Chapter Seven- A Trip to the Past! Waikyoku to Kashaku!
"Must you leave already?" "I'm sorry, but I must. We have already stocked up, and we need to leave for the sea again." "But, we don't know what might happen, while you're gone."
The air was bittersweet, having the romantic foggy atmosphere one could only see in an old black and white film, in which the woman tries to get her love to stay. However, this time, the ending was not to be happy.
The man turned away, a bang of red hair blowing over his scarred face. The three slashes across his left eye seemed to sting a little, as a harsh wind blew across them. His right arm felt rather numb, while he felt nothing on his left arm. He no longer had to worry about anything happening to his left arm. He'd given it up, to protect someone, and it had been a worthy sacrifice. He had to wonder how the boy was doing. He hoped that he was keeping that hat safe.
The woman, having a long ponytail, similar to the one the young Princess Nefertari would grow in about five to seven years, shook her head. "Don't go. Please. What if something happens?"
The red haired man didn't turn back to the lady, but replied with his own question. "What could happen?" The blonde to whom he had made love the night before had a firm, and tearful expression on her face. "We could have a baby!" She howled, the waves reflecting her distress.
Shanks gave only one more reply, as he walked up towards his ship. Only one word crossed his lips, as he let his back stay turned to the future mother of his child. "Gomen."
The door fell off of its hinges, as three cloaked men had kicked it down. One was very small, not much taller than a dwarf, whereas another was about a head taller than the door. The final one, the central figure, stepped forward. "We've come for your child."
The single mother stepped back, not wanting to comply. She held the small bundle of cloth close to her chest, protectively, not replying.
The larger figure stepped forward, and reached out a hand to take. The hand was abnormal, to say the least. It had a pale grey complexion, and looked almost dried up with dehydration. It was cold, bulky and very rough in texture. The mother found this out, by slapping it to no avail.
The central figure stopped forward, holding a hand up, to stop the larger one. "Stop. We need to keep the child intact. If not, we shall be killed for disobeying orders. Now, give us your child, woman."
When the woman still refused, the middle figure gave only one more reply. This was in the form of a flintlock pistol, the sort of gun a highwayman would use to make sure that his demands were met, and that his victims would stand and deliver. However, this was also an anomaly, as this gun had appeared out of thin air, into the hand used to halt the bigger figure.
When the woman desperately pushed past the figures, the small figure took in a large inhale, and gave a roar, his mere breath turning into a gale of wind that wrapped around the defenceless mother.
The middle figure strode slowly up to her, his cloak swishing over his feet every so often, as he took his steps. "We tried to negotiate, we tried to be civilised, but I'm afraid you give us no change anymore." He raised his pistol up towards her, and fired. It was over with that one click of the trigger.
A couple of years had passed now. The small child who so much trouble had been made over was waking up. His eyes seemed dull as he looked at his surroundings. It was all the same. Dank and dark walls, chains attaching him to them, nothing new. He gave a small sigh, and looked up, to see the bars of his cell. Two men stood by the cell, like palace guards- The Kishin brothers.
These two brothers were not pleasant in either personality or physical features. Being identical twins, the Kishin brothers were reputed for vicious slaughters of those who opposed them. The duo comprised of one brother by the name of Waikyoku and the other by the name of Kashaku.
The small child looked to the backs of them, and gave another sigh. Waikyoku, meaning "Torture, distortion, falsification and perversion" was the more deceitful of the two. He was the one who had sneered and told the child he would be out soon. Kashaku, meaning "Torture", also- as well as "Extenuation" and "Maltreatment"- was the more brutal of the brothers, liking the thrills of killing in cold blood.
The small red-head looked past the guards, to another boy in his cell. He seemed to be trying to cause trouble. The red-head could hear the other boy calling to be let out. "He must be new." The boy muttered, his voice lacking emotion. However, he could feel sympathy and foreboding in his heart.
The two Kishin brothers looked to each other. They gave devilish smirks, and walked over to the opposite cell, with the young rebel inside. "So, you want to be let out, do you?" Waikyoku asked, giving a scar-faced sneer. "Very well, let's get you home, shall we?"
The naïve boy in the cell gave a nod of agreement, not understanding the tone Waikyoku was using, the tone of sarcasm. He just knew that the two men were going to take him somewhere.
The screams that came from the room down the corridor between the cells gave away the fact that he had been taken somewhere. He had been taken to Hell. They had added him to their list of victims.
The other boy, the one who had been watching from his cell gave a small sigh. "And yet another martyr." He said, with a tone that made it seem like he had no sincerity in his heart any more.
The two brothers returned to their post, the blood on their hands showing no doubt to what they had done. "You." Waikyoku turned to the boy in the cell. The boy who has soon to become the Straw Hat crew's musician.
"You- You're coming with us. It's time for your rite of passage. To go from being a normal worthless human, to a perfect being. One of the Akumi." Opening the cell, the boy was beckoned towards another door, opposite to the one the slaughter had just been in.
Inside, the room was just like the other cells. Dank and lifeless. Kashaku took Kenni by the arm and tossed him to the wall. As soon as he was shoved into the hard cold stones, Waikyoku took up two odd looking fruits. One went by the name of the Pika-Pika no Mi, and the other was called the Neko-Neko no Mi.
Despite the screams of torture that came, the fruits were forced into the boy's mouth, and were soon eaten like any other food, even if the method of eating was abnormal and cruel. It was all the same, when it came to the Akumi.
Yet a few more years had passed, by now, and the scene was set in what seemed to be a private music school. There happened to be yet another fight being broken up.
The teacher gave a sigh, having taken the starter of the fight away. "Torashi-kun- Why do you always insist on starting fights with the other children?"
The small kid, who had now grown "tough", and had a few telltale scratches upon his face, spat onto the floor, and gave a scoff. "Those kuso musicians were asking for it."
"Oh, really? And what did they do?" "They were making fun of my music. And my looks." The lad tried to sound as though he wasn't that offended, and just annoyed, but the teacher could tell what was going on.
"Were they calling you a freak, because of your special traits?" He asked, benignly. Instead of a reply, he was punched in the face, by the wooden surface of a guitar.
"Stop trying to call it something different, kuso teacher!" The boy had learnt quite a few curse words from his days with the Akumi. He also seemed to have Sanji's old habit of using the word "Kuso" a lot, for an adjective.
The teacher did not mind being hit. He thought it good for the Torashi boy to vent his feelings thus. However, now, he looked livid. "Torashi-kun… I have tried to be understanding, but you must understand that musicians value their instruments above everything. A true musician never desecrates their instruments like that!"
The small boy seemed to have an expression on his face, which showed he wasn't completely sorry, but that he felt somewhat guilty for using music to hurt. The teacher looked at this expression and found that his own was starting to soften.
"Torashi-kun, if you feel you must fight, I believe there is a style you can adapt to. It involves the use of no instruments, and no hands, but it is still a way for a musician to fight. Instead, you use your feet.
Did you ever hear of the pirate, by the name of Red Foot? He used to be a pirate of immense kicking power. His feet would be stained with blood, hence the name. However, Red Foot did not use his hands, because he considered himself to be a cook. A musician is the same. All artists fight this way, to keep their precious art intact, whether they be cooks, musicians, or painters.
Well, now that you know our fighting secrets, would you like to learn the Musician Style?" The reply was a single nod.
Back in the real world, little Kenni was being shaken by Vivi, in an attempt to wake him up. "Kenni? Kenni? Get up!" Vivi sighed, before thinking up an idea of what to do. "Kenni! The Princess of Alabasta demands that you wake up now!"
"Hai!" The young musician jumped up, waking up at her call, giving a salute as he did so. "What can I do for you, Princess Vivi?"
Vivi didn't look like she was joking. "There's no time to play around, Kenni. We're being attacked by more pirates." Taking his hand, she rushed him over to the side of the ship, where the others had gathered.
One look at the ship's flag and sail made Kenni curse. "Kuso… They're here."