His cloak itched. Part of Smoker wished he was paranoid enough to blame it on Vinci, but the man was wearing the exact same kind of garment to protect against the freezing rain, and quite frankly Smoker refused to lose enough sanity that he started associating everything even slightly awry in his life with a single person.
He followed the man - the significantly taller man, a foot in height that most definitely hadn't been there yesterday, what the hell - through the cobblestoned streets of Port Roybal, until they came to a warehouse near the docks of the town. It would have seemed abandoned, if not for the very large man looming in the shadows near the street entrance.
Grigori just smiled winningly at the man as they walked up. The big man put a hand to his belt, reaching for some sort of weapon, but Grigori held up a pair of golden tabs - where had he gotten those?
"Kulta Punaiselle Ottelulle," he said, tossing both to the big man, who caught them in midair with one hand while touching his knuckle to his forehead with the other.
"Veri hiekalla," the guard rumbled, before opening the door, revealing...two more men, these armed with swords, a great number of crates, and a cellar entrance that lay open to reveal a descending staircase, lit fitfully by lanterns.
Grigori strode down the stairs confidently, and Smoker followed, wondering what the point was. Behind them, both the warehouse and cellar doors closed.
"What the hell did you say to him?" Smoker muttered.
"Haven't the slightest idea," Grigori whispered back. "Jack's the one who arranged this. Got a whole lecture about it, too." He paused. "They call it the Red Bout," he continued, as they descended the steps still further, only the lanterns lighting their way. "Seven centuries old, this tradition. The Guilds of Arlen are a power of their own, with what amounts to private armies, and the bloodshed back then...well, it was horrific. So, the leader of the Guild of Assassins had an idea. Why not combat by champion?" Grigori smiled, teeth appearing razor-sharp in the shifting half-light. "The other guild heads laughed at the idea. Then their successors received the heads of said guild heads on their nightstands. Suddenly, it seemed a much better way to keep disputes settled and bloodshed to a minimum."
They came to a door - an old one, iron-banded wood that looked like it hadn't been opened for decades, but it swung open silently at Grigori's tug. Grigori beckoned, and Smoker, despite his misgivings, stepped through...and stopped, gazing at the vast cavern that opened up beneath him. It was an arena carved out of the rock, row upon row of tiered seats descending downwards, already packed with people, hundreds of them. At the very bottom, a circular pit, filled with sand, sat there...and someone was dragging a body off of it, towards one of the two tunnel entrances on opposite sides of the arena.
"A blood match," Smoker grated. "That's what you wanted to show me?"
"Quite legal, actually. It predates Arlen joining the World Government proper, there were treaties and all sorts of paperwork." Grigori kept smiling. "Come on down. I paid for seats, and the next match...well, I won't spoil the surprise."
Damn smiling little shit. But Smoker controlled the instinctive urge to shatter that smug grin (Warlord, and dangerous beyond his physicality in a way those rarely were) and followed Grigori down another set of steps, walking past the rows of crowded seats until they were at the very edge, overlooking the fighting pit proper. Only two seats remained unoccupied, right on the edge of the row. Smoker took one, Grigori the other.
A single person stood in the center of the arena, an albino woman with waist-length hair wearing a long red dress. She grinned at the audience, and spread her arms wide. "Ladies and gentlemen, the eighth match of the evening is about to begin!" she announced with bombast. "The Guild of Assassins has answered the challenge of the Guild of Dockworkers, and both have brought the finest of fighters to settle this grudge! In this corner-" she waved to one of the tunnels. "-we have a monster of myth, a black-eyed masked demon who's torn through all in his path. He devours his enemies, and leaves nothing but bones behind! Pay heed to this scaled carrion king, ladies and gentlemen, because here he comes to make his debut on the sands of the Red Bout, fighting for the Guild of Assassins! Standing at six foot one and weighing in at 214 pounds, it's the Butcher Bird, YOSHIMURA KANEKIIIIIII!"
The crowd roared as one, baying for blood, and Smoker glared at Vinci. Another demonstration of what the Butcher Bird could do, then? Well, he'd keep an eye on it. At the very least, it would be a chance to figure out how the bastard fought seriously, rather than screwing around to burn off energy like he'd done before.
The Butcher Bird walked out of the tunnel, the defaced Marine coat hanging off his shoulders and the little round sunglasses he wore gleaming in the artificial light. He wore a wide grin, cracking his knuckles as he advanced to the center. A song played over hidden speakers, audible even over the cheers of the crowd.
"This ain't no place for no hero….this ain't no place for no, better man...this ain't no place for a hero, to call home…"
"And opposing him, we have a familiar face, a fighter who's shattered every opponent who's faced him in this ring. He wields his staff with the skill of a lifetime brawler, but he's never lost his sunny disposition. Welcome back our favorite contender, ladies and gentlemen, for his one hundredth fight, and hope for it to be his one hundredth victory for the Guild of Dockworkers! Standing in at seven foot two and weighing in at two hundred and forty-six pounds, it's the King of the Iron Stave, AKIIIIIIRAAAA HORUUUUUUUUSSS!"
Smoker almost didn't hear the screaming of the crowd as he processed the fact that the local chief of security participated in underground death matches. He nearly missed the entrance of the black-haired man, who entered stripped to the waist and carrying a staff of black iron in one hand, smiling happily. He, too, had a song.
"It's been a long time coming, but the table's turned around, cuz one of us is going, one of us is going down!"
He didn't need to even look to see Grigori's smug grin.
"If you're going to say something, stow it," he growled. "I'm not interested in your needling."
Grigori laughed. "Not the plan, Commodore. Just here to watch the fight." He steepled his fingers. "Besides...it's still legal. Just, maybe not, and the betting that surrounds it is definitely illegal, but…" He shrugged. "What can you do? Not like they're committing genocide."
Smoker took a deep breath. "Ohara, huh?" He'd heard the accusation thrown around, more than a few times.
"I could sympathize with it, if I believed they'd really been researching the Ancient Weapons," Grigori said, golden eyes glittering. "But when they slaughtered their own for even the slightest hint of defiance, it became obvious that their goal was extermination for an entirely different reason. Kaneki's sources only confirmed it. It's why he's pissed at you, and pretty much every other Marine. Seeing someone wearing the same uniform, even if they don't know the atrocities committed in its name...well, he's easy enough to tick off as it is. It's why he thinks he's better. Because he's never committed the same kind of acts, and he doesn't claim to be just."
"And what about you? Do you think you're better?" Smoker asked.
Grigori chuckled. "Hardly. I'd do the same, if it was a nation weighed against my crew. But I'm a cynic, and not a particularly good human being anyway. Kaneki, for all his doubts, remains an idealist, and a better man than me."
"If that was intended to be reassuring, it failed miserably," Smoker growled.
Grigori snorted. "Shut up and watch the fight, Marine."
"Contestants ready? Begin!"
Given the situation, I'm starting to wonder if Jack is actually being more of a plotter than Vinci.
Seriously, the man had managed to wrangle seats, a chance for me to fight, and even more men for the crew on short notice, and gotten paid by the Assassin's Guild for the trouble.
Granted, it'd been easier to pull off since the usual fighter they resorted to was currently being digested by yours truly. I would've had qualms about it if not for Mr. Kure Raijin's extensive record of murder in the ring and just about every other crime outside of it. He'd been untouchable largely through the simple fact that he didn't cause trouble in daylight and was good enough to outright murder anyone sent to kill him. Until me, that is.
I smile at Horus, cracking my neck. "Well, security boy? Got a plan?"
"Eh, mostly just kicking your ass," the big guy admits.
"You can try," I say, pulling free my trench knife. Remember, scaley, no tails. This is a training exercise.
Fine. But do not come crying to me if he beats you down.
"Contestants ready? Begin!"
Right, let's -
I blink for a moment, considering why I'm suddenly flat on my back. My aching jaw might have something to do with it.
"And Akira opens with a knockout blow, sending the Butcher Bird to the ground!"
I get to my feet, glaring at Horus, who has his back turned to me and arms spread wide as he takes in the cheers of the crowd. Fast bastard.
Path of Air.
Let's see how he keeps up. I can feel the reinforcements coiling around my bones, every day a little greater, a little more entrenched, and I smile, before launching myself forwards in a leap. The steel-knuckle grip of my trench knife slams into Horus's kidneys, sending him stumbling, and the shallow gash I open along his back makes him shout before he manages to turn, staff blurring into motion - but now visible, something I can keep up with. I leap out of the range of the staff, barely avoiding it, and my grin widens. "Let's dance, little king."
Horus grins back. "Shoulda known that love tap wouldn't put you down," he says. "Let's go."
I deflect the next strike, feeling my bones shake as I do. Then the next, and the next, and the next, as Horus advances, the whirling iron staff in his hands seeming to be a dozen places at once.
"And the King is pushing the Butcher Bird back with a ferocious assault!" the announcer yells, the sheer volume piercing my eardrums. No shit, lady.
I think furiously as my body goes through the motions, deflecting and turning aside blows, every impact jarring me. Ribs. Face. Shoulder, knee, collarbone, blows that slip through.
Focus.
The trench knife is a poor weapon for defense. He's got reach and strength, possibly even more than me, and that staff of his is a lot more potent than I originally thought. My jaw is already aching, healing slower than it should, and every impact I can't deflect - I wince as a barely-dodged blow clips my torso - has the same effect. Problematic.
Solution? Attack.
When the next blow comes, a swing at head height, I don't dodge, I take the blow on an upraised arm. I barely absorb the impact, but Horus pauses in his assault just long enough for me to close in properly, and I hear him hiss in pain as I take that opening, trench knife carving open another gash along his chest. Not aiming to kill, just hurt, until he can't continue.
Horus doesn't try to use his staff. Instead, his free hand grabs my wrist, twisting to try to force me to drop the knife. I follow the motion, flipping upside-down and bringing a knee to the side of his head, but he doesn't react to me rattling his brainpan and instead throws me like I'm a shot put. I hit the sand of the fighting pit, roll, and come up just in time for him to land a perfect blow to my chin, sending me flat on my back again. This time, there's no reprieve, and I roll to the side just in time to avoid a blow that craters the arena floor.
"It looks like the Butcher Bird's attacks have ticked Horus off!"
I continue the roll, getting my feet under me just in time to take a swing right on my upraised forearms. I feel my bones creak under the sheer force of the blow, and it sends me skidding back, plumes of dust rising into the air. A momentary loss of balance, and he rushes in again, an overhead blow that I don't have the right footing to absorb slamming me into the ground again, the earth and rock cracking underneath me. I think a rib snaps off, cartilage breaking before the bone does.
Then he stomps on me, and yup, that was definitely a rib. Ow.
"The Butcher Bird looks down for the count! Is this the end?"
Give me a fucking moment, lady.
"Kaneki."
The voice is quiet. It shouldn't be audible over the crowd. My vision's blurred with pain, I shouldn't be able to even see him, but I do anyway. My captain.
"Stop fucking around."
Simple as that. An order given, and one that I'll always obey.
"Roger, Captain," I croak through bloody lips.
Let us go to work.
It's time for some old tricks.
Akira Horus hummed to himself as the Butcher Bird got to his feet. The smile on his face was a lot less real right now.
He'd been expecting a fight, from what Dad had told him, but the Butcher Bird didn't want to give him one. No tails, no wings, not even scary eyes. Was this just a guy dressed up as the Butcher Bird?
He leaned the Blackstaff against his shoulder, keeping an eye on the guy. The Butcher Bird cracked his neck.
"The Old Man would be giving me so much shit right now," the shorter man said, rolling his shoulders. "Getting my ass handed to me like this."
Really? He'd been holding up pretty well. Better than most people Horus had gone up against here - he'd been breaking out Armament for some of those strikes, and the Butcher Bird was still kicking. Horus really wished he'd been better at the defensive half of Armament, though - those knife wounds stung.
"Seriously. I've gotten sloppy."
Wait, Old Man?
"Hey, were you trained by some secretive wise old master?" Horus called out. "Was it for revenge?"
The Butcher Bird blinked. "Uh...yes?"
"Cool! So was I. We're backstory buddies!"
"Bwuh."
Horus's smile came back in full force. "Did you finish it yet? I mean, I dealt with my guys a couple years ago, they were a real pain in the ass but I won. What about you?"
The older man, after a long moment, shook his head. "Nah. Mine are up in the New World. Got a while to go until I'm strong enough to take them down."
"Aw, well, maybe I'll be able to help!"
The Butcher Bird stared at him. "You're not at all what I expected when I met your father," he said.
"Well, you ain't either. You don't seem that scary," Horus replied.
"Heh. I'm just getting started, brat." The Butcher Bird smiled. "Seems I've lost my edge. Been relying too much on what my species gives me rather than skill. Old Zoss would be tearing strips off me if he could see me now…ah, well. Let's fix that." He closed his eyes. The older man's breathing slowed and steadied, and he reached up to his neck, pulling the mask that hung there up to its proper place around his lower face.
When he opened his eyes again, they were red on black, and Horus's grin widened still further. Finally.
"So now we're gonna have an actual fight? Ooh, are you gonna break out the tails? Or whatever you used on your captain?"
"No."
"Aww, I wanted a good fight."
"You'll get one, Horus. But I have some pride. I said I was going to finish this without resorting to that, and so I will. Even if I lose."
Horus nodded. "I get it, I get it. Hold up."
The Blackstaff slammed into one of the walls of the fighting pit, embedding itself there easily. Horus grinned. "Now we're gonna be even. Let's go."
"Let's."
The Butcher Bird blurred forwards, almost faster than thought, and Horus launched himself right at him, laughing all the while.
A week ago, or even yesterday, Vinci would not have been able to follow this fight.
"It's a grudge match! I can't even see the blows, they're moving so fast!"
Well, he could, and it was...exhilarating. The benefits of continual biological upgrades.
Kaneki had recovered his center, and was unleashing hell on Horus, who was giving as good as he got. Kaneki's fighting style was a kludge - boxing techniques here, kicks from Muay Thai there, interspersed with Six Powers attacks and what Vinci was pretty sure was straight-up street brawling - but it was a workable kludge, and it was letting him hold his own. The difference was palpable.
Honestly, it might've been Vinci's own fault. He'd instructed Kaneki to fight without tails, trying to make a point when Kaneki demolished Horus...he hadn't expected Horus to use Armament, of all things! Troublesome…
And then there was the fact that Kaneki simply wasn't a knife-fighter. He was adequate at best, and against an opponent of such surprising strength that hadn't been enough to counter. But with bare fists…
Kaneki ducked under a straight punch, grabbed Horus's outstretched arm, and used it as a vault to swing himself into the air, spinning around and coming back down with a Tempest Kick. Horus dodged the air blade, answered with a knee to the chin as Kaneki hit the ground, and the fight continued, the two slugging it out without either budging an inch.
With bare fists, Kaneki had the advantage in experience and raw strength, and Horus, despite his Armament, was a brawler rather than an artist in bare-handed combat, unable to counter effectively without his staff. He really shouldn't have tossed it aside.
"Hey, shouldn't your friend be healing by now?" Smoker observed. "Is he still holding back?"
"Hardly," Vinci explained, steepling his fingers. "Kaneki can't turn off his healing factor. But it can be overcome. All you need to do is use Armament Haki."
"...the way you said that implies I should know what the hell that is."
"Short version, intensify your will to attack, or your will to not be harmed, so much it actually has physical effects in the real world."
Smoker glared at him. "You're messing with me."
"Hardly. Go ask your commander about Haki tomorrow. It also lets you negate Logia powers."
"Bullshit."
"Not really. It's working, isn't it?"
Horus slugged Kaneki in the gut, and Kaneki turned, robbing the blow of momentum and using it to send a high kick into his opponent's face.
"How are you even able to tell he's using it?"
Vinci sighed, and looked at Smoker, willing his eyes to turn gold as he tapped the skin underneath one. "My eyes are bullshit," he explained shortly. "They can make out just about anything. Still can't quite figure out how he's using it, but that's a project for further observation."
Down in the sands, the two fighters broke apart as each of them threw a punch at the same moment, the backlash as their fists collided sending each of them reeling. Each of them paused, panting.
And then Horus's torso exploded with blood, the young man falling to one knee.
"WHAAAAT?! The King is down on his knees...but the Butcher Bird hadn't even touched him! What is this?!"
Kaneki cracked his knuckles. Blood dripped from his hands, some of it staining the hem of his coat a dark red.
"Ah, shit," Horus rumbled, putting a hand to his chest, now criss-crossed with gashes...all of them in sets of four. "Shoulda known you were trying something when your punches slid rather than hitting. I thought you could only cut with your legs...but you used your knuckles, didn't you?"
Kaneki shrugged. "Damn straight, brat."
"Hell, what're your bones made of?"
"Seastone, actually."
"Sheshesheshe...you're a scary dude, alright. Didn't expect you to be so at home with martial arts," Horus admitted with a grin.
"Whether your body is human, superhuman, fishman, or ghoul, the art of turning men into ghosts with your hands and feet remains the same. That's what Arima Zoss taught me," Kaneki said calmly. "Are you going to keep fighting?"
"Eh, wait for it."
"Wait for-" Kaneki stopped, and began coughing, before falling to his knees, wrenching his mask down, and vomiting a surprising amount of blood onto the arena sands.
"Was wondering when that liver shot was gonna kick in," Horus admitted with a grin.
"Hrrk...that fucking hurt," Kaneki growled. "O-kay then," he continued, getting back to his feet, as Horus did the same. "You're a tougher customer than I gave you credit for."
The ghoul's breathing slowed, attaining a set rhythm. "I'm not really cut out for using this particular style," he admitted. "Never had the chance to learn it properly. But the breathing's still enough to improve my strikes. You want to finish this? Survive Ki Rata."
Horus bared his teeth. "ALRIGHT!" he shouted, crouching slightly. "Here I come, Butcher Bird! I might not have a martial art, but who gives a shit? I'm still a fighter, and I'm gonna hit you hard as I can!"
"The fighters are gearing up for one last attack!"
Vinci leaned on the rail, watching Kaneki as he breathed in and out. The ghoul's eyes were shut, but he was unmasked, and Vinci could see his lips move.
So it's that simple? he saw the ghoul mutter. Then let's try it. Together.
Horus launched himself forwards, fist cocked back to land a devastating blow. "Fist of the Southern Cross!"
Kaneki opened his eyes.
They weren't red on black, or blue on white. Instead, they seemed to blaze with fire, slit pupils standing out sharply.
"Concordance," he growled. "Agreement. Dragon Claw and Human Fist: Two Point Strike."
Even with Vinci's improvements, he didn't see the blow land. One moment Horus was almost on his first mate, grinning like a madman as Kaneki simply stood there, and the next….
THOOM.
Horus was embedded in the wall of the arena, and Kaneki stood with his body parallel to a smoking line burned into the ground, legs bent for balance and a single smoking fist held out sharply. The ghoul gave a long exhale, then grimaced - and as the smoke stopped coming from his fist, Vinci realized that all the flesh had been blasted off his knuckles, grey-black bone visible for a few seconds before his healing factor began to cover them in flesh again.
"I…" the announcer began. "I don't believe it! The King's been knocked down!" She ran to the crater in the wall. "Akira Horus? Horus? Can you continue?"
No response.
"Horus has been knocked out…" the announcer began, raising an arm. "The winner of this fight is-"
She stopped dead, as Horus's hand whipped out, grabbing her wrist. The man's eyes seemed to glow as he pulled himself out of the crater. He was covered in blood and lacerations, and he moved gingerly as only a man with monstrous internal injuries did, but he seemed more vibrant than ever.
"Oi, Butcher!" the man shouted, letting go of the announcer. "Let's get a drink after this, okay?"
"...sure, you crazy bastard," Kaneki said, smiling slightly.
"Cool! I'm gonna pass out now," Horus said, smiling widely, before falling flat on his back with a thud.
"Okay...he's actually unconscious now...so the winner is Yoshimura Kaneki, the Butcher Bird! Breaking the undefeated streak in his debut!"
"So that's the kind of power your first mate has," Smoker growled. "Surprising. He didn't show that against me."
Vinci grinned. "I think he enjoys messing with you more."
"Hrmph. What do you want, Alley Doc? Someone like you doesn't come here for the hell of it. And before you say it, we're not friends."
"Aw, and here I was being hopeful. Ah, well…" He paused. "It's simple. Horus isn't going to be fit for a fight for a while, isn't that right?"
"Yeah, so?"
"So, you need someone to sub in for keeping an eye on you when you go to Emory, don't you? Because Marine regulations on the security for the medical shipments mandates a certain rank, or someone strong enough, in sufficient numbers...and you're short, without him along."
"No. Hell no. You are not going to Emory, Alley Doc," Smoker snarled. "I don't know why you think I'd even consider letting you near that place. Or why you think the Rear Admiral would, either."
"Didn't mean me. Meant him," Vinci said, pointing towards where Kaneki was walking into the tunnel, Six, C, and the Oni melting out of the shadows to follow him. "Search him before and after if you want, whatever you feel is necessary, don't really care. I don't want a sample of whatever the hell is going on in Arlen, anyway. Plagues aren't my business."
Smoker ground his teeth. "Why, then?" he finally said. "What do you want? What do you gain?"
"What do I want? I want to help," Vinci said, staring into Smoker's eyes. "And if I can demonstrate that my crew is trustworthy, that I am trustworthy, I get that help. I'll never like the Marines, but right now the World Government alone has the resources for what I want to do."
"And that is?"
Vinci grinned. "What do you think? I want to cure death."
Smoker stared at him for several moments. "You're not lying," he said.
"Of course not. What could I possibly stand to gain?"
"Hmph." Smoker exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Fine. I'll let the Rear Admiral know that I'm not entirely opposed to your first mate and whoever he wants to drag along coming with, provided we take security precautions. That's all. I'm not going to try to convince him otherwise if he doesn't want pirates coming along."
"That's all I ask," Vinci said.
Besides, it wasn't like he hadn't already been to Emory. Being able to go wherever he liked, whenever he liked, without being spotted, had already paid a lot of dividends, including a case of samples awaiting analysis in the sealed labs of Ends Justified. But convincing his minders that he hadn't been there and was angling to get samples by proxy...well, that was just icing on the paranoia cake for those who wouldn't believe him having any benevolent intentions.
