Three thousand, one hundred, and eight.
That was what Kid had taken from them.
Three thousand from the Demon Tribe, the full muster of that city's guards. One hundred and two from the Hunt, most of them those Vinci hadn't had time to Augment.
Six from the Nightmares, and that burned worse than usual.
And yet they all still stood (some a bit more limping or leaning on their fellows for support, but standing).
It'd been a full day after the battle before people had started reappearing in the city, popping up seemingly out of nowhere. Apparently the city - which the Demon Tribe simply called 'the city' - was just the tip of the metaphorical iceberg. Kid had killed many, but the tunnels and caverns that extended far underground hadn't been touched...and judging from just how many people had showed up, most of the Demon Tribe's population lived underground.
Another day had passed, as the members of the Demon Tribe gathered their dead...and those of the Hunt who had fallen, paying due where due was owed.
And now they gave to the dead what little they could.
Vinci gazed at the rows of bodies, each one covered by a white sheet, every single one of them placed atop a massive assemblage of wood and kindling.
The Demon Tribe burned their dead, on the slopes of the volcano, and that was the same farewell the fallen of the Hunt would receive.
He turned away, and regarded the audience. The Hunt, in all their myriad forms. The Demon Tribe, silent and solemn. Every one of them bore a lit torch.
"We are here," Vinci said, voice soft, but pitched to carry. "To pay what is owed to our dead. To remember them. They who fell to defend this island, and those who died in freeing it. They are gone, and we remain, but we will not forget." He smiled. "We will remember, for those whose stories are ended." He stepped away from the pyre. "Send them on."
Torches were put to kindling, and the fire caught, until the heat of the blaze washed over him, growing higher by the moment.
The Demon Tribe sang, a rough, musical language Vinci did not know the name of. A song of mourning and remembrance, and long prices sworn to be paid.
Vinci had no song to match it - music was not where his talents lay. But as he walked away from the pyre, he made an oath nonetheless.
Never again. No enemy left alive to strike, no foe merely crippled when it was in his power to obliterate them.
The cost had been far too high, and he would not pay it again.
Somewhere on that pyre, two Devil Fruit users, three loyal hounds, and one of the Wolves burned.
Night's fallen, but the pyre still burns, and I'm still here.
As far as waking up after agonizing pain went, the latest experience was better than the one before. I hadn't woken up naked, for one.
As far as aftereffects…
I catch a flicker of motion out of the corner of my eye, and dismiss it. It isn't real, I figured that out early on.
I sit, on a pile of stone near the pyre, and watch, and wait.
Things are, mercifully, quiet. The dragon does not speak. There are no birds, no forests, not here on the slopes of the mountain, and so the only sound is that of crackling flames and embers.
I draw in a breath, let it out, and reflect on how I cannot feel the heat of the flames or the cold of the night. On how my wings have grown again, something shifting under my skin that I don't quite understand. On a jumble of memory and knowledge and secrets that even now whispers to me.
"Six, they were," I say into the silence. "They bore no masks, for they needed none. Last and first, brothers all, monsters and myth. They walked in the shadows, those sons of the maker, and sowed bitter seed. As their task was, such is ours, now and forever, until the last born comes to return a kingdom to one. To hide, and hunt, and prosper, away from the eyes of the first immortal."
"An interesting story," Vinci replies, having walked silently to join me while I...to put it honestly, brooded. "Or is it a prophecy?"
"If so, it is one passed on and denied. It died nearly four decades ago," I say.
"Is that so?" Vinci muses, walking to the roaring pyre and lighting a cigarette off the flames. I offer my pipe, and he lights it with the tip of his own vice.
We wait, for a moment.
"What happened to you, Kaneki?" he asks. "What do you remember?"
"Another life," I breathe out. "From the beginning to the end. Fear. Hunger. Hope, as I found my first and only friend. The rules of my kind, stalking city streets at night, an eternity of watchfulness. Never daring to truly use what I could do. More of a life lived than I can remember for myself." I pause, another flicker of motion teasing at the edges of my vision. "Is it possible, to eat a man's soul with his body?" I ask.
Vinci exhales a cloud of smoke. "Two months ago, the notion of a soul would have seemed absurd," he confesses. "Part of it still does. But some mechanism exists, to exert will upon reality and have reality bend, so why not call it that?"
"Doesn't answer my question."
"Your...everything...seems to be primarily biological. I'd want to give you a checkup before resorting to 'souls did it' as an explanation. But this is the Grand Line, so why not? I've found myself capable of more than I thought, and so could you."
"Yeah, I heard. How the hell did you do that trick?"
"It was...easy." He pauses. "Almost disturbingly so." He chuckles. "I barely understand what I've put inside of myself, Kaneki. Most of it's the work of my parents, the theory at least. And that theory leapt onto the copies of your cells I made to give the King's Heart structure...far, far too simply. Like lock and key. And that frightens me, just a little."
"Welcome to the club of monsters, captain," I say softly, and Vinci laughs.
"Neither of us are that, Kaneki," he replies. "Even you. Just men."
"If you say so, captain. Where's the Oni? Would have expected them here, before you."
"They were watching." He pauses. "Still are, actually. Protective."
"Figures." I pull at my pipe, exhale a ring of smoke. "Still didn't explain how you did that. Making electricity, sure, but making a barrier that destroys metal? What's the biological mechanism for that?"
"What are Devil Fruits capable of, but strange effects that create and destroy energy and matter with feckless disregard for the laws of physics?"
I stare. "You didn't."
"Didn't what? I merely observed as some of our own fought and sparred and tested their abilities...and when Clare died, I saw the unfolding of that miracle of hers as well. And my eyes see more and more every day."
"And what you see, you can copy…"
"Not, of course, without cost. There are rules to the universe, and while Devil Fruits bend them more than most, even they make their users pay a price. A fixed one, for a fixed power...so I balanced the scales my own way. A price proportionate to what I do, paid anew each time."
"You aren't talking much sense, Captain."
"In exchange for flexibility in what I create or destroy, reconstruct or deconstruct, I pay the price out of my own flesh and blood each time I use such power. More than once a day would kill me, and I'm not strong enough to stand after...but it's a fair bargain."
"By which you mean you mugged the universe for power."
"Fair for me."
"Fucking hell, Captain. What happened to you just being the guy with biological transhumanism?"
"We fell through a hole between universes, Kaneki. Remember?"
"I try not to."
There's another lull of silence, and then Vinci extends a hand to me. "Come on. Let's get out of this cold. We've mourned the dead enough, time to focus on the living."
I take it, and we walk back to the city together.
Diceros Keita raised an eyebrow as the form of Mavros Thorakis flew through the air, and hit the ground hard.
The fool man had insisted on a captain's duel, of all things, to determine which of the crews would keep their name. From start to finish, the affair had lasted perhaps thirty seconds.
Idiocy, but one born of a stubborn need for honor and ritual.
As Keita watched, Thorakis tried to struggle to his feet, failed, and slumped to the ground. "I...yield," he said, and Grigori nodded, before walking over and offering the armored man a hand up.
"Got any ideas for a new name?" the Nightmare asked conversationally.
"A few," Thorakis admitted. "I will...need a few days."
Grigori grinned. "We'll see how it goes." The Nightmare looked around. "Anyone else got pressing business?"
Keita stepped forward, Shaka and Oba flanking him, as was only proper. "Grigori," he spoke.
It never failed to astonish him just how quickly a beach could be vacated. Within moments, it was just him and the captain of the Nightmares.
No. Not just him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Butcher Bird sitting on a driftwood log, waiting. If Keita tried anything, he was good as dead.
It was a very good thing that Keita had no such intentions.
"How much do you know of my history?" Keita asked.
Grigori smiled. "One of my own," he began, with a glance at the lurking Butcher Bird, "dubs you the Wandering King. And it fits, doesn't it? Yes, I know your history, Diceros Keita of the Shrouded Kingdom. Rightful King, and the one who broke his throne rather than be forced to let another man sit on it."
"An unworthy king, a man given power through the hands of others," Keita growled. "Through those who think they are gods."
"And yet you think you are worthy to take it? You gave your crown away willingly enough."
"Only because the alternative was death."
Grigori's smile turned sharp. "So what is it you ask, Diceros Keita?"
"For the Hunt to follow me, as I leave the Grand Line, and reclaim my throne."
Grigori cocked his head to the side. "You misunderstand," he said coldly.
Keita's heart leapt into his throat, and he took a step back as Grigori's green eyes fixed on him. "If I have erred…"
"Only in the nature of things, Diceros Keita. I will not follow...but I do not command." The smile became a knife-edged grin. "Bring your petition to the Hunt. Speak of regicide, and many will follow. Speak of liberation, of converts, of treasure, speak of whatever you please. Convince them. Not me."
Keita swallowed, and touched a knuckle to his forehead, an old gesture of obeisance. "By your will."
"Never. By your own, and none other." Grigori paused, the grin fading, replaced by an expression Keita couldn't quite recognize. "There shall be no gods, Keita, nor any masters. Not here, and not today. And not when you return home, with an army of the lost and the damned, and topple Wapol from his stolen throne."
Keita couldn't help it. He smiled. "Then by my will, let it be done."
Grigori's eyes blazed gold as he bared his teeth. "Exactly."
Six knocked at the door of the laboratory, wondering if he would receive an answer.
The Bosun had ordered him to see to the Captain after said Captain had failed to emerge from the laboratory for twelve hours straight, missing two meals. He was likely engrossed with something related to C, and so it fell to Six to bring him food - and with the Bosun's orders, none of the Captain's protests would matter.
It was...unusual, but the Captain's authority did not seem to be entirely absolute. At least not when it came to common-sense activities. When it came to earth-shaking scientific breakthroughs, abominations against the commonly accepted belief of the 'natural order' (an incorrect belief, in Six's opinion), or the simple act of punching something so hard it exploded (such as a cow into perfectly carved steak, a great ease on the logistics of providing food to an entire crew), the Captain was peerless. When it came to the affairs of normal people like eating, sleeping, or using words with fewer than three syllables, the Captain was...prone to distraction. So others took up authority in those tasks, chiefly the Bosun. Sometimes the Revenant, who was, unless Six missed his guess, being trained to assist the Bosun, or to succeed him.
The door creaked open, and the Dragon poked out his head. "Six," Kaneki said warmly. Then he yawned. "What time is it?"
"Almost eight."
"Already? Damn. Come in. I see you brought food."
Six nodded, balancing the tray on one hand for a moment to hand Kaneki a large mug of coffee - black, no sugar. Kaneki took it with a small smile, and opened the door. Six saw a body - C's - on the operating table. The body's left arm had been flayed open, scalpels holding the skin in place as blood dripped onto the floor. The Captain took notes hurriedly, adding another sheet onto a ream of paper as he peered into a microscope.
Six went still for the briefest of instants, then continued onward. His hands did not shake. He placed the tray of food on the counter next to the microscope, then stepped back, waiting for orders. He was useful, he would serve the Captain well. He would not be another specimen.
But the Captain had made C a specimen, and C was useful, more needed than Six, who was just a useless Cabin Boy, and if the Captain wanted his whim would see Six on that table again, peeled open to see the secrets of his Devil Fruit, and if even useful, powerful C was merely a specimen the Captain would not put in effort to keep Six alive, not a simple Cabin -
"Six," the Dragon's voice rang, smoke and blood and jealous fire, and Six took a step backwards, closer to him. He was part of the Dragon's hoard, and if any would oppose the Captain in such a thing, it would be the Dragon.
But C had been brother in blood to the Dragon, and yet he was bleeding on that table, and -
"Six. Listen."
Six stilled, and listened. If he did, perhaps the Dragon would find worth in him.
"He's fine, Six. Vinci just whipped up an anesthetic that worked on him, because he wouldn't stop complaining. He's simply unconscious. Oi, Vinci."
"What?" the Unbound Physician asked, not looking up from the microscope.
"You ever going to kill one of the crew to dissect?"
"I have basic ethical standards, Kaneki, and that violates all of them, so no. It would be utterly pointless, anyway, the only people who I would even have a need to perform such invasive techniques on are you and C, and that wouldn't kill you. Why?"
"How about you turn around?"
The Captain paused, then did so. He looked at Six, and blinked. "When did you come in? Are you alright?" His eyes narrowed. "What is wrong?"
Six did not falter or flinch, did not cringe from those searching eyes - spectacles, there should have been spectacles, and flesh hidden under scarves rather than open to air - but regardless he felt something wrap around his waist, warm and scaled - Kaneki's tail, one of them, claiming and guarding.
The Captain nodded. "Ah. Rest easy, Six. Have my word, no harm will come to you by my hand, now or ever." Vinci's stomach growled, and he blinked, before looking at the pile of food. "Are those sandwiches?"
Six nodded wordlessly, and Vinci set about demolishing the pile with astonishing speed. As he did so, Kaneki's tail tugged at Six, and he went, until he was standing right beside the Dragon. "You back with us, Six?" Kaneki asked softly.
Six considered, then nodded, grounding himself in the firm pressure encircling him. "Dissociation is...unpleasant," he began. "I do not want it." He paused. "Thank you," he said, finally.
"Nothing owed, Six. Could smell the panic off you the moment you looked at C. Freaking baby, shoulda told him to man up and take the pain."
"No," Six said, before freezing at what had just come out of his mouth.
"Why not?" Kaneki asked.
Six held himself very still for a moment, thoughts turning, building the words he needed to say, the words he could say, for he was his own person. Not useless, not the Cabin Boy. "I am... difficult," he said, very carefully. "And things are...complex, for me. That does not mean I should be treated like glass. Or that others should make sacrifices for me. But I... I cannot be…" He stopped. Took a breath, laid a hand on Kaneki's scales. "You asked what I wanted, once. The answer cannot be simplified, but part of it is this: I want to be functional. I will be functional, make choices and desires for myself, determine a role. And that cannot be accomplished if I hide from obstacles and memories, or let others hide them from me." He let out a breath, then turned to where C lay on the table. He took the sight in. Free of the dissociative episode, the signs of him still living were obvious - his chest rose and fell, his eyelids twitched in slumber.
It had no power over him. He would not allow it to. "I am," he declared, straightening his spine, "a Nightmare. Fear is my weapon, and not one to be turned against me."
Kaneki made a high-pitched squeeing sound that Six pretended he didn't hear.
"Well, personal epiphanies and declarations aside," Vinci said, brushing crumbs off his hands, "I have figured a great deal of things out. Specifically, your new memories."
Kaneki cocked his head, and motioned for the Captain to elaborate.
"So, are you familiar with the theory of blood memory? I can tell by the fact that you look like you ate something that isn't people you are. Yes, normally it would be bullshit, but! Your cells appear to have a facsimile of it regardless. Quite fascinating, most of the information is encoded in the lineage factor, rather than brain structure, and the C-cells alter themselves to imitate neurons and let you retrieve the information as needed. In addition to this, the strain of cells that forms your wings have also altered greatly. I can't quite decode how, but it appears to have increased the production of new cells at the site, and I would wager that means something there has matured."
Kaneki paused, then leaned back. "And C?"
"Ah, yes. A third strain of C-cell, the clusters for him are located lower than the ones for your wings but higher than those for your tendrils. No trace of development of new clusters, either, but this new strain is quite intriguing. I believe the structures formed will be much denser than anything you could achieve, with a corresponding increase in weight. Oh, and he's lost his Devil Fruit abilities."
"What."
"And, judging from the similarity in sequences between his C-cells and various organisms found in nature that rely on magnetic fields or the generation thereof, his C-cell structures will imitate that power perfectly. Perhaps with greater power or precision than before, I am uncertain, we'll have to test it."
Kaneki pressed the heel of one hand into his forehead, groaning. "Wonderful, more of a headache to deal with," he grumbled.
Someone else knocked on the door, and Kaneki growled. "What."
The door opened, revealing the Bosun in full armor and with hammer in hand. "Three Marine battleships just appeared on the horizon," he said flatly.
Kaneki's tail vanished, and the Dragon smiled widely. "Well. That's something to celebrate."
"Agreed," the Unbound Physician replied, yanking the scalpels out of C's skin. "Wake up, sleeping beauty," he added, before jamming an ostentatiously sized syringe into the ghoul's still-healing arm. "It's time for what we do best."
"Indiscriminate bloody violence?" Kaneki questioned.
"Exactly."