted posters do you have?"

Zoro pulled his stack out, thinner than it had been before. "We've taken out Albedu, Albedya, Sard, Tacobo, and now Dick and Billy. There isn't much small fry left, except for this guy right here. I hear he likes to sneak around these parts, stealing what he can get his hands on."

He gave the poster to Volta. A dirty-blonde fiend smiled at the camera, half his teeth missing and gums bleeding.

WANTED

DEAD OR ALIVE

Henna Oyag

฿ 1,200,000

If you encounter this individual, do not attempt to engage unless you are a marine, a World Government employee, or a registered bounty hunter or privateer. If capture is successful, turn into your nearest local Marine or WG facility. Rewards for dead bounties will be reduced; the specific amount varies per area.

MARINE

"I really wish they'd list the crimes," Volta muttered. "No way to tell how dangerous a person is besides bounty, and that's not a good indicator in the least."

Zoro shrugged, "If he's below five mil, he's likely not a problem to deal with. Bounty hunting is mostly finding the bounties."

Volta grinned wolfishly. "True, but when you do find them, its fighting time. So, let's get this training started."

Now it was Zoro's turn to grin. "You poor thing; you have no idea what's in store. I've been thinking about what we'll be doing for a while now, and I've created the perfect regiment." He flipped over Oyag's poster, beckoning for Volta's pen. He wrote slowly and without grace, but it was legible, and deeply worrying.

"First things first, we need to rework the way your body approaches combat. Your main problem is that you've been trained to be a martial artist. You've been conditioned to accept strikes from the enemy. But in a sword duel, doing so means death."

Volta nodded.

"You let your guard down too easily," Zoro continued. "You wouldn't have those bruised ribs if you hadn't gotten so close to Dick. So, we're going to fix that too. Alright, all finished!"

The enthusiasm with which he said this only heightened Volta's fear of what was to come, and indeed, the regiment looked almost sadistically punishing.

"One thousand practice stabs, one thousand practice slashes? In thirty minutes? That's impossible!"

Zoro conked him. "That's your third mistake! You're too quick to declare things impossible. Don't you wanna grow stronger? You won't do that if you don't push yourself to the limit, and beyond. I need the hat."

SHUMP

He returned with his training swords, presenting them to Volta. Now that he had a moment to really look at them, the pale hunter realized that he had been mistaken. What he had thought to be three training swords was now four, the new addition made of a light wood instead of bamboo.

"Shinai are straight and flexible, unlike katana. Which makes them surprisingly good practice swords for learning to use a rapier." The green-haired teacher threw one to his protégé. "On the other hand, a bokken is more like an actual sword, but made of oak instead of steel. It'll still hurt like hell if it hits though, so be careful." He dropped his other shinai and held the bokken in a traditional kendo stance. "I want you to thrust. Don't hold back."

Volta did so, his arm shooting forward with a fair amount of his strength. Zoro deflected with ease. "Again."

Another thrust, this time sent to the left. The next got deflected back to the right.

"Again."

Volta paused, considering his opponent carefully. His attacks had all been the same, aimed directly at Zoro's chest. But that was where his guard lay strongest, he realized. This time he jerked to the side and sent a jab at Zoro's leg. He deflected it with no less skill or speed, but his stern face bent slightly, almost in a smile.

"Alright. Before you start my regiment, let's have a little practice duel. I can gauge your skill better in battle."

"Not in the least." Volta gulped nervously, spreading his feet apart and holding his sword out in front of him, in proper fencing form. His footwork fell into the old habits of his Jeet Kune Do, twisting his body to the side to decrease possible points of impact.

Zoro moved like a tiger, swift and without mercy. Volta tried to parry, but the more experienced swordsman slipped through his defense and wacked him right in the chest. Stinging pain shot through him, but Volta only gritted his teeth and pushed forward. He slashed the air furiously, hoping to land even a glancing blow, but Zoro was too fast for him.

"The problem you have," he critiqued. "Is that you put too much of yourself in your attacks. This isn't a battle of bodies, but of blades. You need to let go of how you used to do things."

Volta took a deep breath, calming his mind. He pushed aside the years of training, stretching out his legs and wiggling his toes. "Come at me again."

Zoro did so. Wood slammed into bamboo, but not for long. The green-haired blade master pressed forward, but not with his chest. He kept himself at a distance, letting his bokken strike for him. Volta recognized this subtle difference, and tried to follow it, forcing himself to move back, just within the range of Zoro's sword and not on top of it.

But within seconds his hand began to burn, his shinai falling out of it. "You're still too linear," Zoro admonished.

"Fencing requires a certain level of linear swordplay," Volta countered. "I can't slash as well as you can."

Zoro smiled. "But maybe you can, if you learn the ins and out of your sword. Remember Volta, don't declare the impossible unless you have damn good reason to."

He charged again, not giving Volta time to retrieve his weapon. But he had counted on this. As soon as Zoro was upon him, Volta fell the ground, hitting it hands first, and swung his legs right into the swordsman's knocking him off-balance. He leaped to his feet and sprung right over his downed teacher, grabbing his shinai and resuming his stance.

"Not bad!" Zoro laughed, but he too was fast to get back to his feet.

"Raagh!" With a cry Volta lunged, unleashing a furious rush of strikes. Zoro's eyes widened at the onslaught, but he quickly sidestepped it and brought his own shinai down on Volta's head.

"Alright, match over!" Zoro set down his swords, giving Volta a hand back on his feet. "That last attack was interesting; reminded me of my Bull Needles. But it's unfocused and random."

"I'll make sure to fix that going forward," Volta gritted out, as he felt the swiftly growing lump upon his crown. He took up his shinai once more, holding it tightly in his right hand. He shook it, watching the bamboo shaft vibrate ever so slightly. He took a deep breath and began to work.

.~===)==============={%}

"Four hundred and forty-eight…four hundred and forty-nine…four hundred and fifty…"

Zoro cleaned his blades, carefully disassembling them as he had done before. Volta took no notice, his mind entirely focused on the exercises. He slashed over and over, using his right, and when he reached five hundred, he switched to his left. At the end of it all, his arms burned fiercely, and sweat had soaked his ragged clothes.

"Alright," Zoro smiled. "Good work. Now it's time for the thrusts."

Volta went at it, his exhausted muscles screaming for rest. But they did not receive it; if anything, Volta worked them even harder. Soon his arms moved like pistons, sword flying out like a bullet over and over again.

"You're used to punching and kicking forward!" Zoro commented from behind. "Use that same energy to thrust your sword. It's the same basic motion, just turn your wrist!"

His arms began to shake, every thrust inciting a cracking sound in his joints. Volta kept at it. "thirty-five…thirty-six…thirty-seven…thirty-eight."

Finally, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, Volta finished. His arms felt like jelly, his legs cramped horribly, even his tongue hurt from all the counting. But he had done it. Day one complete.

It was only the beginning. Zoro was merciless, and as soon as the sun began to shine, he sent him on another cart-pulling trek through the valley, dodging rocks and holes, always told to go faster and faster.

This was followed by truly agonizing balance training. He stood on his left arm for a minute, then jumped to his right, and back again, over and over, Zoro watching with a critical eye.

The exercises grew stranger. Cartwheels and backflips, then blindfolded duels, which left Volta covered in stinging welts and big purple bruises.

The end of the day signaled the end of training, and Volta was out cold before Zoro could give his single, lowkey compliment.

"Nice work today," he said softly, before falling asleep himself among the rocks.

The next day brought forth new, horrid pain, the like Volta had never felt before in his arms and legs, across his chest, deep in his core, the kind of pain even the most intense bodybuilders would be loath to endure in their quests for physical accomplishment.

Zoro frowned. "Perhaps I gave you too much to start with. Damn, maybe I should have taken your bruised ribs into account…"

"MAYBE?!"

"Ah well!" Zoro laughed. "I'm sure you'll be fine. Alright, let's start this day off right!"

Starting the day off right, Volta learned to his horror, involved a five-kilometer run blindfolded; Zoro had grown to deeply love blindfolded exercises. Volta lost count of the times he tripped and collapsed, a half dozen new cuts and scratches accompanying the fall.

"Alright, back to the shinai!"

And he was back to slashing and thrusting, working out his exhausted arms even more. And then it was back to cart-pulling, and the balancing, and the cartwheels and backflips, and then new exercises, like dodging and deflecting sharp pebbles, and practicing his rapid thrusting attack, and trying to carry a small boulder while Zoro chased him with his bokken, over and over, and endless cycle of pain and torment, and Volta wondered, is this hell? Did he die when Dick punched him into the storehouse, and was he now stuck in some sort of twisted punishment for his unknown sins?

And always the idea made Volta shake his head. If this was hell, Zoro wouldn't be in it, and as much as he hated the green-haired bastard for his training, he wasn't about to disappoint him by giving up. He had wanted to know swordplay, and if this was swordplay, he would know it like the back of his hand.

And as the days became weeks, he did. Zoro's brutal training was designed to break him down, and break him it did, but when Volta felt himself reach rock bottom, his body too weak to continue, the swordsman declared him ready for building.

After a day of rest, the building began, and it consisted of fighting. And more fighting. And even more fighting. The kind of fighting that left Volta even sorer then when he had finished his cart-pulling, for Zoro was a monster on the field, his bokken in his teeth and his shinai in his hands. He refused to hold back; the very concept seemed anathema to him as a teacher.

Volta didn't hold back either, his increased strength and endurance a boon in the face of Zoro's relentless assaults. He never landed a hit, but he blocked more and more of his opponent's as the days turned to nights, and sometimes back into days again.

He also began to learn the secrets of Santoryu, the unique style Zoro had created. The sword in the mouth had limited maneuverability, but a slight unclenching of the teeth could change its position, and a jerk of the neck made the blade jump. If Zoro charged low, it could easy cut through an opponent's chest, as Volta discovered when the bokken broke the skin of his, only slightly but enough for a thin trickle of blood to flow.

But even more dangerous where the swords in his hands. Zoro was left-handed, but any normal eye would have believed him ambidextrous, so natural were his movements. Two-Sword Style was a natural requirement for Zoro's own, and his mastery of it often left Volta dumbfounded. His shinai worked their way past Volta's like water around rocks, to strike him across the chest and stomach, to slap his arms and legs, to batter his head and ears.

The named moves were the worst, and Volta had the displeasure of facing them all. Oni Giri, Zoro's signature triple-slash, was outright unblockable; the tattooed trainee could only hope to dodge its limited area. The jump-based Tiger Trap was a punishing upper-strike, while the Crab Seize came from below, with chin-shattering force. The Dragon Twister sent Volta airborne, to crash back onto the rocks below, while the Bull Needles forced him backward, moving so quickly that he could only block a third of the stinging strikes.

But eventually the fighting would end, and the two travelers would sleep, or eat lightly with the money they had. When their suitcase grew light, they tracked down Oyag and turned him in. Then they picked up a local newspaper to see if any new bounties had come out. A few more small fry, no new big wigs. They eventually tracked those down too, and the ones after that.

Wake, eat, fight, sleep. Bounty hunting on the weekends. The occasional drunken barroom brawl, always started by Zoro and always finished by Volta, who didn't even drink in the first place. That too was training; he fought knife-wielding bandits and hammered hammer-bearers, muggers with morning stars and drugged-out dregs with pistols and fat clubs.

Volta wielded Blitzeinschlag with all the skill Zoro's regiment had given him, combining it with his own eye for weakness and his mind for tactics. The knife-wielders he outranged, using that fact to stab and slash them with impunity. Hammermen often had beefy users, slow and easy to stagger, a kick to the stomach or face enough to down them. The weak chains of the morning stars were easy to slice, and the fat clubs easier, and Volta's tattoos sprang to life whenever a bullet needed blocking.

And this went on and on, and became its own cycle, but it didn't feel like hell. There was pain, and mistakes that led to blood, but what was to be done about that, except to keep going at it, over and over, learning more and more, finding weakness, finding strength, finding the balance between them?

And all the while, as Volta fought and fought, his sword singing in his grip, as the rough callouses formed on his inner hand, to match the ones on his knuckles, as he pressed Zoro with ever faster thrusts and swipes and jabs, as he grew faster to dodge and faster to block, as he grew stronger, he began to think.

He didn't want to, but he thought of Luffy, the man who would be Pirate King. He thought of the war and chaos that would yield, the battles for supremacy across the sea between the forces he would muster, and the might of the World Government that would be after his head. He thought of the many other pirates out there, the many other foes that sook the Throne, and the chance to claim it.

And he thought of Zoro, his friend, his mentor, his companion, and how he would become the King's Hand, his First Mate, because that was what Zoro had been written to be. Tybalt had never said as such, but what else could he be, on the pirate crew that would shake the world? A man as strong as Zoro would never bow before anyone he deemed unworthy. How fearsome this Luffy must be, to make his beloved friend betray his job, his moral code, and become what he hunted!

"No," he whispered quietly one night, as he rubbed purchased ointment on another bleeding bruise upon his skin. "I will find him and kill him if I must. I won't let Zoro join him. I won't let him be King. I won't let him destroy this world."

He whispered this every night henceforth, and with every word he felt his resolve grow, like a little mustard seed budding forth into the great oak it was meant to be.

Zoro did not hear the words, but he heard the murmurs of them, softly on the breeze, and every night they troubled him before he slept.

And sometimes, they troubled his dreams as well.

.~===)==============={%}

The sixth week passed, and Zoro called for another rest. To the people Volta had met in this world, he would not have looked much different, but the hunter felt different. A sense of fullness, of solidness lay within him. His body, already well-defined, had thickened ever so slightly with muscle. He had even gained a little color, enough to off-set the slightly grayish tint he had, making his paleness more natural, less stark.

Of course, it could all be in his head, Volta noted wryly, as he gazed at his reflection within the hat. A mirror had appeared on one of its walls, without a hint of a warning. Volta hadn't even wished for it to look at himself. It had just…been there one morning. He shivered slightly.

"I think this hat has a mind of its own," he told Zoro, who lay sprawled out on the couch.

"Maybe," he replied. "For all we know, Devil Fruits grant sentience to whatever eats them. Still can't believe a hat can eat something, but whatever…"

Volta frowned. He had never seen Zoro so listless, so unmoored. "Did I rush through your training so quickly, that you don't know what to do next?"

"Tsk. You wish. I know exactly what I want to do next. I'm just…thinking about it."

And Zoro thought for quite a while, until at last he bolted from the couch and jumped from their abode, Volta quickly following. Zoro surveyed their meager camp, and the meager supplies that lined it, bought off the bounties of meager criminals. Then he walked off toward the closest mountain. Volta followed after his master.

They didn't need to travel far; the mountain lay to the east, in the same direction as the small town they had been hunting and eating in. It wasn't as tall as many of its brothers and cousins, but its peak would still be one hell of a climb. Volta wondered if Zoro meant for them to do just that.

"I can't remember a time in my life," Zoro said suddenly. "When I didn't want to be a swordsman. I think I was born with that desire. Since as far back as I can remember, I was playing with sticks, then shinai, and when I was ten, I joined Sensei's dojo, and trained there for seven years. When all my training there was done, on the day I left to find Mihawk, I sliced a boulder in two."

Volta surveyed the area, and immediately realized what Zoro was thinking. "I've only been at this for a little over a month," he reminded. "Half of which I spent doing your stupid regiment."

"You're not cutting it today," Zoro said. "I want you to pick one. Pick any boulder you see. When you think you're ready, we'll come back here, and then you'll slice it."

"…I see." Volta observed the many rocks that littered the mountain's foot. All were far from the round sphere that Volta thought of when he heard the word 'boulder,' the kind Ford had run from in one of his action movies. Or…had it been Willis? He could never keep track of the names of those American film stars.

Anyway, the boulders that lay before him were jagged, ugly things, great hunks of the mountain that had broken away, crashing to the ground below. Volta immediately walked to the biggest, most jagged one of all, easily thirty feet high. He studied it carefully, walking around its body, feeling its sides and crevices.

"It will be no easy task," Zoro reminded. "No matter which boulder you cut, none will give easily."

"How long do you suppose it would take me to reach your level of skill, to cut a boulder such as this?"

Zoro shrugged. "You've only just learned the basics of how to handle yourself in a duel. As time goes on, you'll find that skill and strength come more easily to those that seek it out with everything they have."

Volta pursed his lips. Everything he had…was that something he could give? He looked at Zoro, then back to the boulder.

No, it really wasn't. He had devoted himself to growing stronger, but not just in the sword. He stared at his uncovered arm, clearing his mind of all distractions. The tattoos on it lay still for a moment. Then, sluggishly, one began to move, worming across his pale skin. Volta smiled. Progress!

"My goal to rid the world of criminals is one that requires more than just swordsmanship. It requires learning to sail, the ability to spy and assassinate, tactical and strategic skill, and so much more. Not to mention mastering the strange ability I find myself in possession of."

"Or rather, the strange ability that possesses you," Zoro chuckled, but Volta wondered if he was only joking.

Volta stared up at the vast boulder once more. "Zoro, can you cut this?"

The swordsman frowned. "…no. Not with one swing."

"Then I sincerely doubt I'll be able to. Not even in a year or two."

Zoro shrugged. "You won't know until you try. You're already so strong."

Volta nodded in acknowledgement and left the biggest boulder's side. He walked to the second largest boulder. "I'll cut this one."

They left the rocks behind and returned to camp. They went into town, and as was their custom, they ate lunch, and on their way out purchased another newspaper.

But this one wasn't like the others; it was much larger, the paper thicker, and likely harder to tear. Volta tried, and it took a surprising amount of effort to rend the edge. Even the ink on the pages had a bold sharpness to them, as if it were still wet. A level of distinction emanated from it, and its frontline picture showed a vast, imperial building, taken from just the right angle to feel imposing and powerful.

"The World Economy Newspaper," Zoro read. "Huh, I've seen a few issues of this from time to time. It's always super expensive."

"We can just read it here," Volta said, retaking his seat at the bar.

The caption of the picture proclaimed it Pangaea Castle, center of power in the World Government. Volta read the paper as Zoro ordered another drink.

"Today marks the beginning of the 1520 Reverie, the 201st since the World Government's formation in 716 KC. As is tradition, the 1520 Reverie will host fifty of the World Government's one hundred and seventy rulers, to discuss current events and global issues with the Five Elder Stars and each other. Primary subjects for this year's meeting remain classified, as are the identities of the fifty attending rulers. No journalists or photographers will be allowed within the Holy City of Mariejois."

Zoro smirked. "An oddly specific detail to write about in a frontpage news story."

"I can practically smell the indignity wafting up from the page," Volta laughed. "Still, this is interesting. I suppose that makes the World Government a democracy."

"Thought a very impaired one," Zoro pointed out. "What kind of meeting only invites less than half its members?"

"Maybe they don't have enough space around the table," Volta quipped.

"Then they should just get a bigger table!"

Volta read the issue front to back, so amazed by the information within that he took out his notebook halfway through, jotting down anything of interest.

It truly was a globally distributed paper, stories from every sea being reported within. In the West, the Five Families had collapsed, four of them shattered by infighting, the last having disappeared without a trace. Up north, a Marine named Commodore Onigumo had begun patrolling a place called Spider Miles. Drug-related deaths and homicides had both dropped almost eighty percent since. A new pirate crew was ravaging the South, slaughtering civilian vessels and other pirates with equal fervor.

In the Grand Line, an enormous scandal had emerged regarding the illegal usage of Dance Powder, a weather-changing chemical that had been banned for starting something called the Gore Gulf Incident.

"The Alabastian Royal Family has been accused of using the chemical to steal moisture from the surround lands of their country, repositioning it around the capital to increase their rainfall."

Zoro scratched his head. "Hard to believe a chemical can do that."

"It's not impossible," Volta replied. "Back in Austria, I learned a lot about chemicals, and supposedly one called silver iodide, which when burned, produces gasses that seed clouds, making them bigger."

That only seemed to confuse the swordsman even more. "How the hell do you seed a cloud? It's not a field."

Volta shrugged. "Not sure myself…it's been quite a while since I messed with anything like that."

"Why were you learning about chemicals in the first place? Doesn't seem like something that would help your assassination job."

"Poisoning. But I was never very good at it."

"Ah."

Volta flipped to the back. "Hey, there's even a story from here, the East…"

He trailed off, eyes wide with shock. His heart began to race, the tattoos on his chest and arms swirling faster than they had in weeks. "Zoro."

The horror in his voice alerted the swordsman immediately. He jumped around the table, looking at what had provoked such a reaction.

A large picture took up the final page, one that showed a message painted onto a wall. Smeared onto it, really, in big grisly capital letters. Neither hunter had any doubt regarding what the 'paint' actually was.

IM GOING TO THE GROCERY STORE TODAY!

IM GONNA BE THE KING DUMMY OF THE AISLES!

COME WITH, LOTS OF FUN!

Below the grisly message, something small and round stuck out of the wall. Volta scanned the article, but he already knew the culprit before he saw the name, printed in bold.

"Dareda," he growled. "The bastard's struck again while we've been idle."

"I'd hardly call the last six weeks idle," Zoro muttered, engrossed in the vile image. "All that blood…what the hell did he kill, a cow?"

"And such a strange message…what does it mean?" Volta studied each word, each letter, searching for a hidden meaning. Serial killers loved that stuff, regardless of what world they hailed from. His eyes widened, returned to the g in grocery.

"It's slanted." He pointed it out to his partner. "The g in grocery is slanted, ever so slightly. It was painted at an angle."

"You're right," Zoro exclaimed. "And it's not the only one. The o is slanted too, and the a in today."

In a flash, it all fell into place. "G, o, a…Goa. King dummy without the y sounds like kingdom. The bastard's telling us his location!"

"But once you get it, it's too obvious," Zoro realized. "It has to be a trap."

"Maybe…but there's only one of him, and two of us. Actually, make that two hundred, when the Marines storm the island and nail him to the wall."

Zoro grinned. "You're right. But we won't get the money if we don't nail him ourselves. Why let the Marines have all the fun?"

Volta couldn't help but agree. "Would you be so kind as to put a hold on my training?"

"You kidding? I'll have you sweating blood the whole way there. Didn't you say you wanted to learn how to sail? I'm gonna hold you to that."

Volta scoffed. "That's hardly a threat. You don't give a crap about sailing; how could you turn that into training from hell?"

An evil glint entered Zoro's eyes. "You forget, my young, foolish apprentice."

"I'm a year older than you."

"Regardless! While you've been learning how to swing and strike, I've been learning how to teach. And the best teachers can make anything a living hell."

Volta paled. "I don't think that's how that works. Don't the best teachers make everything fun?"

"And haven't you had so much fun, these past six weeks?"

They both laughed at that, until Volta punched Zoro in the nose, and another bar brawl ensued. This time the two friends finished it together.

.~===)==============={%}

"I'm afraid Dimolo has left the Kingdom."

…what? Did I hear that correctly? Dimolo had left?

"What the hell is this!?" I grabbed Peachy by the collar, slamming him against the wall. "I've finished the labyrinth and written my message! He said he'd make sure it got seen in the newspaper! So why the hell as he left today?!"

"Actually, he left a week ago," Peachy corrected. "He's returned to the Holy City to take part in this year's Reverie. Do you know what that is?"

The rage, oh the rage, I could feel it bubbling and building, stronger than it had in so, so long. "I know perfectly well what the Reverie is. And I also know that he doesn't need to do jack shit there, so why the hell has he left me when the project is finished?! ON SCHEDULE?!"

"Dimolo has his own way of doing things," Peachy replied icily. "But rest assured, your message is in the paper, just as planned. He will return in a fortnight's time."

"A FORTNIGHT?!" The rage overflowed, and I threw the priest across the room, his taller hair bending in the breeze. He collapsed over my work bench, tools scattering everywhere N̸O͟Ơ̸̴Ò̷O̸̶͠ M̶͡Y̨ ̡T̢͟͡O̧҉Ǫ̡Ĺ̡́S̢͟ ͜͡Ḿ̷͠Y ͟T͘͢͜Ò̶̧O͡LS̵̛!̨͜!͏ Í̴̢ ͘͟L̡͜͝E̡͝AP̵̛͜É̛́D ̸̛͘A͏C̡̛R̵͞O͝S̨S̕ TH̀͘͢E͝ ͏͡R̵Ơ͏O҉́M̡͠ A̧̡N̶͝҉D ͜͏M̡͜Y̡ H̵A͜Ḿ̡M̴͝Ȩ͡R͏ ̡͢I̷̴͡S̷͡ ̛I҉N ̛͘͝MỲ͝ ̨̢͘HA̧N͠͞D̸̢̛ ͘A͟N̨̨͡D̨ ͟I̕'̢̨LL̸͘ ͢͠KI̕L͢L͏ ̕҉Ý̕O҉̵U K͝IL͏L ́Ỳ̴O̷̡U҉͏ ̨̧ỲO͘U͏͘ ̡̢D̡A̶̷̢M͘N͡ ̢͟B͝A̡͡S̸TÀ̵R̴͞D, ̸̕͡I͢͢'̸͢LL̢ ̵͜K̀͠I̴̵̕

"That's enough."

A horrible pain in my chest, worse than any I'd felt before. A cracking sound, like splintering wood, and I was flying, flying across the room, right out the window, into the street. Cupajoe was over me, and he picked me up and slapped me. The hammer fell from my hand.

"Listen carefully," he snarled. "Master Dimolo said I needed to watch over you. He said nothing about me not breaking a few of your bones. Will you continue to threaten my comrade, or will you behave yourself?"

I couldn't have kept attacking even if I'd tried; Circles of blackness appeared around him, zipping toward my arms and legs and sliding up them, taking them into his space. The openings closed tightly around my limbs, and I knew if they snapped shut completely, they'd be cut off, lost to the void forever. I tried to keep it down, but a whimper crawled out of my throat. Damn him. Damn them all. Except for Dimolo, never him, never, I love him.

"I think he's been chastised enough, Cup," Peachy chuckled, emerging from the building. He looked around, but I couldn't see what he was seeing. "Cup, we've got some stares. Take care of them."

He grunted, and the voids slid down my arms and legs, dispersing into nothingness. He let me go, and was gone, a blur. I turned around, watched as a void opened up beneath a gaggle of thieves, watched as they fell into it, and for the opening to close again.

"You killed them," I muttered. "Damn it, I could have used them."

The general's left eye twitched. "I believe I've said this before, Mister Dareda. The space my Void-Void Fruit creates is lightless, but harmless. I'll dump them into your maze."

"Don't call me Mister," I growled, but rage had already lessened. What a relief; I needed more subjects. The ones I had died too fast. Fucking nobles, too posh and stupid to get past the first room…

"Also, Dareda, Outlook the Third and Stelly are here to see you again."

And just like that, the rage spiked, like a lion denied food when it was just within reach. "You talk to them."

"Outlook is here to see you in particular."

O̕h̶̢ ̶t̨́h͏̸̧e ̛th̡͞i̷͞n̶͟͡g̸̕ş̵͢ ̧͟I̛̕ c͠o̷̡͘ư̧͠ĺ̶d̷ d͜͠ò̧̨ ̸͡to a̸ ̢m̨àn̶̡ ̢̢l̶̢̀ik͜͠e͜͡ ̨́O̶͟ut͜l̛o̡ok.̸̨ But no matter; sometime we must do things we do not wish to do, and meet people we do not wish to meet. I'll kill him soon enough, but now I need to be calm. Maybe even cordial, if I can manage it.

They were waiting in the lobby, sitting patiently on my ragged couch. They looked the same as ever, Outlook in his stupid blue suit, its collar down to the stomach and adored with frilly yellow feathers and flowers, even on his big fucking stupid hat oh͠ ͜ẁ҉h͘y ̢͢c̵̵a͡n̷'̛͏͠t͟͢ ̀͜I̶̸͡ ̵̷k̡͜i̷͡l̕l̵͢ ͏t̶h̸̕is ̀́b̡͘a̛͟͝s͘͢͞taŗd?͟

"Is it true that your maze is ready?" Oh, damn you and your snooty voice and stupid, ugly mustache, your lumpy double-chin and small beady eyes, more a pig then a man, that's what you are.

"Sure thing," I say with a smile. "All those nobles you had me feed it made it big and strong. Wouldya like to see?"

His face twisted in disgust. "Not in the least. I merely came to see that things are proceeding as planned."

"That's right!" the son crowed, and oh, how I hated his orange bowl cut and fat greasy lips and stretched-out eye lids. The day I broke his nose would be a very good one indeed. "If you kill this last person, I get to be king!"

"A king you say?" I allowed my smile to grow a touch too wide, and his chubby little face turned white as a sheet. "Is that what this is all for? Ta be king of this trash heap?"

A hot pain exploded in my cheek; the damn noble had slapped me. The rage roared, demanding blood, but I couldn't give in. Not with Dimolo's promises on the line.

"Know your place," Outlook thundered. "Do not speak to my son that way!" He took an envelope from his coat, handing it to me. "My son will be king of the greatest realm to ever bless this miserable ocean. Just do your job and take care of this idiot."

Suppressing a snarl, I tear it open and pull out a picture. A fat man with a fat chin, even fatter lips then the would-be king before me, orange curls failed to cover an egg-shaped head. And he even had a little black mustache, making him even uglier. Hell, he looked more like Stelly's father then his actual father.

"His name is Ahho Desunen the Ninth," Outlook continued brusquely. "He is the advisor to King Isntoinette the Twentieth. If you…make him disappear, I'll be able to take his place, marry my dear son to the king's daughter. And, should he and his son die, Stelly will be able to succeed them."

The smugness with which he laid out his vile plan almost broke me more then the slap. Say what you will about me, but nobles truly were the scum of the earth.

…what's this? I rubbed the photo, which became two. I pulled them apart, looking closely at the second. A little girl, horrifically ugly, head squashed and teeth uneven. I stared at her, uncomprehending.

"Ah, yes, I almost forgot." Outlook pulled a tube of lip balm from his coat, applying it lightly. "Kill his daughter too. She's a complication."

…

RA̵̴͜͢A̕̕͞A̴̸A̧͏̴͡͏A̢͜͟͠͏A͘A͡͏A̴̛͡A̷̧̡A̵̛͝Á̶҉́A͠͏Á̧̛A̵̵͞A͏͘҉͘A̶̛̕Ą̴̀͘G̡̨͢H̷͞!

I grabbed him by the throat so fast his hat flew off his head. He gasped and squawked, like a plump turkey. Stelly screamed.

"Listen carefully," I hissed, the rage seeping out with every word. "I am many things. A lover of blood and carnage. A maker of death and destruction. I've slaughtered dozens in the name of my art, my vision. And I'll gladly keep doing so, until the end of my days."

My grip grew tighter, cutting off his air. I brought him close, our noses almost touching.

"But I don't kill children. Get that through your pompous, slimy skull, before I bust it open and spill its contents on the floor, in front of your dear son."

I dropped him on his ass, and he crawled away like the worm he was. Holy shit, he'd wet his pants! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

"Bastard," he croaked. "You think you can contaminate me with your filthy hands and get away with it? You-"

"Am under Dimolo's protection," I sneered. "Hell, we're even on a first-name basis. Can you say the same?"

Outlook stood up, pale and trembling. "I…do not know why someone like Saint Brangolo would tolerate filth like you. But you'll regret this. Terribly!" He all but sprinted from the room, his son right on his heels. Wow, he'd spoiled himself too! What a day!

"That was inappropriate," Peachy intoned behind me.

"Give me a fucking break. They were asking me to-"

"I know what they were asking," the priest interrupted. "I'll make sure Zurako is protected in the days to come."

The coldness in his eyes; rage like mine, but frozen, icy, without mercy. I suddenly found myself liking him a lot more. "Zurako…is that her name?"

Peachy's eyebrows rose. "You didn't even know her name, yet you acted as you did? Perhaps you're not as heartless as I thought you to be."

"We all have standards," I laughed. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a group of petty thieves to torture."

.~===)==============={%}

"Master, do you really think Dareda can be trusted?

Dimolo sipped lightly from a glass of lemonade, studying the Red Port in all its bustling glory. Monstrous yellow bondolas rose from the city, traveling up thick black cords to the top of the Red Line. And toward the Holy City that crowned it.

"My dear Zuzy, the East Blue is a world away. Let us speak no more of it until the Reverie is concluded. I fear I'm already late."

She bowed respectfully and made to leave.

"That being said…" He took another sip. "I believe that he will get the message. And he will be tested by what Dareda has constructed for him. Have the ship ready to leave tomorrow. I plan to return as quick as I can to meet with the Marked One personally."

"Only a day?" Zuzy exclaimed. "But the Reverie-"

"Is of no consequence; what I must do here, I can do in a day."

"…of course, master. I'll let the crew know." She ran across the deck, toward the sterncastle. Dimolo watched her go with a smile, before turning his gaze upward. He observed the Red Line, in all its majestic crimson glory, before look still higher, toward the brightly shining sun.

"The time as almost come," he whispered, a small smile creasing his lips. "Just a few more obstacles, and then…"

The sun's rays streamed through the sail, bathing him in their radiance. His glittering green eyes stared into the sky.

"I will become the world."

Author's Note:

And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes the first half of Part 1 of Inkbolt, Eastern Hunting. I hope you've enjoyed the ride.

This chapter's conclusion also marks another milestone. For the first time in my life, I've reaching 100K words writing a story. It's a tremendous accomplishment, but not one I could have done alone. It's because of the encouraging words of my readership that I was able to get as far as I have. Your encouragement and enthusiasm only add to my own, and I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your support.

Now that I've reaching my first big checkpoint in this story, I'd love to hear your feedback more than ever before, both good and bad. If there's something you love or hate, let me know, so I can fix it or make it even better. I'm always trying to improve, and getting your input helps a ton.

And if you think this story is worthy of recommendation, feel free to tell your friends about it. I can't wait to put the petal to the metal and continue this awesome story!

Have a great day everyone, and may your own stories continue in good health and happiness.

Yeomanaxel, the Verified Yeo