It felt perverse, leaving his body there in the snow.
Tradition would dictate he let the magma break him down, let his body and soul join the other unfortunate souls that died here, but he chose not to. Buggy let his body be where it lay. The cold enveloped it, snow blanketing his stiff limbs, a final embrace of death.
Maybe in time, in a few months or years, he'd be discovered. He wouldn't be a lone survivor, but he'd be someone. People he knew and loved would have a body to bury.
Buggy trudged through the snow. His limbs felt heavy. Heavy and wrong. Keeping up that human form had been hard, but somehow, he preferred it to this. He preferred hanging around in O2 with Usopp, trading stories and facts and information about this and that.
There wasn't anything else to it.
His mission was complete, and that was it.
He walked off into the darkness.
Alone, and empty.