"I have several questions, and yet I feel all of them have the same answer," I say flatly, looking at the...vessel...that is bringing up the rear of our miniature armada.
"And what would that be?" Herman grunts.
"Sanity is dead."
"Ah, yeah, that would explain it." The blacksmith cocks his head. "Are those rocket engines?"
"One of the...what did Vinci call them, Cogs? Yeah, one of them went on over there last night. So, probably."
"On a raft."
"On a gigantic raft populated by what appears to be an escaped zoo and a particularly deranged zookeeper," I mutter, staring at the affront to shipbuilding and sanity that is Vulkan Lives's chosen vessel. "Again, sanity is dead."
"...I wonder at which point I'll be able to look at crap like this and just wave it off," Herman ponders.
"Probably by the time we reach Sabaody."
On board the floating menagerie, I see a large simian with a barrel of alcohol on its back slam a hairy fist on a large red button.
"Hopefully by the time we reach Sabaody," I amend as the raft soars over our miniature armada on wings of flame.
"Can't believe I'm working with him," Herman mutters as the craft splashes down next to Vespucci's nondescript little frigate. Nasty thing, that, laden with concealed gun ports and enough blood spilled on its decks that I could smell it from here. That it looked like a tiny, harmless courier vessel just made the irony all the more delicious.
"Hey, we need more than one person working on the armor. Over a thousand suits don't just appear overnight."
"Nor do they get painted and differentiated properly overnight. Every fucking crew wants a different set of colors, and some of them are fighting over who gets what."
"Well, that strikes me as kind of ridiculous." I pause. "We're still the only ones with white, right?"
Herman sighs. "Yes, Kaneki, we are."
"Good."
"Why did you ask for that, again?"
"Mostly because it'll annoy the shit out of the Marines to see super-soldiers wearing their colours shooting at them."
"Oh, so it's you being a pain in the ass."
"I have exactly three personality traits, and that's one of them."
"And what, exactly, are the other two?"
"Homicidal possessiveness and blistering self-hatred," I quip back, grinning.
Herman grunts. "You're fucked in the head, you know that?"
"Would I be part of this crew if I wasn't?"
Herman just growls in response, and I laugh. "Cheer up, dogman. You'll finish up the work before the week is out, and then you'll get to see it bury Kid and his bastards in iron and fire."
"Yeah. Good thing the Cogs figured out how to copy the captain's little trick, otherwise the armor would just get us all killed." He made a gripping motion. "Just...squish."
"Stop."
"Like watermelons."
"Seriously, please stop."
"What, you're suddenly squeamish?"
"No, I just feel dwelling on the fact that Kid can kill armies with a thought really isn't productive." I pause. "I went back to where he crucified them, before we left."
"And?"
"There'd been something bugging me, some scent...I'm pretty sure he recruited a ghoul. Doesn't smell like me, C, or the Oni, but only a ghoul reeks like that scent did."
"Fuck."
"Hell, I'm probably going to have to fight the damn thing. That worries me."
"Morally, or in the 'how do I kill this thing' way? Because I've heard good things about fire…"
"Oh, trust me, he's sailing with Kid, that'd put him on my murder list even if he wasn't a ghoul and thus responsible for at least two dozen murders per year of his life. No, it's the putting him down permanently that worries me. If I'm indicative of what ghouls can do...pushing us into a corner just makes things worse."
"So prepare for there not to much town left standing, and possibly needing to dunk you into the ocean again, got it," Herman retorts. "Maybe we should just let Lauren set it on fire when it shows up. That'd probably put it down."
"Let's put 'unleash ever-burning hellfire' in the last resort column, okay?" I say, sweatdropping. The patch of burning ocean had still been on fire when we'd set sail. I'm still fairly certain Lauren had accidentally bound a demon into the flamethrower or something of that nature - the tattoos at the very least pointed in the direction of 'I have magic and no idea what I'm doing'. Were demons a thing here? Ah, I'd probably find out eventually. "Decapitation won't work, the body still lives and it'll grab the head…"
Herman gives me a look of horror.
"What? Old Man Zoss was both thorough in training and a tremendous asshole," I say calmly, puffing at my pipe. "Between that and what the captain's figured out...got a pretty good idea of what can't put me down, and a plan for what can."
"And that plan is?"
"Well, I'm gonna eat him."
Herman facepalms. "That's your answer to everything."
"Hey, if it ain't broke, I'm not gonna try to fix it. Besides, even I can't come back from being rendered down to liquid and devoured." Probably. Scaley might take offense to such a thing.
I would eat them from the inside out and allow us both to puppet their form.
Yeah, that was Plan B, if we somehow lost the fight.
Oh, so it's we now. I thought you were planning on shutting me out entirely save for when you needed power.
You can listen in, scaley, you know the talk I had with Six.
Ah, yes, the hierophant. So you actually paid attention?
Yes. You're a part of me, like it or not, and it's time I started dealing with that. Doesn't mean I have to like you.
Of course not, that would require you to accept everything about yourself, instead of papering it over with a facade of indifference.
Fuck off, lizard.
"Hey, Kaneki, you listening?"
I pause, then shrug. "Sorry. Was thinking."
"More planning?"
"Of a sort."
"God, you and the captain really are peas in a pod. How many paranoid contingencies have you come up with?"
I grin at Herman. "Not paranoia if they are out to get you. And shouldn't you be working?"
"Nah. Convinced the blacksmith working for the guys with the way-too-similar name to take a load of the work."
"By 'convinced' you mean 'glared meaningfully at while holding a sword'."
"Of course, how else was I going to get him to do the job?"
".-. .-. .- .. ... . / -... . / ..- -. - - / - ... . / - .- -.-. ... .. -. . -..- / .. - / .- -.-. - ..- .- .-.. .-.. -.- / .- - .-. -.- ... .-.-.-"
Vinci frowned. "Of course it works. I trust Lauren's designs implicitly."
"... ... . / .. ... / -.- ..- .. - . / ... -.- .. .-.. .-.. . -.. / .. -. / - ... . / - .- -.- .. -. -. / - ..-. / - ... .. -. -. ... .-.-.-" the Cog replied, shuffling awkwardly underneath its red robe. They - it was functionally impossible to tell gender with them, anymore - regarded the rotary cannon the Nightmare gunner had created out of one of the Sirins with what Vinci was beginning to recognize as something close to religious awe. "... ... . / .. ... / -.- ..- .. - . / ... -.- .. .-.. .-.. . -.. / .. -. / - ... . / - .- -.- .. -. -. / - ..-. / - ... .. -. -. ... .-.-.-"
"You've got a few who've got the raw strength to carry the things, so yes, I intend for your people to use them. Mobile artillery is always a plus."
The Cog nodded. ".. / ... ... .- .-.. .-.. / .. -. ..-. - .-. - / - ... . - .-.-.-"
"Good. Any progress on getting the rest of the fleet up to par?"
The Cog shrugged, something under their robe whirring fitfully. Vinci snorted. "Yeah, I get it. Also, duck."
The Cog threw itself to the floor just in time to avoid the flying body. The man - mutton chops, yellow heavy armor, a Jolly Roger of a clenched fist surrounded by bones: Makaik Kammak, Captain of the Fortress Pirates - muttered something about a lemon being a mighty fruit and then lapsed into unconsciousness.
Vinci glanced at the lower deck, where Kaneki was sparring with a half-dozen of the captains.
They were losing. Badly. As Vinci watched, the Butcher Bird swayed around a haymaker from Macdonald Junior. A kick to the back of the knee unbalanced the Knockout captain long enough that he couldn't dodge when Tyson Crockett launched himself at Kaneki and missed (again). Both went sprawling, and in the half-second it took the two to recover, Kaneki bypassed them, closing the distance between him and Mez Bubo almost faster than Vinci's eyes could track.
The gas-masked captain of the Miasmic Pirates barely had time to raise his grenade launcher to block before Kaneki punched him across the deck. That left two - the almost impeccable Vickers Wellington, and the walking mummy that was Ellison Carver. The latter jinked to the side, trying to close, while the former…
Vinci felt something stir in his heart as the captain of the Teatime Pirates summoned what appeared to be a dragon of steam, sending it flying at Kaneki with a wave of his sabre. An intriguing Devil Fruit, the Steam-Steam Fruit. The amount of control Wellington displayed was admirable.
Kaneki dodged the steam dragon, which dissolved into an amorphous cloud for a brief moment - before reforming into a lion that charged the ghoul. The beast's claws lashed out, and Kaneki's skin parted like paper, red spraying briefly as blood and fat suddenly boiled. Kaneki just laughed, and leapt for Wellington, taking him down with a flying kick that Vinci couldn't even see.
Now that was impressive. How was he managing that, without manifesting wings? Shatterpoints formed in Vinci's vision, finding weaknesses, and his grin widened. Clever.
Each of the active node clusters in Kaneki's back produced a slightly different strain of C-cell, releasing them into the body. Typically, those produced in the nodes at his lower back - which produced cells that were significantly more effective at the digestive and, via constructing microscopic denticles, assault portions of the C-cell's duties - dominated in Kaneki's body...but now he was drawing on the other set. The constructs that could be formed were significantly more brittle, far less of the cells being spent there, and the reinforcements to his skin and tissues suffered as well - but they wound themselves around deep muscle and bone, carried themselves in his arteries and veins, enhancing his speed and agility, if not his durability. And Kaneki was taking advantage of that...without breaking the self-imposed challenge of not using tendrils or wings.
Cheating in a way that wouldn't be caught. Very piratical.
Only Carver remained, but if the bandaged captain was concerned, he didn't show it. Kaneki stalked towards the man, cracking his knuckles, and still he didn't react. He wasn't even looking in the same direction. Was he an idiot, or did he have some sort of ability to shut down Kaneki in close combat? If so, why hadn't he used it in the beginning? Was he trying to figure out the abilities of his newfound allies?
Carver snored audibly.
Ah. Idiot, then.
Kaneki grimaced. "Okay, I could punch him, but that just feels wrong," he said. "Anyone got a ten-foot pole?"
The ship was quiet, but Lauren was awake.
She knew the drill, by this point.
Nightmares - fire, this time, and the marching dead - passed, with time. She took them and spun them into chemical creations, an ounce of the terror she felt in those horrible dreams spread to entire companies of men, one grenade at a time.
And now the ship was quiet, only those on night watch around. The seas had been unusually calm - for the Grand Line, at least - and while that was probably going to drive poor Pucci into fits of paranoia eventually, the navigator seemed almost relieved for the moment. Nothing to occupy her mind beyond the cigarette in her hand and the distant lights of other vessels.
Somehow, she wasn't surprised when she caught sight of Six, approaching abnormally silently with a tray in hand.
"Well, three for three, then," she said quietly, leaning back on the rail and facing the cook.
Six's face was blank. "Out of what?" he asked.
Oh, yeah. The questions. Every day, she saw him asking someone a question, often about the most basic of topics, but sometimes just...weird. Hell, she swore she'd heard him asking one of the crew about fashion tips, of all things!
Well, she supposed this question was normal enough. She was the one spouting weirdness.
"It feels like a pattern, is all. I get worse nightmares than usual, and when I come out on deck, I find the…" She paused, then decided Six probably wasn't capable of being offended. "The least human of the crew waiting for me, ready to talk. Guess I'm the monster translator."
Six tilted his head slightly, a bare fraction of a degree, and offered the tray. On it were two things. The first was a mug of tea. The second was an ashtray.
Lauren took the hint, and stubbed out her cigarette, before taking the tea. It smelled amazing, and tasted even better. "So, got anything to say? Something weird but profound from your perspective, that's supposed to make me think about my own life?"
"The Captain is the profound one. I am merely the Cook," Six said neutrally. "For now, at least."
"What, you going to metamorphosize into someone else?"
"Perhaps. That depends on what I want. And what I want...I am still determining." He hummed softly for a moment. "What is it you desire?"
"Why?"
"I do not ordinarily...want things. But Kaneki...he believes that is an important part of living. And he is the Dragon, he must be correct."
Lauren suppressed a smirk at that. Poor guy had it bad.
"So I ask. Try to see what other people want. To...understand."
"Is that why you were asking someone about color matching earlier?"
"It seemed an odd topic to be obsessive about. I was not certain if it was something I should know."
"Probably not. You don't seem like the fashionable type."
Six's expression turned ever-so-slightly mulish. "I like my jacket. It is comfortable."
"Oh, inferencing. Kaneki'll make a real boy out of you yet."
"It appears that deflecting from questioning with humor is a common trait amongst this crew, then."
Well, that stung. Worse, because he had a point.
"What I want…" She paused. Flames flashed through her mind, the rattle of guns and the scent of cordite. "Got a good part of that already, but it seems like a stolen dream. Not really...mine. My guns'll change the face of war, but... well, that's done. What next?" She frowned, fingers tapping on the mug. "What do I desire...you aren't the first to ask, you know?"
"The Captain?"
"Yeah. We were heading up Reverse Mountain, he's laughing like a madman, and it kickstarted this whole...thing. Anyway, what I said then...I said I wanted to never be afraid." She grimaced. "Not having much luck, there."
"Fear is an ingrained response to danger. Losing it, especially prior to combat, would not be advisable."
"And yet I'll keep trying to arm and armor myself enough so I never want to feel it. Whether through my own creations, or someone else's." She sighed, feeling a second heart beat alongside the first.
Part of her hated the reliance, the admission of weakness that it seemed to be. The rest of her, the pragmatic part, had beaten the hating one over the head with the fact that they were going into combat with a pirate who had taken on a Logia and walked away singing until the hating part was curled up into the fetal position, insensate. "What I want...not an end to fear. That's something I said before I figured out what it was." She smiled over her mug of tea, as shapes coalesced out of the shadows, two dozen figures in cloaks and hoods and skull-faced masks looming in the dark. As one, the Wraiths knelt soundlessly.
"What I want, Six...I want to be fear."
Something stirred in the waters beyond the ship. A scaled head pushed through the ocean, looming over the rail. A Sea King.
Lauren smiled at it.
The Sea King vanished back beneath the waves.
Lauren turned her attention back to Six. "Does that answer your question?"
"I believe it does."
Tartarus was silent.
"Trap?" Brother asked.
"Trap," Vinci confirmed. "Let's spring it."
"Dibs on the ghoul."
C grinned. Despite the fact that the island smelled like death and sulfur (he blamed the smoking volcano on the island for that), this was going to be fun.
A slaughter, of course, of both sides, but that was what happened when the Captain got golden-glowy-murdervoice levels of pissed off.
The two dozen ships of the Hunt pulled up to the docks. Only one other vessel had been there before - it looked pretty ugly, covered in metal and blunt like a hammer.
C didn't like it.
"Huh. The Iron Tramp's empty. C, if you would?" Vinci asked.
C grinned, reached out with his powers, and yanked hard.
The galleon-sized ironclad sailed through the air and landed in the crater of the volcano.
Neat.
He'd been aiming to clear the island, but neat.
The various crews started disembarking, and C followed Brother down the gangplank, a bunch of Augments following them (and the Oni, too, but they were more a shadow to him and Brother at this point, always there).
It was in utter silence that everyone proceeded down the largest street they could find.
Nobody was home.
C frowned. "Brother, what does the enemy look like?"
"They're pirates, C, they look like assholes."
"We're pirates."
Brother considered. "Smaller assholes. Because literally two-thirds of our guys are eight-foot-tall war machines."
C nodded. That was fair. Besides, all the Augments smelled a little like the Captain.
"Okay, but what about the people on the island?"
"The Demon Tribe makes a lot of weapons and armor, I think they'll be armored up if they really are planning to fight us. I mean, forcing them to fight us feels like something Kid would get up to, if he didn't just kill them all."
"Oh, okay."
"Why?"
"Well, the Captain trained me to use my power to sense magnetic stuff. And there's about two thousand people's worth of armor in the square ahead and the rooftops."
"God fucking damn it."