World Economy News Interview Transcript Excerpt
Blinded by Love: The Cupid Story
Interviewer: Morgans
Yonji: I'm on drums—
Niji: Hell no, you'd be bass.
Yonji: Fine, bass and drums. (He elbows his brother) Ichiji's lead guitar. Reiju's vocals.
Reiju: Keyboard.
Ichiji: Saxophone.
Yonji: Whatever. Sanji's on cowbell.
(Laughter)
Morgans: I must say, I think that's something your fans would love to see. Do let us know first if you ever release an album!
(Laughter)
Morgans: Well, Vinsmokes, it has been an honor to be invited into your home this evening for this Big News event. Before we go, I would like to ask one more question. This may be controversial, so do excuse me, but if I may. I'm sure our viewers would love to hear your answer.
Yonji: We've been around for eons. I think we can handle a little controversy.
(Laughter)
Ichiji: You may ask.
Morgans: I'm afraid I must bring up the recent tragedy that struck Jaya this past summer, the unfortunate loss of the young nineteen-year-old—
(A loud crack. Sanji's glass of iced tea has broken and spilled onto the coffee table.)
Morgans: Oh, dear! (Laughter) Well, live shows do have their surprises! (Directed off-camera) Can we please get something to cle—
Sanji: Leave it. (Looking visibly agitated) That is not something we will be discussing publicly.
Morgans: Ah, forgive me if I've overstepped. But there has been quite a buzz online that perhaps the 'accident' was anything but. Particularly after—
Sanji: We won't respond to topics revolving around mere hearsay and speculation.
Morgans: Very well. Then perhaps I may ask if the gods see reason to seek retribution against the object of her affection?
Sanji: If they did, they would not do so on live television!
Yonji: Aw, come on, I think that's a good reality show pitch, don't you think? 'Romance and Retribution!' It's perfect!
(Laughter)
Morgans: Yes, well, you heard it here first, folks. Ah, unfortunately, it seems we are out of time. This concludes our program tonight. Thank you for tuning into this World Economy News exclusive, Blinded by Love: The Cupid Story. Send in your questions and comments, and tune in tonight at eleven for our Big News aftershow where we'll further break down this most illuminating interview. Once again, Vinsmokes, we sincerely appreciate your time.
It's almost mocking, almost offensive, Zoro thinks, to see a god in a cemetery, feet treading over the countless generations of dead that he himself has watched live and die. So many of them had lives cut too short, with far more they should have done.
What does this immortal have to show for his overabundance of years? What did he do to deserve them? It's not fair.
Zoro's anger rips through him with force enough for himself and the girl who sleeps beneath him, his heart thundering a furious pace in his chest to offset the stillness of the surroundings.
Instinct takes over, adrenaline surging through the gladiator's bloodstream, enough that his limbs tingle and the latches are unusually clumsy under his fingers as he scrambles to open his sword case. The sturdy top finally flips open to reveal his trio of katana, their regal curves cradled in the black foam within.
The ivory-sheathed blade is in his grip in the next instant, perhaps the nearest it's been to its former owner in years, and he's on his feet, poised and ready to attack.
The blond god still stands before him, his stance casual, aggravatingly calm in the face of Zoro's hostility, simply raising a brow at the sword and shifting his weight.
"I guess I don't need to introduce myself," he says, patronizingly to Zoro's ears.
"Get out of here," Zoro orders, the muscles in his forearms corded and trembling. "You have no fucking right to be here!"
"I take it saying I don't want any trouble won't help matters."
"It sure as hell won't," Zoro snarls, taking a threatening step forward. "Get the hell out of here or I'll add your headstone right where you're standing!"
To his fury, the god actually rolls his eyes.
"Do you not know what 'immortal' means?"
"Shut up!"
And then the swordsman is moving before he's fully aware, swinging his blade at the god as if he even has a mortal soul to annihilate. He doesn't hold back, and when the blond dodges without a care, stepping aside as if he's simply letting someone pass, Zoro whirls his body around at full force to strike again.
He can't register it at that moment, but he's attacking more viciously than he ever has in the arena because there's no reason not to. There's nothing in the way, no armor, no space between them save for a few strides, and yet the god is doing nothing, just staring at him with a withered look, his hand in his pocket like he's posing for a photo even as Zoro rushes him.
The sharp edge of his blade is a mere inch from making contact when, suddenly, the blond's form blurs, moving faster than humanly possible, faster than even Zoro's gifted Sight can catch, until he feels a heavy force slam into his sword, preventing him from finishing his attack.
The god re-materializes before him, one leg raised to stop his blade with the red sole of a designer shoe. Probably soaked through with the blood of all the mortals he's ever stepped on, Zoro guesses.
The gladiator's muscles twinge with frustration, pushing with all his force, yet the blond doesn't budge, just continues to balance there easily, as immovable as stone. But at least stone can be cut…
"I'm not here to fight, asshole," the god says slowly, as if Zoro is merely a child having a tantrum, sounding exasperated as the swordsman continues his efforts, teeth bared, both hands tight on the hilt.
The god gives a sigh.
And then his body blurs away once more, this time leaving the space in front of Zoro completely empty, his own forward momentum sending him stumbling hard, just barely catching himself from wedging his blade clear into the ground.
He whips around, searching for the god, and there he is behind him now, several paces away, examining his nails nonchalantly.
Rage coils within the swordsman, and Zoro springs towards him again, perhaps foolishly…definitely foolishly…when the blond raises a hand.
"Ah, ah, no more claws," he scolds, and a pulse of energy shoots from his outstretched palm, flooding warmth into Zoro's lungs and the same infuriating calm he felt from the goddess in the arena that day. It stops him in his tracks, lowers his sword to the side before he can even stop himself.
He feels heavy, sluggish, like the air has become water and the effort of moving two steps takes fifty, struggling to run through a nightmare.
A smirk comes to the god's lips as his eyes lift to Zoro's, the lanterns casting a mischievous glint over strikingly blue irises.
"That's better. Now we can talk," he says, hooking thumbs in his belt loops.
It's only then that Zoro notices the distinct lack of famous pistols adorning the god's hips. He's unarmed, as far as Zoro can tell. Not that it matters because clearly the god can still control him. There may be something unnatural stopping Zoro's limbs, but his heart and mind feel ready to explode.
"I'm here because my mother requested you," says the blond, as if to rub in the fact that, yes, the day's events could become even more ludicrous. Now the Goddess of Love is seeking Zoro out specifically?
Zoro glares, daring the god to mock him further.
"Me?" he spits out, with all the malice he can muster in that one syllable.
The god scoffs. "No, that stick on the ground. Yes, you," he deadpans, and huffs out a breath. Does he even need to breathe? Why the hell does he feel the need to keep doing that?
His eyes flick to the golden half of Zoro's face, and for a moment, the downward twitch of his brow actually looks troubled before he blinks the look away. Zoro isn't sure anything can truly trouble the gods, so he must have imagined it.
"I'll escort you," the blond says, lips curving back into an expression of mild amusement. "We can even fly if you want."
"Hell no," Zoro replies immediately, glad his words can still defy even if his sword hangs looser and more useless with every beat of the god's power. "You think I'm an idiot? Like I'd just go along with you, no questions asked. Get the fuck lost."
The god's expression in response is thoroughly unimpressed, his finger tapping away cigarette ash absently, ash which dissipates into thin air as if it never existed to begin with.
"Rich coming from you," he says, lifting the stick to his lips for a long drag, the burning glow illuminating his softly pointed nose from beneath. He looks all the more witch-like for it, Zoro thinks as he struggles to decipher the god's goading response.
The blond waggles eyebrows the moment realization dawns on the swordsman's face.
"Oi, how do you know I—?"
"Ah, so you admit it," the blond laughs. "The gods see all, moron. Though I admit I didn't realize how damn unreasonable mortals were, terrible sense of direction aside."
"More of them should be when it comes to you freaks," Zoro grumbles.
Recovering from the god's irritating knowledge of his certainly infrequent navigational challenges, the quip falls too quickly off Zoro's tongue. If he at all feared the immortals, perhaps he'd be more worried about how easily the insults come…and how retaliation could just as easily seek his very exposed, very vulnerable heart in the form of a supernatural bullet.
But, as it stands, he doesn't find himself intimidated in the slightest when the god's only response is to roll his eyes dramatically, not unlike a petulant child himself. If the god thinks Zoro immature, then he really ought to think about his own self-image in turn. For a centuries-old being, he could stand to be a lot more commanding.
"Listen to me," the blond insists eventually, though it's too late. The swordsman has already decided he will not be doing anything he requests. "We came home from the arena and my mother—"
Zoro's interruption comes fast, before the god can even finish his explanation. "Why should I care?"
"She needs—"
"I don't care!" It's a duel now, a parry of words.
"Quit interrupting me!"
A duel Zoro is clearly winning, to his satisfaction.
"She's the Goddess of Love," the blond asserts. "And when the Goddess of Love requests an audience with someone, then I think you should—!"
"Wow, the Goddess of Love, I'm so fucking scared. What's she gonna do? Hug me to death?"
A smug sense of achievement comes over the swordsman at the offended drop of the god's jaw.
Blasphemy is kind of fun, admittedly. Clearly, the stupid immortal isn't used to opposition, is he, and Zoro has to admit that the brewing fire behind his eyes is exciting, particularly when he feels the god's power waver in his anger.
It's enough that Zoro's able to feel a surge of it return to himself. He no longer feels so numb, his muscles waking steadily. A flex of his fingers and he's even able to tighten his grip on his sword. If he distracts him enough, maybe he can actually get another swing in yet.
"Do you really wanna make me go there?" the god finally growls, having found his words again. "I don't wanna go there, but I'll go there if you make me, you ornery bastard!"
Zoro doesn't know where 'there' is, but he sure as hell has his own idea of where he wants the asshole to go.
"I want you to go the fuck awa—!"
His words are swept away quickly by a strong gust of air shooting from the god's form, no longer a soothing warmth but instead a frigid blast that threatens winter upon the summer island as it shakes the palm trees above and snuffs out the burning incense on the surrounding graves.
Suddenly, the god is lifting off the ground before him as his wings explode from his back, smooth white feathers, as long as his forearm, spreading wide into Zoro's periphery. The god is glowing again, gold to match his hair, bringing midday upon the dark cemetery, but his features are still prominent amidst the light, filled with otherworldly fury to no doubt rival the God of War's himself.
"ZORO RORONOA," his voice booms into the atmosphere, an echo that seems to reverberate throughout the entire city, rolling thunder. "THE GODDESS OF LOVE DEMANDS YOUR PRESENCE ON MOUNT SKYPIEA! REFUSE AND SUFFER A FATE MOST UNDESIRABLE AT THE ALMIGHTY HANDS OF THE GODS!"
Zoro can do nothing but stare for a long moment as the powerful words stab into his flesh like icy water, seeking to stir terror and submission. He should be driven to his knees, forced to grovel and beg forgiveness before this holiest of beings that has the power to tear the life from him at a moment's notice.
A great, heavy silence fills the air.
And Zoro can't help it. He snickers.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," the god huffs, and it's more of a sight to witness a glowing deity groan in exasperation. He lifts a hand.
A blast of energy shoots through Zoro's chest, this time with strength enough to send him flying backwards until he slams roughly into the ground several graves down from Kuina's, the rattling force sucking the breath from him and graying his vision.
The last thing he sees before the world goes black is ocean blue piercing through unearthly gold…and perhaps an amused smirk.
The first thing he feels before the world comes back is air ghosting past his skin, tousling his hair with a continuous wind. He's draped forward over something solid, something soft and silky… Feathers? It's oddly comfortable.
He's sitting, sort of. Something's gripping beneath his thighs, and his head is slumped onto fabric, warm with body heat. There's a fresh scent in the air—the sea, perhaps, laced with faint cigarette smoke, and a hint of something uniquely sweet.
He cracks open his eye (shit, both of his eyes open, even his gold one…that's weird) to see blond hair waving gently…a strong chin dusted with stubble…a soft glow that's—
"OI, WHAT THE FUCK—!"
The reaction is immediate once he realizes just whose back he's currently cuddled up to, settled between a pair of giant wings that flap lazily through the night sky above a slew of twinkling city lights that are way too far below.
"Damn, you're awake already?" mutters a voice in return. "I was hoping to at least make it home with my eardrums intact. You're damn heavy, by the way. Might wanna lay off the protein shakes."
"PUT ME DOWN!" Zoro shrieks, thrashing and shoving at the god's shoulder as if he's not hundreds of feet up in the air, eye level with the tallest buildings in the city. "WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU TAKING ME?!"
The god glances back over his shoulder casually. "I told you. My mother wants to see you. And I'm not making one of the most important goddesses in existence meet you in a creepy graveyard. You're—"
"PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN!" Zoro shouts again, landing a particularly hard punch to the god's spine.
Abruptly, the god stops mid-air, hissing a stream of obscenities under his breath, wings angling downward to keep him hovering in place. Far, far beneath them crawls a stream of traffic headlights downtown, car horns sounding tinny and faint, like toys in the distance.
"You asked for it," the god says seriously.
"HEY, WHAT ARE YOU—"
And then an unbecoming screech rips from Zoro the instant he finds himself slipping, the god's grip on his thighs dropping him mercilessly.
He plummets.
Limbs flail helplessly, stomach in his chest and heart in his throat as the lights of windows flash past him in streaks, a flurry of lives passing before his eyes faster than his own can.
He doesn't want to die like this. Not embedded in the sidewalk like a star in Gyoverly Hills. Not splattered onto a taxi sporting ads for Toki Watches or some shit, his own time so grotesquely ended. Fuck. He'd never forgive himself.
And yet, it seems inevitable as the busy street below quickly rushes up to him in what will surely be a grisly meeting—
He's got roughly fifty feet of life left when a pair of sturdy arms catches him, sinking another several feet with his momentum until he's hovering safely once more…nestled snugly against the god's chest, bridal-style.
Unfortunately, the gladiator is too busy staving off a panic-induced heart attack to properly protest.
"Let's play a game, mosshead," says the blond calmly, with a jibe at Zoro's hair color, wings beating a slow, lazy rhythm around them. "How about we see just how embarrassing we can make this journey for you."
He shoots into the air then, twirling them grandly as the buildings once again shrink beneath them, soaring forward in swooping dives and whirls when they reach open air once more.
"It's romantic, isn't it," the blond sighs happily as they coast beneath the constellations above. "Seeing the city from these heights. Look, they even lit up Giant Jack for my family's return."
He jerks his chin towards the towering skyscraper uptown, the verdigris of its exterior now awash with pink light—
Zoro finds his words again, finally, the only method he has of fighting back without instigating another deadly freefall. He can learn consequences, however slowly, and certainly not quietly.
"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK," he snaps. "TAKE ME BACK, DAMMIT!"
The god wrinkles his nose in distaste, craning his neck away from his loud passenger, though his grip remains firm.
"I'm not cloaking your voice, y'know. The whole city can hear you screeching."
The subsequent screech brewing in his chest morphs into a frustrated growl, the swordsman's brain practically steaming now as he furiously conjures up every way he can possibly do harm to the immortal , most, or rather, all, of his methods involve swords. He never claimed to be creative on the disemboweling front.
To his credit, Zoro does lower his voice.
"I swear, the second we're on the ground, m'gonna slice your ass so hard it—" A sudden realization hits him, several threats too late. "Oi, WAIT A SECOND! You left my swords!"
The god merely laughs, and the look he shoots at his grumpy cargo is entirely amused, his smile almost disbelieving as he draws in his brow and shakes his head.
"Right, let the crazed swordsman keep his blades as he threatens an innocent god."
"Urghhhh!"
"And now we're in caveman mode. Alright, alright," the blond concedes. "Should've brought a car seat for the inarticulate baby, silly me. Try not to puke on my shirt while I speed this up. It cost more than your entire net worth."
Zoro's subsequent squawk of alarm is lost in the void as the world suddenly smears around them at warp speed, the twinkling lights below them morphing into a continuous stream, G-forces plastering him to the god's chest with nauseating strength.
It's over in a second, and suddenly, the two of them are in front of a house, a huge one, beneath underlit palm trees and a boxy, modern overhang. Down the rolling hill that descends from the house—no, mansion is what it is—Zoro can see the lights of the city in the distance, the back of the house extending towards what he thinks is the ocean, the sound of crashing waves audible.
It takes him a second more, studying with bewilderment the perfect landscaping circling the roundabout driveway, tropical bushes peppered with hibiscus flowers. There's the sheen of a swanky-looking car parked near the multi-car garage.
He realizes he's seen this house a thousand times, from far below, irritatingly opulent even from a distance.
The trip took no time, and yet, when the god finally sets him down onto his own two feet, Zoro's stomach does a queasy flip, the ground tipping dangerously, enough that the swordsman nearly has to brace himself against the front door.
Annoyingly by comparison, the god has ditched the wings, instead standing casually in his human form, fingers playing with the cigarette he's somehow manifested back into his hand. Zoro swallows away the sick feeling rising up his esophagus.
Thankfully, his pride gives him the strength to clear his throat and quip, "I said you left my swords, you fu—"
He barely gets the words out before the god waves a hand, the sword case suddenly materializing, to Zoro's shock, on the ground right in front of him.
"You're welcome," the blond says as Zoro quickly bends to check that all three are accounted for. They are—unharmed, thank fuck—and he once again pulls out the white-hilted blade for good measure.
"Good luck wielding them after our wonderful flight though. Your face is as green as your dumb hair," the blond continues, and Zoro hates how much pleasure he's clearly reaping from this whole evening. The idiot must not get out much if aggravating mortals is this fun for him.
"Now, come on. Follow me. I'll let you use your legs this time."
With that, the god takes a final drag of his cigarette before letting it go, the stick instantly dissolving into the air. His form grows slightly foggy as he steps forward, walking through the closed front door, as if Zoro has any hope of following him. Now he's just showing off.
The swordsman glowers at the white wood, his every movement clunky with irritation as he slings his case over his shoulder and hooks his drawn sword to his belt. He can either take the opportunity to run and get the hell out of there. Or he can ring the doorbell obnoxiously loud and long until the asshole lets him in. For some reason, that second option is looking mighty tempting.
But the door swings open then, the normal way, thankfully breaking the swordsman's awkward moment of indecision, to reveal the blond leaning casually on the doorframe, a knowing smirk on his face.
"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want an autograph? A selfie? Too bad," he teases.
And before Zoro can react, the god clamps a hand onto his wrist and yanks him over the threshold.
He lets him go once they're inside, giving Zoro the chance to draw his sword completely, gripping it tightly in both hands as he swivels about, as ready for battle as he's ever been in the arena.
Nothing leaps out at him though, and if he hadn't been dragged there by a freaking immortal demon, the house wouldn't seem threatening at all, even if it is, very obviously, inhabited by rich people, though there's no one else in sight.
The first floor is open, each spacious room seeming to blend into the next, some separated by resplendent curtains that plunge from the high ceilings, offsetting huge marble columns. He can see nearly every nook and cranny where an attacker might be hiding, and it's empty.
An array of chaise lounges congregate around a giant flat-screen TV that takes up an entire wall to his left. The place is low-lit and practically coated in ivory, almost a parody of how the public would expect the gods to live.
Zoro feels a chill of discomfort run down his spine. The house feels more like a museum or a temple than a home, and he prides himself on frequenting neither, so the atmosphere is instantly irritating in its pretentiousness.
The blond heads down the main hallway, his shoes echoing on the hard floor, past a staircase of clear glass panels that seem to float to the upper level on their own.
Reluctantly, Zoro trudges after him.
To make matters worse, the hallway walls are adorned with massive black-and-white photos of the house's residents that must have graced the covers of magazines at some point.
Their mother stares, ethereal, into the camera, adorned with a solid gold wreath of connected leaves, the only pop of color in the image. Her children follow, in various seductive poses, the blond himself in the middle with a similar ringlet twirling through his hair, bare shoulders hunched forward in an intentional pose, the close-up shot catching the moment an exhale of smoke spills out between his lips. His direct gaze sears the camera lens.
Zoro's eyes flick to the blond in real life walking ahead of him, the god's hands in his pockets, still awfully relaxed considering the swordsman follows with a blade to his back. As if Zoro poses no threat at all.
They pass his sister's sultry portrait next, an empty space beside it indicating a distinct lack of their father's.
The blond glances back at Zoro for a short second, the swordsman noticing his lips tilt up ever so slightly when they make eye contact before he turns away again. Something about that look sets Zoro even more on edge…
They've entered another living room, though this one is far more impressive, glass windows towering from floor to ceiling, affording a view of the outdoors. The house is on a cliff, he realizes, a well-lit infinity pool pushing against the ocean far below, part of the pool even extending into the house. The water bisects the room like a runway, glistening as turquoise as the sea.
The space is stunning, or it should be, but Zoro finds himself too busy wondering how many pieces he'd need to chop the god into before he'd be unable to regenerate himself.
A series of stepping stones cross the water, and the blond has walked onto them as if this was his destination all along, even though Zoro still hasn't seen any other signs of life, not here, not in the adjoining kitchen, nowhere.
"Oi, is this some kind of joke?" he hisses, the blond swiveling back to raise a brow his way, not moving from his spot over the water.
"My mom's upstairs," says the god, like that explains anything.
"Stairs are that way, dumbass," Zoro retorts, jerking his head back towards the hallway.
"I know," the god says seriously. "We're taking the Knock-Up Stream."
Zoro blinks, narrowing eyes in mute confusion. "The what…?"
"Get your mind out of the gutter—"
"My mind is not in the—"
"Right, the hair," the blond cuts in, pointing Zoro's way in mock realization. "Swamp, not gutter, excuse me. And don't give Yonji any encouragement either. He's been wanting to use 'Knock-Up Stream' for a podcast title. It will undo all my efforts to spare you mortals from his 'love' advice."
Zoro glares harder to hide how damn stupid the arrogant asshole is making him feel. He has no earthly idea what the god is talking about, and maybe, considering the freak flew him here, he should learn to suspend his disbelief just a little. But that's hard to do when the bastard stands there with an ever-growing smirk as if Zoro's bewilderment is the most entertaining thing he's seen.
"What, are you chicken?" the blond goads. "Let's go."
Zoro's brow is tight and his eyes are mere furious slits, but he finally manages to take a step onto the first rock, fully working up to the outburst he's so eager to have if absolutely nothing happens.
But the second he's got both feet firmly planted, the god reaches out to hold his wrist. And just like that, the water around them surges upward, a roaring column that swallows their surroundings entirely. It's all Zoro can do to keep his sword in hand when the current rockets him off the ground. His last semblance of logic expects him to slam into the ceiling, but there's nothing, nothing but thundering pressure and spikes of cold stinging his skin.
How is there this much water? There shouldn't be this much water, and yet, he's a leaf in the rapids, no control, no certainty over what is up or down.
His eyes have closed tightly and he's desperately holding the last breath he took, cursing the god out in his head. Surely this is only adding to his enjoyment, catching Zoro off-guard yet again, but he knows nothing good can likely come of shaking off the tight grip on his wrist.
The colors beyond his eyelids seem to shift through the spectrum until finally they settle upon a warm normalcy once more. The cold rush of water around him suddenly falls away, leaving him sopping wet, his weight falling onto a solid surface as proper gravity takes hold.
Tentatively, he cracks his eyes open, and though his vision is blurred, he's definitely on dry land, so he lets out the breath he's been holding and glares hard at the first object that becomes visible, the blond god whose grip is still attached to his wrist.
"Keep looking at me like that and I'll leave you drenched," the god says, and it's then that Zoro realizes the blond is infuriatingly dry, clothes and hair in perfect order.
They're standing in exactly the same spot, above the pool in the same living room, except—
Zoro's senses sharpen as he realizes it's not the same place. They haven't left the house, but the furniture is different, the colors are different. In place of marble arches and ugly modern decor that hardly looked functional, let alone comfortable, there are now wooden accents and patterned rugs, nautical artwork on the walls, soft navy couches with enticingly plump cushions.
The kitchen looks organized, but lived in, well-used pots and pans hanging over the island, an impressive knife collection mounted above the counter. The place still screams 'rich and privileged,' but all of the show, all of the godliness is gone, to Zoro's surprise. It could be any other beach house in Jaya.
And yet, one glimpse out the window tells him this is most certainly not Jaya.
The sky is alive. The stars in the night sky are far more numerous than he's ever seen, thousands speckling amongst the psychedelic plumes and swirls of unimaginably massive nebulas, the kind that, as far as he knew, are only visible via telescope or science book. Against the sky (or is it simply space?), he can see the silhouettes of distant mountains circling the sparkling bay, mountains which he knows are not there normally. Among their dark shapes shine lights here and there, arrays of grand buildings he never knew existed.
This isn't Jaya. This is—
"Welcome to Skypiea," the blond says casually, smirking when Zoro's gaze shoots back to him in alarm. A second later though, the god's nose crinkles in mild disgust. "Ugh, you smell like wet algae. Fine."
He lets go of Zoro's wrist at last, and with an almost dismissive flick of his hand, Zoro is completely dry.
"Marginally better," the blond mutters, then pushes past Zoro to step back out of the pool. "Now come on. Let's not keep my mom waiting."
He leads Zoro back through the house, the rest of which no longer looks like an untouchable art gallery, to the stairs, which are wood now and sturdy-looking.
The banister creaks and Zoro can't help but notice that the pictures lining the walls are equally imperfect. Oil paintings in gilded frames that look hundreds of years old depict the deities smiling, lounging on riverbanks and soaring through clouds amongst the rich colors and cracks of the canvases. Paintings slowly morph to photographs as they ascend, black and white daguerreotypes to modern high-quality prints, and it's an odd sight to witness the same family of gods, unchanging throughout time, even as the technology catches up.
The photos are far more candid, less posed, full of laughter, happiness, and Zoro hasn't realized he's stopped a few steps from the top, eyes on a shot of the blond before the sea, the wind in his hair and a content glint in his eyes that matches the brilliant cerulean spreading in front of him.
The loud sound of a throat clearing, and the same blond is halfway down the hall, watching him curiously, so Zoro slaps a scowl back on his face and lifts his sword higher, ready for a confrontation as the blond finally stops at a door at the end of the corridor.
Slowly, Zoro approaches. The door is unassuming, but his anticipation heightens, the swordsman automatically expecting some massive audience hall, the goddess herself towering above on an enormous throne, the overwhelming scale and strength he'd witnessed in the arena filling the room.
The blond opens the door.
"Well, well, well. You actually managed," he hears a teasing male voice say a moment after the god enters the room, warm light spilling out into the hallway.
He's left with no choice but to follow cautiously….into a bedroom, huge and grand, but a normal bedroom nonetheless, though windows offer the fantastical outside view on full display. A lavish four-poster bed framed by gossamer curtains is centered in the room, facing a large wall, a ceiling-mounted projector beaming the menu screen for a very familiar streaming service onto the surface.
What the fuck…?
Stupidly, he wonders if the gods even have to pay for that…
It's the green-haired Cupid who's spoken, Zoro recognizing that stupid slicked-back spike of a hairstyle, though he's sans wings now, dressed in a distressed band T-shirt and jeans, an impish grin on his face as he eyes his brother and their guest from his spot lounging on the bed.
And across the room, in a plush white leather chair, softly lit under the glow of a nearby lamp, sits the Goddess of Love herself, also in her human form, a knit blanket drawn over her shoulders, legs crossed demurely beneath her.
She hardly looks old enough to be the mother of the two, but he knows the gods no doubt use their creepy magic to appear much, much, much younger than they actually are. And he doesn't like that the gentle look she fixes him with manages to look uncomfortably motherly, despite her youthfulness.
He thinks he catches a flash of lingering worry on her blond son's face when he answers his brother, though it disappears as quickly as he flicks his gaze from his mother.
"That's right, and he was so cooperative," the blond replies, smiling sweetly in Zoro's direction before asking, "Where are the others?"
"Out on the town, where else? Thought I'd stay to get a load of this all-important mortal, but now that I got a look at him, think I'm missing out," his brother says, pushing off the mattress to sit up, a scrutinizing stare fixed on Zoro.
His form blinks out of existence then, and suddenly, he is standing in front of Zoro, faster than the swordsman can lift his blade in defense.
"You're the first mortal to come up here in a while, y'know," he says, circling Zoro before reaching out to give a bold poke to the gold side of his face, his fingernail flicking the hard surface of Zoro's brow absently.
"That's a neat trick," the god notes when Zoro flinches back and levels him with a powerful glare. The god's hand twitches towards his hip where a familiar set of pistols is holstered. "Wonder what else these can do—"
"Yonji."
His mother's voice cuts in, soft, but assertive enough to garner both her sons' attention.
"Sweetheart, do you mind if I speak with our guest in private?"
Yonji stares at her for a moment, a moment in which Zoro assumes he's going to snark something defiant in return. But, as in the arena, he eventually huffs a breath and, despite one last sly flick of eyes to the swordsman, shoves hands in his pockets to shuffle obediently towards the door.
Zoro notices the blond shoot a look between him and his mother, almost wary. Perhaps he's worried about his mother's safety, and good, he should be, Zoro thinks as his fingers brush the hilt of his sword once more.
But despite the hesitance, the blond looks ready to cave too.
"I'll bring some refreshments. Anything to drink, Mom?" he asks.
"Just some tea, I think. Thank you, love," she responds, her lips curving up fondly at her son.
He nods, then strides to her side to peck a kiss to her cheek before turning to nudge his brother out the door.
"How is she? Is she getting worse?" Zoro hears the blond murmur as they leave.
Yonji sighs. "You worry too damn much, stupid. She was sleepin' for a while, but I got her talkin' again. Still not—"
He claps a hand on his blond brother's shoulder, causing the two to blink out of existence, the room falling completely quiet with their exit. The door shuts on its own with what he sees is a gesture of the goddess' hand.
Zoro's alone with Sora, the Goddess of Love, still huddled, seemingly defenseless, on her chair.
Destroy her, his subconscious whispers temptingly in his ear.
"Hello, Zoro."
Her blue eyes watch him quietly, her voice as gentle as could be, and he hates that her maternal presence sends a pang through his chest, a pang of longing for something he never quite had.
It's no doubt another of her tricks, one of her supernatural tactics to get mortals to comply. She may be the Goddess of Love, but there's no way she can hold such love and care for every single human in the world. It's just not possible. Most humans don't deserve it, himself included.
"I appreciate you coming to see me on such short notice," she continues, as if he'd eagerly accepted her invitation all along.
"I didn't have any choice," he mutters, hoping to convey his annoyance.
If he manages, the goddess doesn't show any sign of discomfort in response. Her delicate hands remain primly in her lap, her head tilting ever so slightly in a way most would probably find endearing.
Zoro's annoyance deepens.
"I apologize if Sanji was a little forceful with you," she says, serenely noting the understatement of the century.
Oh. So that's the blond asshole's name.
"You may make yourself comfortable, if you wish." Her gaze travels to the sword in his grip. "You won't be harmed here."
Zoro takes note of her specification of 'here' and here only, a bristle of aggression rustling through him once more.
He sneers, shoulders tensing. No fuckin' thanks. He'll stay uncomfortable.
"If you think that you can—"
But then, that feeling of tranquility that he's becoming far too familiar with assaults his chest again, the hand holding his sword already lowering passively to his side despite his attempts to fight it.
She's better at it than her son. Instead of a tangible wave of power, he feels it in his mind, as if he's telling himself to relax, uninfluenced by an outside force. But he knows it's her, the subtle glow of her eyes the only indication. They've settled back to their normal azure hue quickly enough that anyone less observant would think they imagined it.
"Urgh, quit—doing that!" he hisses.
Her features sadden for a moment, her gaze seeming to brew with unsaid words and history. It could be pity for all he knows.
"I know you're distrusting of us, Zoro…" she murmurs, as an adult would break bad news to a child. "I'm so sorry for the pain we've caused you."
Her words give away nothing, but their weight sinks into him like a knife.
Of course she knows. Of course she knows about Kuina, about the rage, grief, and guilt her family has saddled him with. She hasn't said who shot him, who it was that sparked all of his misfortune, no doubt protecting whichever of her horrible kids was the culprit.
He'll find out though. He's determined. He has to.
"I'm not the one who deserved an apology," he replies gravely, his voice holding all the edge he can't display with his placated body.
She sighs, but nods. "It was never our intention to cause harm."
"Well, then you need to control your damn family better!" he snaps, infuriated by her downplayed reaction. The gods hold humans accountable for every damn wrongdoing they commit. Someone has to do the same for the gods!
"You saw what they were doing in the arena today! All they ever do these days is ruin lives! You all may be fucking immortal, but that doesn't mean you get to play with us just because our lives will end in a few decades!"
It's rather surreal to be hurling this at the goddess herself, in person. To finally have a visible target for all the anger he's ever thrown into the empty void over the years.
He wishes she didn't look so damn complacent. Fight back; do something, he wants to urge.
"My children have admittedly been struggling recently, yes," is all she says. "But I'm afraid something has happened to destroy their discipline."
It's an excuse, nothing more. What every parent would say to protect their child, yet again, diverting the blame. But her children are not children. They've been around for centuries, ageless, ancient. He won't accept any excuses.
But Sora continues, her voice seeming to wander to times and places he's never been.
"You see," she states. "When two souls unite in love, whether they be mortal or immortal, a balance must be struck between the individuals. A balance between personalities, values, the essence of their identities."
"Just get on with it," he grumbles, losing patience. "Why am I here?"
She smiles, unperturbed.
"The explanation does have a purpose, Zoro. You must be fully informed in order to consider what I ask of you."
"Ask of me?" he snaps. "Haven't you done enou—?"
"Mom, is this oaf disrespecting you?"
The bedroom door opens to reveal the blond, Sanji, once more, alone this time, carrying a tray piled high with a teapot and other sweets.
The god could have snapped that into existence, surely, but the bit of powdered sugar Zoro notices stuck to his shirt collar makes the swordsman wonder if he hasn't prepared them the traditional way, to his mild surprise.
"Not at all, darling. He's as straightforward as expected," Sora says lightly as Sanji kicks the door shut with a foot and crosses the room to set the tray on the table beside her, pouring her a cup of tea that reflects the light of the room, as viscous and golden as honey.
Sanji snorts, handing her the dainty teacup. "That's one way to put it…" he mutters, sparing Zoro a glance over his shoulder, his lips turning up.
He turns back to his mother though, touching her hand lightly after she's taken a sip of her drink. "You should eat something…" he says, his concern from earlier rearing its head once more.
Sora nods and reaches out to take a small scone off the tray with a pointed look at her son, the two sharing soft smiles.
Just when Zoro's beginning to feel nauseous from the sickly sweet display of affection, Sanji marches up to him, holding out a tall glass bottle of what looks suspiciously like beer. The label is one he's never seen before in his life, the sticker reading 'Ambrosia Brewery,' complete with an illustrated logo of what look like two armored giants clunking together massive pints of ale.
"Here," Sanji says, then, more forcefully, "Here," when Zoro doesn't immediately take the drink. He eventually forces it into Zoro's hand. "I diluted it enough that you won't gain immortality. Sorry not sorry, but you gotta earn that."
"Why the hell would I want immortality?" Zoro retorts, wishing the bottle didn't feel so tempting in his hand, its surface perfectly chilled, just begging for him to take a swig. This could be another ridiculous test, for all he knows. He'll resist for as long as he can, though this trial is, sadly, the most difficult one yet.
He forces eyes to stay fixed on Sanji's face.
It's odd though, because he catches a flare of something there, something pained that tugs down the blond's visible eyebrow, as if Zoro's words have actually struck a nerve. This asshole must have learned his stupid sympathy-pulling tactics from his mother.
But the blond manages to steel himself, smoothing his expression back into a mask of nonchalance as before.
"Stop asking questions," he shoots back at Zoro, then looks over at Sora, hesitating a moment before asking, "Have you—?"
"Not yet, dear," his mother interrupts, clearly anticipating whatever his question was. "I was explaining the principle of balance."
At that, Sanji lets out a melodious sigh, seemingly enchanted by the very idea.
And Zoro is starting to think this idiot really does believe in the romance he's inflicting upon the world when he all but croons, "Ah, yes. Golden scales formed and maintained by the Three Fates to represent each relationship in the world. Soulmates maintain almost perfect equilibrium, and let me just say, my targets have an incredibly high track record of—"
Zoro scoffs loudly. "Che. Too bad you couldn't have helped your parents with theirs."
Just like that, the blond's face contorts with fury, the dichotomy between his emotions almost startling, had Zoro not been fishing for this reaction. He lunges for Zoro, a hand outstretched to fist in his shirt.
"Mom, close your eyes. I'm gonna kill hi—"
But suddenly, Sora groans, a small, weak sound, and the scone she'd been holding falls from shaking fingers, its crumbly bits scattering onto the rug as she drops her head into her hands inexplicably.
Sanji gasps, instantly shoving off Zoro to rush to her side, kneeling beside her to grasp her shoulders worriedly.
"Mom…" he murmurs, his thumbs working soothing circles into the fabric of the blanket still cloaking her. "Mom, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mom, talk to me."
She doesn't respond, her form hunched over, sleeves loosely hanging from her thin, almost sickly-looking wrists. She looks far too skeletal in that moment. Something is off, and Zoro doesn't understand. Is something affecting her power? How…?
Sanji looks panicked, his words soft and caring as he coaxes her gently to sit straight, the goddess finally leaning back against the chair with a tired sigh. Her eyes remain closed, the shadows cast by the lamp beside her sinking beneath her cheekbones, carving dark lines beneath her eyes.
She manages to open them though, and despite Sanji's continued fussing, she rolls her head to focus on the swordsman instead.
"You're not wrong, Zoro…" she breathes. "Our scale was tampered with, the balance offset between Love and War. It's been slowly eating at our family for the last few years, finally culminating in my divorce with Judge. The imbalance has stirred turmoil within my children's minds. It seems you're one of the few to properly notice the chaos unfolding in the mortal world."
He finds he doesn't care that she still looks weakened, her thin hands pushing meagerly against the arm rests to situate herself better. Sanji is trying to get her to drink something, but Zoro takes advantage of Sora's collapse to properly unleash the outburst she'd been suppressing with her power. The trickle of its return soon becomes a torrent.
"So fix yourselves!" he cries. "You're gods! Get your shit together. People are getting hurt because of you!"
"Stop! You're going too far!" Sanji warns, the god shifting to his feet in a millisecond, looking torn between staying by his mother's side and attacking Zoro all over again.
Sora holds up her hand, the motion subtle, but the warmth that washes over them is enough to cut Sanji off entirely, the god swaying where he stands. Both his sword and the bottle still in Zoro's hand nearly slip from his grasp.
Dammit, she hadn't even let them have a moment of freedom to properly feel anything true before trapping them again. He doesn't notice his mind automatically lumping the blond in with his plight.
Sanji seems to be irritated with this fact too though, his stance relaxing, but with an irritable exhale, the blond shooting a look of frustration at his mother. The idiot seems like a total suck-up, so Zoro has to imagine such a look is rare.
Sora settles back in her seat, looking satisfied with the control she's won back.
"When balance is shifted and power is abused, not even the gods can right these wrongs quite so easily," she continues, her voice quiet. Her blue eyes have fixed, somewhat unfocused, on a spot on the floor some distance away.
"We too must surrender to the Fates, in hopes that they might restore our stability. However, our own will is not enough. Nor is our power infinite. We too weaken when we lose control. And for the Fates to forgive us, faith must be bestowed to strengthen us. The faith of those we struggled to help."
Zoro blinks, his mind grappling for understanding.
"A mortal must plead our case with the Fates," she explains. "But in modern times, mortals have lost sight of who the gods truly are. They see us as celebrities, influencers of their own kind and nothing more."
Sora's gaze lifts abruptly to pierce Zoro's then, and this time, it sends a chill through his spine, his first instinct, inexplicably, to hold his breath.
"You are the first in perhaps three-hundred years to be gifted with the Sight, Zoro, and your gift was accidental at that. It's been centuries since the last heroes appealed to the Fates on our behalf."
Zoro stares back, stunned, mind whirling around the implications.
"I'm not a fucking hero," he stammers. "None of this makes any sense. Why now? Why did you wait to do anything? You've just sat back all this time, posing for your photoshoots, growing more shitty wealth for yourselves, destroying futures, and only now you decide to fix this?"
An immediate growl from Sanji.
"You crossed the line ten sentences ago, you shitty—"
But Sora's voice interrupts, her eyes still on Zoro, though they seem to stare through him now, an eerie fog clouding her irises.
"I thought it was possible. I thought my children could change on their own…" she says, voice breathy, barely audible now. Is she even speaking to them anymore? "I hoped…my love alone could keep them on the right path. But their lack of control has only spiraled. I wish I didn't have to ask this of you, but we have depleted all our options."
Her skin is so pale, almost translucent in places, so frail Zoro wonders if his voice alone could shatter her. It's a silly thought; she's a goddess…
But still, his tone has lowered when he finally speaks again, carefully, forcing back the frustrated trembles that shake his fists.
"And these Fates?" he mutters. "Where am I supposed to find them?" He's not conceding, not agreeing to help; likely nothing can make him. He just wants to know.
Sanji fidgets anxiously, his fingers attempting to look busy fiddling with his shirt collar, but Sora is resolute.
"I think you know, Zoro," she states unwaveringly, and he feels the weight of her stare pinning him in place, taking him in, swords and all. Her response sucks the breath from his lungs.
"They hail from the Underworld."
He's silent in response, his mind twisting around the implications of her statement, his body already feeling cold with the anticipation of what's about to hit him.
The Underworld. The afterlife. The place where dead souls are sent, barred from the land of the living and cursed to wander its realms for eternity. Dead souls. The only way to get there is to—
He drops the beer in his grasp, the bottle vanishing into thin air before it can hit the floor, no doubt thanks to one of the gods. His brain catches up fully like a shock of lightning to his system, one that spurs him forward without thinking to swing his sword at Sora, though his attack is instantly blocked by a certain designer shoe as Sanji leaps between them.
"What the hell are you doing, mosshead?" Sanji cries, giving a solid push to his foot that's strong enough to send the swordsman flying back against the bed, as if he's the crazy one for attacking a goddess who so clearly wants him dead.
"I'm a sacrifice!" Zoro shouts back, staggering against the mattress, a bitter laugh escaping him as he tries to steady himself. "I should have fucking known! Everything at mortals' expense, never yours!"
"That's not what this is about!" Sanji shouts back, his chest heaving with breaths he probably doesn't need to take. It's all for show, as with everything he does. "I'll go with you—"
"Great, I get to die with you at my side!" Zoro laments, righting himself at last so he can rush the blond again.
"There are ways to ensure safe passage for mortals so you can return! You'll have our protection!" Sanji insists, dodging the swordsman easily, Zoro's blade flying inadvertently through a nearby lamp as though it were air. Nothing but a slight flicker of the light indicates any disturbance.
"I don't need your protection," Zoro growls, a burning frustration pricking at his eyes. "Do you seriously think I'm dumb enough to trust you? I know gods can't go to the Underworld."
"They can't cross over to Elysium," Sanji corrects. "But they can enter other areas if escorting a mortal. Besides, you won't go unpaid!"
Zoro doesn't know much about the Underworld, but he's never heard that rule before. His skepticism nearly draws another laugh from him, only fueled by the fact that they're fighting in a bedroom, however spacious, with barely enough room to extend for his attacks properly. This is stupid; Zoro knows that. But seeing the bastard Cupid dodging and blocking him so easily, when the god could just as easily dispatch him with a flick of his wrist, is infuriating.
Sanji is letting him lead this, for whatever reason, perhaps to let him work himself into exhaustion, and, thus, compliance. Not to mention his talk of compensation, like Zoro even wants that. He lost a friend to the gods' stupidity. No payment can fix that.
"It's all about riches with you bastards!" he yells when another kick from Sanji's foot drives his sword away, but he recovers quickly, pushing himself off the bedpost to charge lower at the blond's torso. "There's nothing that could—"
"You can bring her back!"
He stumbles, missing the moment he should have swung his blade, instead nearly careening headfirst into the god's chest.
He feels Sanji's hands come to his shoulders, keeping him upright, and suddenly they're face to face, the blond leveling him with a serious stare.
"You can bring back…a loved one…" Sanji repeats, now that he has Zoro's full attention, and Zoro hates that he sounds pained over this when he has no right to. He hates that his own shocked reaction is already giving away far too much about the feelings he so likes to hide away.
The issue was that he didn't love her…not in the way that would have saved her. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't give anything for her to have a second chance…
"Which of you was it?" he finds himself asking before he's even consciously decided to. He isn't even sure why he does. His voice is quiet, his arms limp and trembling at his sides, though for once it's not because of the gods' powers. "Which of you…attacked us?"
The moment of silence that follows clenches tightly at his chest. He doesn't know what he will do when Sanji answers, what response will even satisfy him, if any. His world feels tilted, as if the god's ultimatum has suddenly shifted his entire equilibrium, taken his reason for fighting on and flung it far out of reach.
Sanji's hands quickly slip from his shoulders, though the phantom feeling of their grip lingers, still bunching at his skin. The god's expression seems to quickly reel in every emotion he's been outwardly displaying, yanking them back behind the curtains and tugging them shut.
But he can't manage completely. There's still a quavering sadness there when he finally manages to look at Zoro again.
"One of my brothers," he answers quietly. "I don't know which one."
An unsaid plea accompanies those words, and though the swordsman is no master of reading between the lines, something in the god's eyes tells him it's a plea for forgiveness. That no matter who is to blame for attacking Zoro and Kuina that night, he should let it go for the sake of this whole 'balance' shit they've been preaching to him.
The blond is just like his mother. That much is clear. Ready to protect his family at the expense of the rest of the world, maybe even himself.
Fuck that.
"Like hell you don't know," he hisses.
It's just a hunch, but the slight widening of Sanji's eyes, the twitch of his brow tells him he's correct in his assumption. Sanji does know who started this all. He knows who shot Kuina and tore their lives apart.
Before either of them can get in another word—or attack, for that matter—the air is shattered with the sound of the teacup clattering on its saucer, wrenching the pair's attention to the other end of the room, where Sora has slumped against the table beside her, her thin arm knocking over the cup, which now rolls on its side in a pool of golden liquid.
Her form is limp, her eyes closed, and Sanji is at her side before Zoro can even fully process what's happened.
He leans over her chair, gently pulling her upright, a hand squeezing her shoulder with growing desperation and panic the longer she doesn't respond to his calls and shakes.
After a minute, he turns to look at Zoro, his eyes wide and shimmering as the orbs that populate the night sky out the window. That endless night seems suffocating, claustrophobic suddenly, as if nothing exists beyond this room and the god's wild eyes drilling into him.
It's the first time he's felt any ounce of gravity to the god's power…
"Please!" Sanji cries, his voice cutting now with an urgency, an insistence that wasn't there before. "I can't do this without you. This isn't about sacrificing you or toying with you or anything like that! This is about our peaceful coexistence!" His focus shifts to his mother again.
"Without her—" Sanji continues, watching his mother with immense worry. "—Other gods will become too powerful. My father will become too powerful!" He whips his head back to Zoro, voice rising. "Do you want your world—our world—to fall into chaos even more than it already has?"
Zoro stares, his breaths coming lightly, taken aback by the god's tone.
Is the Goddess of Love really that important? This frail-looking woman, whose head lolls unconsciously onto her thin shoulder—a mere shadow of the deity he bore witness to in the arena. Her pale skin lacks any sort of glow now, her small frame swallowed by the cloud of white leather around her.
The logical part of his brain, which so many like to tease doesn't exist, screams not to trust this. And yet there's something unsettling about seeing a creature he knows possesses life-altering power appearing completely drained, a weakened husk of herself. Is there something else—something threatening—really at play?
"Maybe mortals deserve a chance to decide their own fates," Zoro says, though it's almost a reflex, an argument he's always believed in, but one he's losing the fight to defend in that moment, staring at the corpse-like pallor of someone that should be far stronger than him. It's all too familiar…
Zoro watches Sanji's thumb rub circles over the goddess' delicate knuckles, his shoulders slumping with a harsh exhale as he sinks to a knee, seeming to realize the futility of his rousing attempts.
"I don't like this any more than you do," the blond admits after a quiet moment, almost to himself, his troubled gaze fixed on the hand beneath his before he adds over his shoulder, "If it helps, I've kept my mom off your back for years now. She wanted your help sooner, but I knew you weren't ready."
Sanji chuckles, though there's no humor to it.
"Truth be told," he continues. "I don't even think you are now, but I doubt your stubbornness will go away at this point. A few more years of brain development won't do someone as bullheaded as you much good. The fact that we have to trust you, of all people, has been the source of all my worries."
The eeriness of his words is not lost on Zoro, the fact that someone he's never encountered before, god or not, could have such knowledge of him, could proclaim to know him, even if he spouts nothing but stupid generalizations. He doesn't like the thought of someone hidden, watching him all this time when all he's wanted for so long now was the chance to confront them. Surely, the gods knew that too.
The gods are clearly more dishonorable than he believed.
"I'm not even asking you to trust us," Sanji adds, as if he truly does know Zoro's thoughts, and it's an awful feeling, this exposure, intimate and uncomfortable. But Sanji seems to be merely justifying himself yet again when he says, "Even the gods make mistakes. I just hope you can believe in our abilities to fix them."
Zoro has never had faith in the gods. Not a day in his life has he ever believed they were worth it.
But he does believe in himself, and even more so, he believed in Kuina. He knows wholeheartedly that she would want to change things as well. He knows she would have charged to the Underworld for him, risks aside.
He sheathes her sword with a bitter snap of metal.
"I'll go."
Sanji's eyebrows shoot up, and for an all-seeing god who's put everything he had into convincing a mortal to join him, the blond sure does look taken aback, as if Zoro's acceptance is the last thing he expected, despite everything. Truth be told, Zoro's somewhat surprised himself as well.
But Sanji's shock quickly melts into a clear relief, his shoulders slumping and a soft, grateful smile coming to his lips.
Zoro doesn't want him thinking it's because he cares so he emphasizes, "To take back what was stolen from me. And if you give me any reason to doubt your redemption along the way, then like hell I'll plead for it."
Sanji's expression doesn't change much, just stays fixed on the swordsman for a long moment before he finally nods.
The god says nothing more, just gets to his feet slowly and slips arms beneath his mother's slight form to lift her from the chair.
Zoro watches as he crosses the room to the bed where he settles her onto the mattress, taking great care to slip off her ballet flats and tuck her beneath the heavy blankets which easily engulf her in a sea of cloudy fabric.
His fingers gently brush her flaxen hair from her face, his jaw clenching as he tries to smile down at her, even though she can't see.
He moves then to the table, still glistening with spilled tea, clearing the mess with a pass of his hand, resetting the image of a full and steaming teacup in the blink of an eye. He brings it to the nightstand beside the bed, another flick of fingers conjuring a small bouquet of daisies beside the saucer.
His gaze is back on his mom then, anxious, but resigned, and Zoro has to wonder.
"Why are you doing this all on your own?"
Sanji sighs, not looking up.
"The same reason you've taken everything upon yourself," he murmurs with a shrug. "The price of saving five gods from falling into chaos isn't cheap. But who else will pay it?"
In bed, the goddess stirs, shifting slightly against the pillow.
"Sanji…?" she utters quietly, her eyes still closed, but he's quick to touch his hand to hers again, giving a squeeze.
"Just rest, Mom…" he says, and she falls silent again, though she does look slightly more peaceful than before.
Sanji pats her hand one last time, then moves to draw the curtains, which glide shut, silky smooth, covering the iridescent sky beyond and plunging the room finally into a complete farce of pure normalcy, no trace of the supernatural in sight.
The sight is a far cry from what he witnessed just earlier that day—nothing but a man tending softly to his mother. It's as if he actually has struggles, actually has a heart to hurt.
"You were trying to stop them. In the arena today. Weren't you," Zoro states, remembering a little too late the blond blur that saved both Rebecca and him from a life-ruining bullet. Maybe he's not the only one fighting this, he considers for the first time. Maybe he's not the only one willing to push against the conventions of the world as it's always been.
Sanji's nod is small, but visible, confirming his thoughts.
"I'm no hero either, Zoro," the god says as he moves towards the door. The lights dim with a subtle twitch of his fingers. "But I am immortal. And my family is all I have."
He pauses, giving one last lingering look at his sleeping mother.
"They're all I'll ever have…"
The blond opens the door and passes through it into the hallway without another word, leaving it open for Zoro. The swordsman hesitates, an uneasy feeling roiling within him as he stares at that rectangle of light, silently beckoning him forth. He cannot trust him so readily, not when he knows the gods will manipulate mortals however they see fit.
But he's never seen a god act so human before, and his curiosity betrays him at the same time as his feet.
With a final glance at the weakened goddess, he follows Sanji out of the room towards his death.