Cracks in the Peace
"Nowhere to run!"
Shaad cracked an eye open from his meditation, standing and loosening his joints as he watched the waves of guardsmen slowly approach and encircle him on the isolated cliff edge. Taking a deep, tempering breath, he raised his swords in a traditional grip. As his eyes roved over the opposing force, a smirk crossed Shaad's lips upon spotting the marksman captain from the forest striding towards the front with definite purpose.
"And, nowhere to hide," Shaad mocked, his gaze one of unmatched focus. "Especially for you big fella." The pirate pointed a sword at a giant of a man, towering over the others, at least double the height of the second tallest. "I needed to recoup a little after that wallop your partner gave me. Don't tell me you're still salty about the ambush yesterday; you couldn't have hoped to last more than one hit."
Shaad's mouth was still running when a symphony of shots whistled their way towards him. Not moving an inch, the young captain expertly avoided being hit, his blades disappearing into glimpses of flashing steel amid the flurry. "Ya think you'd all be more grateful," Shaad mouthed. "You're alive yet you hound me."
The gun wielding commander was hearing none of it, ordering with a wave, the accompanying soldiers to unload their rifles at the enemy.
"Weight of Sin!" With a heavy-handed cross swing of both blades, Shaad created a downward spiraling gust to crush the second wave of bullets like the torrent from a waterfall.
"Reaper's Retribution!" Flowing the first attack into parallel horizontal swipes, the enemy could only watch as their front line fell to an unseen assault, matching gashes slicing across their chest despite the almost 20 yards of empty space between them and Shaad.
"How bout we stop playing around? You'll never hit me with gunshots from this range."
As if answering the challenge, the first few rows of men charged forward. Shaad held his arms out wide, a serene expression on his face as if basking in the approaching horde, his voice calm as he spoke. "You've changed; rushing these men to the slaughter. Are you desperate to tire me out or maybe you were just more fond of your group yesterday?" Opening his eyes just as the first one came into range - "Death's Door." - Shaad sailed effortlessly through the rank of men, a deadly phantom wind. "Outreach of the Unforgiving."
Not wanting to give Shaad even a moment's rest, dozens more flooded the limited space still between the two sides while their comrades crumpled to the ground behind him. Stepping through, Shaad sliced the torso of the first two, immediately bringing his swords around to block and counter an overhead swing from a third enemy.
Shaad moved with blinding speed and struck with exceptional accuracy, opponents falling around him with each expert stroke of his blades. Booting an impaled enemy off his blade, he spring boarded over another coming from behind him, the failed attack effort met with a swift beheading. Jumping, Shaad kicked the dismembered head off the man's shoulders and into the arms of a group to his right, bringing the same leg back for a heel kick. On the ground, the tip of Shaad's blade soon replaced his leg on the victim's throat.
Twirling the blade in his left hand, Shaad scanned the hesitant remainder crowded around him.
"Who's next?"
The men were scared, but prideful and duty bound. Shaad didn't have the time to wait for their decision, so he decided for them. Dashing to his left, an upward stroke immediately downed the first man Shaad contacted. Kicking the body back into others, he chained together a split kick. A foot each at the neck of two different men, Shaad had a bit of breathing room for the moment. But, the move also put him above the mass, a couple of fast thinking guards quickly taking aim with their pistols. Before either could pull the trigger, though, metal-tipped toothpicks had pierced each of their skulls, killing them instantly.
Having stabbed his footholds before they could remove him, Shaad dismounted, delivering a devastating roundhouse before landing, swords on the ground but ready to continue the fight unarmed.
"Boost X3."
In a flurry of kicks and punches, Shaad broke bones and dazed foes, drowning his adversaries under a storm of heavy strikes. As one would fall, two more would join in the fray, but eventually Shaad's grit and power dammed the constant flood of bodies that poured forth. Fresh blood dripping from the scaled gauntlets, Shaad's breathing hitched briefly before a clubbing backhand disoriented him.
The perpetrator, a seasoned veteran of all types of fights, battles, and wars, tried to follow up despite his purpling, disjointed arm hanging limp. But, Shaad was too quick. A single straight snapped forward. The sound of bones creaking and cracking resonated as blood splattered across the ground. There would be no giving up, however. Ducking under an errant haymaker attempt, Shaad hooked an arm under the elder warrior's chin, trapping his arm and cinching the hold in one smooth motion.
As if parading a demonstration of the fate awaiting any who opposed him, Shaad held the helpless, struggling fighter like that as he met the contemptuous glares of each commander and fortunate soldier still standing back. The scene was a sad end for a good man, but a comparatively tame conclusion to a bloody and visceral battle. Attention rapt, everyone could only look on as the sound of a man's neck being snapped filled their ears and the last spasming trickle of a once mighty flood ceased to drip at all.
"Amateur hour's over. Now, I ask again: Who's next?"
Shaad's tone was even and unfeeling, his steely gaze matched only by his rigid demeanor and the quality armor covering his limbs. There was no fear or weakness as he stared down the eight squad commanders and the dozen or so soldiers left standing before him. Instead, he shrugged off their presence, turning his back to them on his way to picking up his swords and returning to the spot he sat when they found him here.
Finally, as he watched the lapping waves crash below, Shaad heard the click of two firearms. The commander Shaad had previously fought held two pistols trained squarely on the back of his skull.
"Hold still or you'll lay still; you're under arrest."
Shaad responded with no words, one raised finger, and a very clear statement. Two shots fired. One body fell. And, a prolonged and deadly pursuit was finally over.
Early on in the dangerous waters of the Grand Line there resided a quaint, isolated island. Lush forests covered most of the island, separating it into four peaceful little towns. There, on a hill just outside the smallest of towns, a young man stretched his arms to the sky as he walked out of his house, grumbling to himself.
"Aah, another boring day. I wish I could leave this stupid island once and for all."
Wiping his eyes to get rid of the sleep, he looked to the sky and noticed it was already past noon. Hearing his stomach growl, though, he turned around to go back inside.
'I'll go out later, it won't rain again until tonight at the earliest anyway.'
After eating a small, makeshift meal, the boy got dressed in casual dark pants and a plain white button up with the top buttons undone, exposing a toned chest despite his slim physique, leaving his home to run errands after making himself something to eat. He was in need of more food, some building materials, and tools to fix up damage that had recently been done to his house. So, to that end, he headed to his favorite shop in town. The shop was run by a friendly older man, burly in spite of his age with a large gut and a bushy beard, and sold practically everything... except food, building materials, and tools.
"Oh, hey Isaac. Whatcha lookin for," the owner asked with a wide smile.
"Got anything new, Mr. Glass?"
Mr. Glass pulled out a large sack from under the counter and poured the contents onto a tarp he'd placed down. Isaac looked through the contents and picked out a few maps and some books. He briefly picked up an ornate staff and a golden, decorative katana, but had no interest in either item and placed them back. After scanning over the items one last time, he looked back to Mr. Glass with hopeful, expectant eyes. Some of this stuff was nice, but he wanted something more.
"Can I check out what's downstairs?"
"I've told you before, the downstairs showroom is only for adults," Mr. Glass scolded.
"Ah, come on. I turn eighteen in a month. Besides, I've lived on my own now for four years." Still getting an uncertain look from the shop owner, Isaac opted for a different approach: puppy dog eyes. "Pweease," he begged in his most pathetic tone.
Finally relenting, more so to stop the nearly grown young man from making such an awkward scene in his shop, the owner grabbed a key and led the young man down a flight of stairs to a hidden showroom before heading back up to run his business. This showroom was filled with things he could no longer sell upstairs for fear of confiscation and punishment - mostly weapons - and some miscellaneous items that he was unsure of what they did. Isaac looked around in wonder, stars in his eyes, at the myriad of swords, tonfa, and the assortment of other bladed and melee weaponry. It had been almost a decade since he'd last seen real guns and swords up close without being threatened by someone using them. The house he lived in used to be filled with them thanks to his dad being a Marine and an avid weapons collector. Seeing how passionate his dad was made him want to learn about weapons too, but he never got as into it as his dad. Navigation was his passion. Though, since he was a rather small and weak child, he did have quite the affinity for the claymore and its size and strength. All of the weapons, and the memories they held, were taken from him, though, when a group of pirates came and made the island their base. The first thing they did was make sure to get rid of anything that could aid a potential rebellion. For the other villager's safety, Isaac's dad held back initially and waited until an opportune time arose to defeat the pirate captain and retake the island. Unfortunately for him, when that moment came, just as he was about to deal the finishing blow, an underhanded maneuver resulted in his death: he'd been shot in the back by a corrupt marine. In fact, it was his superior officer from the nearby Marine base. For that reason, the villagers were trapped in this situation and Isaac had trained in secret nearly every day for the past few years, on top of the training his dad put him through, in order to defeat that pirate and the head of the Marine base.
"How much for these, Mr. Glass," he asked when the old shopkeeper descended the stairs again, the main store now empty for the moment.
Isaac had broken out of his reverie and settled on one sword in particular. It was a giant claymore, nearly as tall as he was, with a ruby eyed skull on the pommel. Aside from that, he was holding what looked like an ornamental glass ball and a pile of intricately linked chains.
"Hey put that down; you don't even know what those are."
"A sword, some chains, and a cool ball."
The owner sweat dropped at Isaac's simplicity, but decided to explain.
"See that sword you're holding?"
"Yea, it's a claymore, just like I like."
Dumbfounded, Mr. Glass pointed out, "No, I mean the design. . . The bone guard and eerie pommel."
"Yeah, cool right," Isaac replied simply.
The shop owner fell to the floor in utter disbelief. Picking himself up, he explained it as clearly as he could.
"There are rumors surrounding that sword that whoever wields it gains great power but does so at the risk of their soul. Everyone who's ever wielded it has met a gruesome end."
Isaac didn't pay any attention after 'power' and was instead busy examining the skull more closely. Not hearing the old man's voice in the background anymore, he lifted his head.
"So, it's magical," Isaac fawned with stars in his eyes.
"No, you idiot. It's cursed."
The young man looked at him with a blank expression and spoke.
"I don't believe in curses," came the monotone reply.
That was it, the last straw. The shop owner just held his head, shaking it as he muttered 'I knew you'd get yourself killed one day. You're suicidal just like your dad.' He did refocus on the other objects though.
"Do you even know how to use those other items?"
"It's a ball and some chains. What's to know?"
'Idiot. Pure idiot,' Mr. Glass muttered to himself. "Those chains are a pair of chain link gloves. You use these rings here to put them on your hands and put this part around your wrists. The rest goes up your arm and hooks up by your shoulder like so, an offensive and defensive marvel in the hands of a true fighter."
"Wow, this is co~ol," Isaac beamed at the way the chains draped off his arms So, what about this?"
"That... uh, I actually don't know what that is. . . But if you're interested in it, I'm sure it's no good."
Isaac didn't pay any mind to the subtle dig. "So. . . how much?"
"Half a million beli should cover it. . . plus my pain and suffering," the shopkeeper grumbled.
Mr. Glass could never say something in his store wasn't for sell, but he was proud of himself for having figured out a way to keep the young man from leaving with such dangerous weapons. Everyone in town knew Isaac was often flat broke, and what little money he did get, he spent at Mr. Glass' store just as soon as he got it. So, his jaw understandably dropped when Isaac lifted up an overfilled, bulging backpack and placed it on the counter.
"Is this enough?"
"I- I- I," the shopkeeper stammered, his mouth slack upon opening the backpack and seeing it filled to the brim with bills and gold coins. It took some time to count the bag's total contents, and Mr. Glass' jaw had dropped again as he finished counting out the last few bills.
"6- 600,000 beli. Where did you get this much money?"
The young man had a gleam in his eye and a mischievous smirk as responded, but that was quickly replaced by the same dumb expression as before. "Everyone in town knows better than to ask how I get my money. . . But, that's enough, right?"
Mr. Glass was uneasy. He was right; there were some things they all knew it was better to just have plausible deniability on, especially concerning Isaac. That's the reason no one ever questioned him about his money, where he went on some days, or any noise that came from the direction of his house – up the hill past the town – at night; it was widely known Isaac wasn't as stupid as he pretended to be. But, there were some things he was entirely clueless about: money being one of those. He knew you needed money to buy stuff, but that was the end of it; he didn't know numbers for the world of him. So, Mr. Glass just went ahead and completed his business with no other excuse to keep Isaac from buying the goods he wanted.
"Y- Yeah; this is just enough. You're lucky I'm a nice guy, now move along and take your stuff with you. But, be sure not to get caught you baka!"
Isaac noticed the almost imperceptible grin fighting to show on the shop owner's face as he took the money, but ignored it. Instead, he gathered up the things he'd bought and wrapped them in a sheet before stuffing them, at least majority, in his backpack and turning to leave the store.