Robin very much wished she could make an eye ahead of her, or a warning hand—but with the sea-stone net entangled around her arms and shoulders, weighing down both her spirit and her power, it was quite impossible. It was all she could do to keep her head raised, stumbling forward without falling as the Marines shoved her along
But when they turned onto the street where Morgan's hideout was located, she deliberately slowed her pace, let her head droop as if the exhausting pressure of the stone were getting to her. Chopper, galloping ahead, might have made it here before them, and escaped with Usopp; but she had no way to be sure. If her brave young long-nosed crewmate were still resting here, she had to warn him somehow of their approach. So Robin dragged her heels, slower and slower, until they were only a couple houses away.
Then she let herself sink to her knees—the rest was more necessary than she cared to admit—and shook her head when the Marine behind her prodded her in the back with his rifle. "No," she mumbled, "I can't..."
Her little performance got the commodore's attention; he marched over, cracked her across the back of the cheek with his gloved hand. "Get up," he ordered, "don't think you can delay your fate! Pick her up, if she won't stand!"
Robin, considering, deemed his irritated bellow loud enough to carry inside the nearby houses. "All right," she said, keeping her head down to hide the anger she could not keep from her eyes—it would only antagonize the man further, and she'd had enough of his hand, when she could do little about it. "I'll get up." Though she made sure to take it slow, laboriously climbing back to her feet without tripping over the net.
It might have been a successful gambit, or else the doctor and the sniper were already gone; either way Morgan's hideout was empty when they reached it, to Robin's great relief. The commodore did look suspiciously at the broken door. Morgan, of course, had no comment to make; having obediently lead them here as ordered, he stood outside the house, dazed and quiescent as the rain rattled down on his rusting jaw and the axe blade at the end of his arm. He had been moving more slowly as well, Robin had noticed; the mesmerang venom in his blood was affecting even his heavy mass. Though it would be a couple days yet before he needed the antidote—not that Robin especially cared one way or another. The man was a former Marine, and their enemy besides; even if she'd had any mercy left in her heart, she wouldn't have wasted it on the likes of him.
The commodore ordered several of his men to investigate the dark house before he entered himself, stepping gingerly over the threshold with his nose wrinkled in distaste. Robin could not see clearly inside; she squinted into the shadows past the door, wishing she might open another eye on the wall, or an ear to listen; she felt nearly blind, to have her senses limited to only the organs on her own body.
She was still straining to make out anything when the commodore emerged, and she could read his success in his spiteful smirk, even before she saw the mesmerang. The tiny serpent was coiled around the commodore's wrist like an exotic bronze bracelet, while he grasped its small head firmly between his fingers, carefully avoiding the venomous fangs.
Robin looked into the snake's bright blue eyes, wondering if it could recognize her as Chopper's friend. Not that it would make much difference; it was as trapped by the commodore as she, as helpless. For this poor used creature, she had sympathy; she wished she could tell it that she bore it no ill will. Perhaps she could ask the doctor to give it her apologies, later. This was her gambit, after all, her risk to take; had she had a choice, it would not have been involved at all.
But then, it was far from the first innocent she had used to get her way.
The commodore was smiling at her, a true Marine smile, vile in his triumph. "Now, Nico Robin," he said, "let's see if we can't convince you to be a little more cooperative," and he fisted his free hand in her hair to wrench her head back and bare her neck, while he brought up his other hand, holding the serpent.
Even rolling down her eyes until they ached, Robin couldn't quite see the officer's other hand, but she could feel his bony knuckles brush her throat, and the merest tickle against her skin, lighter than the raindrops, of the snake's flicking tongue.
And then a sharp prick as it bit, its needle-sharp fangs plunging into her neck.
o o o
"LUFFY!"
Nami heard Usopp and Sanji scream down on the streets below, heard the fear and horror in her crewmates' voices and knew exactly what they were thinking. Not yet, she tried to urge them mentally, not daring to should aloud—but they couldn't charge to their captain's aid, not now. She could only hope their injuries would keep them put.
Not that she could blame them—it was all she could do not to shout herself, when she saw Zoro's sword stab into Luffy's chest, all she could do to stay hidden in the concealing shadows of the chimney one rooftop over.
Though she had an advantage; from up here she could see what Usopp and Sanji couldn't, down on the street below and at the wrong angle to make out Luffy's face, to see the certainty there, the resolve. She couldn't read attacks, not like Sanji could—but she could read Luffy. He hadn't been caught off-guard by Zoro's attack, not at all; he'd seen it coming, had known what the feint would be from the moment Zoro had charged him.
And at that last second he hadn't moved, hadn't tried to dodge Zoro's sword again, just clenched his jaw against the pain with his wide dark eyes fixed on Zoro, seeing the pirate hunter surely and absolutely and as fearlessly as ever.
He didn't move until Zoro tried to pull away, tried to withdraw his sword, open the wound further and finish the fight—except that Luffy didn't let him. Instead Luffy grabbed Zoro, pushing the katana's blade that much deeper into his guts as he wrapped his elastic legs around Zoro's and snaked his arms around Zoro's shoulders. Not an embrace but entangling the swordsman like a rubber snare, knotting them together, tying them in place on the roof's apex.
Luffy moved so fast, springing his trap, that even Zoro took a second to realize it, an instant of confusion before he started to struggle, trying to break free of those rubber bonds. By then Luffy was already looking past him, over Zoro's shoulder, his gaze unerringly finding Nami. As if he'd known she was there all along—maybe he'd heard her climbing up, or maybe he'd spotted her dashing behind the chimney; or maybe he'd just known because he was Luffy, and she was his nakama.
However he knew, Luffy looked to her, met her eyes across the gap between the rooftops, and while he wasn't smiling, he didn't look in pain, either—more relieved, confident, as if knowing this was almost over.
The wind picked up, dashing rain in her eyes and obscuring her view, but she heard her captain shout, "Now, Nami!"
Not that she needed to be told. Nami had already raised her Clima-Tact, up towards the dark storm clouds that had been hanging over them for this whole damn night. At her captain's command, she released a thunder ball—a single static charge, to polarize all the massive ionization gathered in the clouds, electrons stripped away by each and every falling raindrop.
And right below was the path of least resistance to the ground, a charged point of metal high on the rooftops, closest to the clouds—the white sword piercing Luffy, and Zoro's hands were still wrapped around its hilt; his last katana, his first and best sword, and he would never let it go while there was still breath in him.
A shadow had been cast over Zoro's memories, Usopp had told them, and she had told Luffy. A shadow, so they needed a light bright enough to pierce that darkness—a great enough shock to shake down the wall blocking their nakama from them.
The lightning bolt cleaved the sky, like the stroke of an axe dividing night from day, reaching from the clouds above to the sword's steel point. It flashed more blindingly brilliant than the sun for a single timeless instant of absolute stillness; then the earth-shattering boom of the thunderclap sounded, like the next tick of the universe's clock, setting the world in motion again.
Nami felt the frisson of static charge wash over her like a crackling blanket, her hair standing on end and her teeth aching to their roots. She fought to catch her breath, furiously blinking back afterimages, the bright blackness outlining a merged silhouette—Luffy and Zoro, bound together in the dead center of the lightning bolt.
The roof tiles around them were charred black, embers sizzling as raindrops fell on them and instantly evaporated into steam. In its midst, Luffy stood untouched, his rubber self impervious to the electricity's burn, with his arms looped around Zoro and the swordman's blade still stabbed through him, blood darkening his red shirt where the point emerged. Against him slumped Zoro, scorched and unmoving, his hand slipping from his katana's hilt to fall lifelessly to his side.
Before Nami could drag herself to her feet and cross over to them, Luffy's legs gave way, and pirate captain and pirate hunter both slid down, off and over the edge of the roof, tumbling down together to the cobblestone street below.
to be continued...
At the risk of sounding like a broken record, thank you so much for the reviews - so glad to know folks are still following (despite the cliffhangers - but it wouldn't be Tiger Hunt without a bit of suspense, no?)