The officer slumped back in his chair and said simply, "I don't understand."

Standing across from him, Bellemere remained with arms crossed and gaze riveted to a broad flag pinned against the wall. The word 'Justice' printed in bold characters across its clean white surface seemed like a joke now.

Her superior lifted the sheaf of documents only to let them drop back to the desk with a soft thud. They contained her future; or rather, an aborted future. Declining a promotion? Requesting a transfer to East Blue from whence she originally hailed? This sort of thing didn't happen. It wasn't an overstatement to say that her actions had caused quite a stir.

"The Grand Line needs officers with your skill and drive," he protested in a last-ditch effort to change her mind. "You'll be wasted back home! Look at all you've accomplished! A woman of your age holding the rank you already do is practically unheard of in the Marines. And now an even higher position comes at the invitation of a Vice-Admiral herself, and you decline?!" Realizing that he was becoming quite heated, her commanding officer strove to tamp down his professional outrage. "This has to be a mistake. Or a joke."

"Story of my life either way."

Bellemere didn't find the situation funny. In fact, she was ready to split some heads. Paradoxically, her own boiling rage was the only thing preventing that from happening. The fury she felt at this betrayal could hardly be contained, much less explained. The Navy… the organization she had considered a second family… had turned its back on her, but she would not depart under a cloud of shame. No one could call her out on that much at least. Instead she would walk to her ship head held high without making a scene, as a final show of defiance.

"I am completely serious, sir," she asserted, arms crossed and shoulders taut under the white coat draped over them. "The Vice-Admiral has been informed of my decision and accepted it. There's a transport heading for the Red Line docked at the harbor. If you'll just sign these forms, I'll be on my way."

Slumped shoulders signified that he knew the battle was lost. With a sad shake of his head he reached over and drew a pen from its inkwell. About to affix his signature to the transfer request, he looked up and said in a quiet voice, "Just tell me why."

For the first time since they started arguing, Bellemere looked at him. She practically snarled the next words, in no way trying to hide the rancor in them.

"Because I refuse to salute that piece of shit."

"Captain?"

One of her crewman came hustling over through the pouring rain and saluted their commanding officer. Standing off to one side, Bellemere noted how his face was pale, eyes wide with nervous disbelief. Just by taking one look at him she knew what he would say next.

"Sir, we just got word. The execution… took place. He's dead."

Sitting on a tree stump, Captain J.P. Gardiner gave no sign he had heard.

Lieutenant Bellemere ground her teeth as she watched the trooper fidget nervously. He turned an expression close to panic on her, and she indicated with a flick of her eyes that he could rejoin the others, which he did with grateful alacrity.

The wild storm blew the hood of her slicker off, drenching her partly shaved head. Waves crashed against the cliffs she stood upon. Bellemere looked towards the horizon observing nature's fury as the full ramifications of that report finally sank in. Hard to believe. She'd half expected a bolt of lightning to fall and save him in the end. Or an earthquake when it did happen. Something monumental, y'know? To indicate the end of an era.

A simple storm seemed woefully inadequate, to herald the death of the Pirate King.

Gardiner remained motionless. The crew's junior officer continued to regard the unresponsive old seafarer with mixed feelings of regret and frustration. This was his mad crusade, but right now, it seemed like her unwilling participation was necessary to keep this slow-motion avalanche moving. Close to a hundred soldiers clustered quietly nearby. Agitation poured off them like rain from their waterproof wraps. They watched their two commanders closely. The crew knew full well what they were about to attempt, and doubtless each was feeling the same cold gnawing dread in their stomachs at the prospect. Bellemere flashed a trademark devil-may-care grin at the men, which caused several to smile tightly in return. Only her proven presence kept them from falling apart at this stage.

She crossed to where that large figure sat slumped. If left undisturbed, he might be willing to remain there forever. Which would prove preferable for all concerned. Gardiner's behavior lately didn't inspire her with confidence. He had become increasingly short-tempered and unpredictable since this whole sordid business began. Bellemere couldn't help but think if she formally relieved the captain of his duties right here and now, the crew would probably go along with her. It would mean the end of his career. Hers as well, if the top brass saw fit to label it as mutiny. Something told her they would welcome such an action on her part, however. Keep the old man from losing face, and by extension the Navy.

But no… the world had taken so much from him already. Bellemere couldn't bring herself to add to that load. Everything might still work out. Ignoring her misgivings, she said in a loud clear voice, "It's time, sir."

He responded by giving a shudder. With painful slowness the aged Marine got to his feet and looked down at her from his still impressive height, then past to where rank on rank of brave sea dogs awaited the order to mobilize. He gave a nod so sharp and short it more closely resembled a spasm before trundling off.

"Proceed," Bellemere gave the order, and matched her captain stride for stride with the troops falling into step behind.

A small hillock loomed before them. Gaping in its side like a giant bullet wound lay a tunnel. It was there the two Marine officers led their detachment. A handful of soldiers would be left behind in hiding to warn them via Den-Den Mushi as soon as their enemy returned. Once inside Bellemere stopped to select a torch with an oil-soaked head and lit it. The captain didn't bother to wait for her. He seemed unconcerned at getting lost in the dark and strode forward at a rapid pace. This further recklessness disturbed his faithful lieutenant and she hurried to rejoin him. "Captain, maybe you should hang back."

He gave an irritable shake of his hoary head, tangled gray beard flying and pale eyes shining in the torchlight. "The Fiend's on his way, Lieutenant. I must be there to greet him." The old man moved on, and his crew was forced to follow.

Bellemere understood as well as anyone what this arrest would mean for him. Still, it hadn't escaped her notice how haggard the captain had grown lately. He was a man on a mission, and anything which didn't advance that objective was deemed irrelevant. J. P. Gardiner had seen three generations of Marines grow up under his command. Despite being a lifelong soldier, he had never risen higher than captain of the Raquel. This did not speak ill of his capabilities; offers had been made, but they were declined. Gardiner had never sought advancement for himself. This combined with the choice of name for his vessel, in honor of his late wife, earned him the nickname of 'Steady-as-She-Goes'.

Numerous people would agree that her commander, while not an exceptional warrior, was a good and commendable Marine. Bellemere had seen enough examples of this with her own eyes to have earned him her respect. Their relationship at times seemed more like a fond uncle with a troublesome niece than officer and subordinate. Such a feeling was new to the rough-and-rowdy delinquent from Cocoyashi. However it was this very same closeness which made his decline so stomach-twisting.

J.P. had two sons, both of whom had followed in their father's footsteps and joined the Navy. One reached the same rank as his father, while the youngest was only a midshipman. It wouldn't take much imagination to envision both achieving posts notably higher than their parent, which Bellemere knew for a fact gave Gardiner no end of pride at the thought. He often spoke jokingly of the day he would have to salute his own offspring or risk a court martial.

That day never came. Instead Bellemere was forced to watch helplessly as that proud veteran fell to the Raquel's deck and wept with grief at receiving word his youngest child had been killed in a skirmish with pirates. Even worse, upon learning of this the elder brother was granted permission to pursue the villains responsible and avenge his sibling's loss. Less than a week later, young Gardiner's craft was found adrift on the waves, sails furled and not a soul to be found aboard. Marine investigators came to search their sister ship for sign of what might have befallen the crew. At first no answers came. There was indeed evidence of a recent skirmish in terms of discharged cannons and battle damage. But this offered no explanation as to the fate of the soldiers onboard.

It was only when the investigators prepared the vessel for departure did they have their answer, for as the rigging was loosed and the canvas fell, dozens of bodies came with it. They had been rolled up like filling in a pastry and left to fester in the sun. Among these bled-dry husks was the ship's captain, head parted from his shoulders. The one responsible had left his calling card. In this way, J.P. Gardiner learned the name of the man who had ended his family line. He never spoke it, referring to him only as… the Fiend.

Once Gardiner regained his senses their course was clear. He made it his mission to bring the Fiend to justice. They had tracked that elusive figure across two Blues and through the Grand Line, never once catching sight of their quarry. He was like a ghost, fading into the mists and leaving only nightmarish stories behind.

The search might have gone on for years were it not for current events. Gol D. Roger's capture and impending execution had transfixed the world. Many were wont to wonder if organized piracy might end as a result of his death. Perhaps it was for this reason that they had received a call from none other than the Fiend's own first mate, who offered information as to where his leader could be found in exchange for a full pardon. Bellemere didn't like the thought of letting a notorious outlaw slip the noose, but Gardiner overrode her concerns and any suspicions this could be a trap meant to lure them in. He seemed willing to accept the man at his word. And so they found themselves here, on one of the Polestar Islands, where countless unsavory figures from across the world had berthed their ships in the weakest of seas in order to witness the greatest member of their brethren draw his final breath.

Navy agents spotted their target mixed in with the eager crowds awaiting the execution. By this point their informant had already provided them with a location for the Fiend's ship in an isolated cliffside cove used for smuggling. Through him they also learned of the tunnel system which led from there to topside. Gardiner had decided against going after the Fiend while he was in Loguetown. Too many other pirates and dubious agencies on hand to complicate the hunt, as well as other boats which he might use to affect an escape. Instead they would meet the monster on his own deck, well after the press had cleared out.

"Knew the Fiend would be here," Gardiner panted ahead of her, surging through the rugged tunnel like a bloodhound straining against its leash. "He's always had an eye on claiming the crown. Couldn't resist the opportunity to be present when it falls. I'll end his dream here." He cast a look back at Bellemere, who couldn't help but be disturbed at the sight of those half-wild bloodshot eyes. "Whatever happens, under no circumstances can we permit the Fiend to leave these waters. That is an order, Lieutenant."

Bellemere bit the inside of her cheek to keep from retorting and instead performed a quick weapon inspection. A rifle was slung across her back with a flintlock pistol in its holster at her waist. Looped into a belt hook was a solid mace she preferred for close quarters combat, perfect for smashing heavy cutlasses along with the heads of anyone wielding them. It had been reinforced with Sea Stone recently, a concession to the peril this mission held. Their enemy was a Devil Fruit user, after all. To underestimate that breed was a swifter route to Hell than she ever planned to tred. Gardiner had called in every favor he was owed to get even this much. Several men carried Sea Stone shackles and nets inlaid with the valuable metal, along with the hope that they would live long enough to use them.

This has to be done. I know that. But we could be doing it better. Smarter. More men. Better weapons. Less relying on chance and instead making a solid stab for the bastard's head. Like this, we're almost asking to fail.

Waiting for him to arrive would be the hardest part. Bellemere knew full well how to be patient. Let your target make the first move, and then ruin their expectations of how it's going to play out. That was how the lady liked to roll in battle. Only problem was she couldn't shake the suspicion this whole mess was about to blow up in their faces.

The sound of splashing water came to her ears, growing louder as they progressed deep beneath the surface. Their contact had promised markers would be set up to guide them through the cave system. Sure enough red skulls were prominently displayed in paint on the walls, and it was these they followed. He had also stressed for some reason that it was impossible for his ship to set sail without the captain, so he couldn't just leave the Fiend behind and let the Marines have him. This sounded nakedly suspicious to her. But after traversing the pitch-black tunnels for some time, they came out upon the subterranean cove, and the reason became clear.

A large fissure in the cavern's side opened onto the ocean proper, allowing subdued daylight to illuminate their environs and bringing with it the tang of the sea. High up along the opposite wall a small underground stream came sheeting down from a hole in the rockface. The waterfall's clear flow had carved out this cavern to form a sheltered lagoon large enough to float three Navy battleships with ease. And sure enough, a brigantine lay at anchor nearby.

But to her surprise, the vessel proved to be completely landlocked. A sandbar arose straight across the lagoon from one end to another that split it in half. From what she could tell the section of lagoon closer to the cavern's rear had almost completely dried up. Perhaps at some point in the past the stream had lessened, allowing tides to deposit sand in a natural barricade. The course of the waterfall still flowed weakly around a huge dune arising behind the bar, and it was atop this the brigantine balanced like a beached whale. How did they manage to get it up there? Did the crew actually contrive to drag the ship out of the water?

Speaking of whom, Bellemere was quick to note no pirate presence onboard, nor had they encountered any on the way here. Even if the mutiny was true on its face, surely someone would have been lying in wait to meet them? Her shoulders were tight with suppressed tension. Dark eyes scanned every shadow in search of potential enemies. Yet no such thing came to light. At her command a few Marines inspected the surrounding area. They reported a small cave behind the waterfall, but it led to a dead end. Nothing else of note. Which left only the ship itself.

Captain Gardiner did not share her trepidation. Instead he marched towards the enemy vessel. Realizing his intent, the lieutenant moved swiftly to interpose herself between him.

"Captain," she stated in a forceful tone, "Give us a chance to scout it out before you come aboard. No telling what might be in there."

For a moment he seemed confused that she would even consider such a notion. Had his thirst for vengeance truly blinded the man to such basic precautions? Then he apparently remembered himself and gave a sweep of one arm. "Make haste. We don't know when the Fiend will return."

She unslung her rifle with a grim nod. At a sign from their lieutenant twenty men joined her to go splashing through the feeble stream and finally reach the lowered gangplank. They trooped up on deck and peered cautiously around.

No one. Not a soul. The pirate ship was deserted.

Every instinct she could lay claim to screamed 'DANGER'! No indication of this was allowed to show. She kept her face a fearless yet menacing mask before motioning for them to scour the deck from top to bottom. Two men began scaling the main mast to reach the crow's nest. Its sails hung limp, so there was no chance of finding any contents wrapped inside. The way some of the Marines eyed them let Bellemere know they shared her train of thought. Hardly anyone spoke. A glance confirmed Gardiner and the remaining complement still waited on them to report their findings.

The lieutenant headed aft, cautiously climbing the stairs to reach the upper deck with three soldiers in tow. As her head crested the rise she spotted something immediately.

Slouched against the steering wheel, there sat a man.

This figure did not move as the Marines gained the deck. His back was to them. All the same, he still should have heard their approach. Bellemere kept her rifle trained unflinchingly on this solitary holdout. As she drew nearer the body did not stir at their approach. This in no way convinced her to let down her guard.

At last they had him surrounded. His head was down, resting between upraised knees with arms lying limply off to either side. An inactive Den-Den Mushi slept peacefully between his shoes. Bellemere and another soldier crouched down to investigate. Half-suspecting what she would find, the young woman reached out and grasped the man by the hair to lift his head.

The trooper beside her bit back a curse. His compatriots took involuntary steps away as her eyes met those of a ghastly, twisted face. Even so, she recognized it as belonging to the first mate of this vessel.

Which only confirmed they had walked into a trap.

While Bellemere took this in, the Den-Den Mushi at her feet started ringing. Gura-gura-gura…

You always answer right away. That's what they taught at the Academy. A moment's hesitation could cost someone their life. She saw the trooper beside her reach for the transceiver on instinct. Bellemere sucked in a breath to scream against this. Time slowed down…

Gu-ra… Gu-ra… Gur–

Click.

The ship exploded.

Marines back on the beach were knocked down by the blast or sent flying. Captain Gardiner went to his knees. Around them, fiery rubble and body parts came raining down. Smoke and flame now filled the cove, which echoed with the screams of the wounded.

A large white mass hit the sand and rolled to a stop, revealing itself to be Bellemere. Groggily she raised her head to peer about. The bomb had been positioned mid-ship, meaning her location at the stern put her as far away from it as she could be. The shockwave blew her clear. Only this simple fact had saved her life. One arm was undoubtedly broken, and her officer's coat was peppered with blood and shrapnel, yet she could count herself lucky.

The same could not be said for the men who accompanied her. Still, the amount of human remains now littering the sand far surpassed those gallant soldiers. From her prone position a dazed Bellemere saw burning limbs and torsos that still retained the travel-worn garb of pirates. The whole crew must have been belowdecks. Were they all dead beforehand, or did the Fiend order his followers to remain hidden without telling them about the bomb?

No time to dwell on this. Furious rage saw the lieutenant surging to her feet, one hand yanking the mace from her belt. She had lost the rifle, but with her left arm rendered useless it wouldn't have been much help anyway.

"WHERE ARE YOU?! DAMN YOU, FIEND! SHOW YOURSELF!"

She spotted Gardiner slumped screaming at the top of his lungs. Bellemere hurried to rejoin him, shouting at those Marines who had already recovered. "Form a perimeter and move the wounded behind it! Bazooka unit, get ready to fire the nets at my command!" She reached J.P. by this point. "Captain, get up! We need to–!"

A cutlass swung in her direction, and she checked her approach in time to avoid being slashed. Instinct brought her own weapon up only to hesitate as something became clear. In front of her Captain Gardiner's head whipped frantically around, eyes wide and frightened while tears ran from them. He blinked constantly and his breath came in quick panting gasps.

"YOU CANNOT HIDE! COME OUT AND FACE ME!"

It dawned on her then that he couldn't see. The explosion must have blinded him. Whether permanently or no, he was now out of his mind with fear and grief.

Only one thing to do, then. Flipping the mace to an underhand grip, Bellemere knocked his saber aside along its haft, stepped in and punched J.P. hard in the jaw. He fell senseless. As she holstered her weapon and bent to loop one of his arms around her neck, the officer looked at her followers and bellowed the only command that made any sense. "RETREAT!"

The Marines obeyed, lifting their fallen comrades and racing back towards the entrance. Bellemere brought up the rear carrying Gardiner's limp weight. They reentered the tunnel with torches held to light the way. When anyone sought to help her she angrily ordered them to keep moving. Snarling curses, the ferocious young woman soldiered on while her passenger groaned uncomprehendingly in her ear.

You old FOOL! You wanted it so badly you couldn't think of anything else! And he knew it, damn him! Sacrificed his own crew just to get you off his back! But he missed his shot. We're still here and he no longer has a ship. Most likely planning to commandeer another one. There might still be a chance to catch him. Call ahead and let the Marines in Loguetown know what to expect, then get back to the Raquel and…

A breeze blew against her face. For some reason it made the hairs on the back of Bellemere's neck rise.

Without warning the torches up ahead were snuffed out, plunging them into stygian shadows. Voices rose in alarm. She heard her name being called frantically, trained soldiers sounding more like children seeking the comfort of their parent to protect them from the night. Teeth gritted, skin prickling with cold and dire premonition, she felt the breeze grow stronger, a hot wind that dried the sweat dripping down her body instantly.

He's here!

"GET DOWN!"

Bellemere dove to the floor, taking Gardiner with her. Their shocked subordinates couldn't respond in time before the very darkness attacked and began eating them.

A howling force tore through the tunnel. Marines were lifted bodily and tossed around like playthings or cut to ribbons by unseen blades. The air itself choked their lungs, sending men stumbling blindly about as they coughed and gagged. Lifeless bodies slammed against them, light and leathery as mummies. Bright bursts of muzzle fire gave brief glimpses of a senseless slaughter. Everywhere was screaming as brave soldiers died.

Gritting her teeth, Bellemere grasped her mace and swung it wildly overhead. This tactic was suited for the street brawls of her youth, certainly not the disciplined combat espoused by Marine drill instructors. But when you were down and couldn't see who was hitting you, your only means of attack was to lash about and hope you got lucky.

The Sea Stone bludgeon whirled. It glanced off a wall, hit what might have been a fellow Marine… and then that bane of Fruit users struck something that hadn't been solid a moment before, drawing a grunt of pained surprise.

The indoor storm died. Immediately the naval officer sprang upright and lashed out screaming at what she hoped was his position. Her mace flew through the air, only to collide with something metallic. Quick as a flash a hand seized her forearm. Before Bellemere could respond there came a twist, and she felt bone snap. The mace dropped from her grip, but manic strength enabled her to yank loose the pistol with her previously broken arm and fire.

The powder burst lit the tunnel, and for a split second the Fiend was right in front of her, his face contorted in a snarl of outrage. At the same time a huge fist swung to smash into the side of her face.

Bellemere's head slammed against the stone wall to send her crumpling down, ears ringing from the blow. As she tried to crawl upright more shots went off as some remaining Marines who had noticed her predicament fired at the Fiend from behind. Then the light was gone.

She barely registered when someone picked her up by one arm and half dragged, half supported her away. It was only when a flickering orange light shone through her eyelids did Bellemere regain some semblance of consciousness. She peered up groggily, blood streaming down her face.

Captain Gardiner didn't look at her. As they came into the grotto once more, his head turned about in confusion. Her rescuer might have still been blind by the way his eyes didn't seem to focus on anything. But the splashing of the waterfall could be heard by both of them, and he followed that sound to its source, stumbling uncertainly through the sand until he had reached it. They passed beneath the deluge to enter the shaft their men had discovered beforehand. Even with the light of the burning pirate vessel pouring in behind them, Bellemere couldn't tell how far back the cave went. Not that it mattered. Moments after entering, Gardiner's knees gave out and he pitched gracelessly to the floor, taking her with him.

They lay side by side. A strong urge to sleep settled over the battered lieutenant. The haunting memory of her men screaming kept it at bay. Beside her J.P. had clearly lost consciousness again. She shook his shoulder in an attempt to rouse him. "Wake up!" she hissed. "Dammit, wake up!"

All of a sudden the lighting shifted noticeably. When Bellemere looked over her shoulder, a dark shape stood out against the flames beyond the cavern opening. She could discern nothing specific through the veil of water, not who they were or even what direction they were facing. But it was him, without a doubt.

Suddering with pain, the lieutenant grasped the handle of a pistol tucked into her captain's belt. She withdrew it and aimed shakily at that forbidding form through the waterfall, though her fingers felt swollen and numb. The Fiend drew closer until his shadow practically filled the opening, floating in midair like his feet didn't touch the ground. It almost seemed as though he was inspecting the waterfall itself. Surely he could see the tunnel behind it? Or was his eyesight hindered by the flickering pyre which was once his own ship? He must know they were here! Why wasn't he coming in to get them?

Only one shot. Make it count. The cave was small. Once inside, a man of his size would be unable to dodge. If she fired before he noticed her it might just be enough. Be patient, Bellemere.

Patience. Wait.

Water bubbled and fell. Firelight flickered along the walls. Her finger tensed on the trigger in preparation to fire.

Before her, that shadowy phantom dissolved away like smoke.

Bellemere continued to aim the pistol in readiness. She held it until that negligible weight became noticeable, then insupportable. At last her arm fell with a gasp. Any fear that her enemy was waiting for just that moment to attack proved groundless. She realized they were alone together and had been for some time.

Gardiner wheezed piteously beside her. When he woke hours later after they were rescued it would be to learn he had failed. All their crew save the officers were dead, including those left topside. They must have been the first to go. As awful as this was, what truly broke him was to learn that the Raquel had sailed within minutes of their defeat, crewed by freshly recruited pirates wearing Marine uniforms looted from the dead and captained by the very man who had murdered them. If these aspiring swashbucklers knew how he tended to treat his underlings, it held no fear for them. The promise of the late Pirate King spurred them on.

One Piece…

Disturbingly enough, the disaster at Loguetown hardly garnered Marineford's attention. They were too panicked at the sweeping revolution sparked by Roger's dying words which made all else pale in comparison. Bellemere had expected at least a demotion. Instead she was promoted to captain and assigned to tackle this rising swell of lawlessness. The Golden Age of Piracy had begun.

To her knowledge, J.P. Gardiner never spoke again after that day. He was relieved of duty and given into the care of a medical facility at Marineford that attended to his every need. She came to see him as often as possible, but he never stirred from his bed and seemed only marginally aware of these visits. Bellemere made no mention of their disgrace. She had sworn privately to bring the Fiend to justice. The fiery maiden continued to rapidly climb the ranks with that goal firm in mind. It seemed attainable. He had gained a fearsome reputation for killing his own crews, such that few were willing to sail with him anymore. It seemed to be only a matter of time before his options dwindled and there was nowhere left for him to hide.

Now that vow would have to remain unfulfilled. As of today, less than a year after the Pirate King's demise, the man responsible for murdering countless Marines and destroying so many dreams would become a Shichibukai, one of the World Government's vaunted Warlords of the Sea. None of those atrocities mattered, it seems. Instead they were going to reward him for it. His crimes would be forgiven, and he would hold an untouchable position that put him beyond the reach of any law. Only keeping the growing number of pirates in check mattered.

At the very least, Gardiner would never see it. He couldn't. Her old captain had died two days ago, when rumor of the announcement made its way through military headquarters. Bellemere didn't know who specifically had told him. She would have kicked the living hell out of them if she did.

None of that mattered now. The funeral service was over, old 'Steady-as-She-Goes' having been buried at sea according to his last wishes. The Fiend was set to arrive in Marineford to officially receive his title sometime this afternoon. Before that happened, Bellemere intended to be well on her way to East Blue. Warlords were not assigned to territories in the weakest of seas. He would be unlikely to set foot there, which meant she need never afford him any courtesies or even stand in his presence.

Once the paperwork was signed, the departing Marine collected her belongings and headed for the docks. With a duffle bag hoisted over one shoulder and travel orders tucked into a pocket, she walked down the quay observing numerous battleships and merchant vessels tied up along them. Seabirds circled overhead cawing in an endless backdrop of noise. Faces slipped by her she didn't bother to notice. Any hopes her superiors might have held for her were completely dashed by this point. Well, that suited Bellemere fine. The dead she had been unable to protect might consider this a suitable fate for her. Someone should get their revenge at least.

As she made her way along Bellemere noticed something. A long line of Marines stood on guard to either side of the lane down which she walked, forming a wall that kept any curious passersby back. Loaded rifles in hand, they looked neither right nor left, maintaining an impassive bearing. Her white officer's coat meant she could pass between them unremarked, but the departing warrior seriously doubted this display of ceremony was meant for her benefit.

Her gaze drifted further down the quay to where those uniformed ranks ended before a particular ship that had recently docked. A man wearing the insignia of a Rear Admiral waited at the bottom of the gangplank staring up. All of a sudden he gave a signal. At once every soldier lining the port clicked their heels together and stood at rigid attention, one hand flying to salute in a rustle of cloth and gear magnified a hundredfold.

Lazily a huge pirate strolled down the gangplank. Not even thirty years old, he stopped before the middle-aged Rear Admiral, who saluted the raider with a wooden expression. This high-ranking Marine thanked the pirate politely for appearing ahead of schedule, then swept an arm down the parade line as a sign he should proceed. They set off together side by side. Not a single one of their escort so much as flinched as that infamous monster swept past them accompanied by an officer of the Navy.

Bellemere didn't break stride. She continued walking, even as her blood began to boil and she gripped the straps of the duffle bag so hard her knuckles popped.

The aspiring Warlord didn't even spare a glance at the woman approaching them, his disinterested gaze looming well above her own. Bellemere afforded him the same lack of interest. She also didn't acknowledge the small frown the Rear Admiral wore upon spotting her. Several honor guards quietly observing had to wonder if this lady was about to make a scene. Perhaps she intended to push between them? Her angry march forward would surely lend one to suspect as much. And the way she glared straight ahead with such wrathful focus left it unclear if she even saw the disparate pair at all.

Instead at the last minute the female Marine turned to take a wide berth around them. The two parties passed, and several soldiers relaxed at finding the confrontation was averted.

Just breathing a sigh of relief, one of the Marines jumped as he felt his weapon snatched away. In front of him Bellemere whirled around, raising the rifle as she did. In the span of a heartbeat she had already cocked the hammer, sighted down its length and pulled the trigger, blasting a hole straight through that wicked pirate's head before anyone could react.

A burning cigar tumbled to the stone streets.

"CROCODILE-SAMA!" the Rear Admiral spun about, face ashen. "Are you alright?!"

In response a bejeweled hand slipped into a coat pocket, emerging with a fresh cigar.

"Of course."

With casual assurance he placed it between his teeth, then withdrew a golden lighter and flicked it open. After setting the tip ablaze, the pirate took a few experimental puffs and closed his lighter with a snap. By the time he turned to address the shocked Marine, the hole had closed up with a soft swish of sand. Two cold reptilian eyes regarded that prestigious figure calmly.

"No cause for concern," Crocodile assured him. "Shall we proceed?"

The Rear Admiral looked between their guest and Bellemere, who furiously stared right back. Having decided that if the new Shichibukai took no offense at having his brains blown out then neither should they, he turned and continued the journey towards Marine Headquarters. The pirate followed suit.

Behind them Bellemere threw the discharged weapon down and spun angrily away. She stalked off, teeth grinding, face red from fury and humiliation. The nervous soldiers didn't even try to stop her.

Damn him! Go to HELL!

So caught up in her wrath, Bellemere failed to notice the slow shifting of Crocodile's profile, one predatory eye lingering on her departing back for a moment before turning forward again.

He remembered her, of course. Crocodile knew all his enemies, especially those who had managed to injure him even a little. He was a patient man. Having waited this long, no reason he couldn't do so a little longer. Let her arrive at wherever she was going. Settle in. Get to know people. Time would pass. Months, maybe even years, until no reasonable person could possibly think he might have ever had a hand in what happened next.

No one was permitted to impede him. She would learn that lesson, like all the rest.

"Damn, lady," the killer who identified himself only as Mr. 3 looked around appreciatively at the scattered bodies of both military and their opponents. "You killed all my men. And my partner." A nudge from his foot failed to gain a reaction from the fallen Miss White Day, which only caused him to laugh. "Talk about going for 'Baroque'. Joke's on me, eh?"

Bellemere crouched a few feet in front of him breathing heavily. Blood poured from numerous wounds on her body. The broken hilt of a sword remained clutched in one fist.

"Hurts to lose, huh?" Completely unharmed, Mr. 3 glanced down at the shattered blade driven clean through his stomach. "Don't feel bad about it. I told you, I'm a Mail Man. Anything the world throws at me, I can 'Return To Sender'." He gripped the shaft and slowly pulled it out, groaning in mock commiseration as Bellemere clutched her own stomach. Fresh blood gushed through her fingers. When he was done, there was not a mark on his body, and he flung the spotless blade away before drawing his pistol.

Dark clouds gathered over this devastated hamlet. Its citizens had already been slaughtered by the mysterious marauders. The Marines who received a distress call in response were dead as well, all save for their commander. Glaring up at the grinning madman, with dying clarity Bellemere felt certain she was the real target of this tragedy.

As such, she let him talk, patiently conserving her remaining energy for one final attack.

"Guess you could say you got 'the Works'." Mr. 3 mused. The assassin chuckled at what he clearly thought was some type of witticism, then heaved a sigh. "Lemme send you on your way, then. Postage paid, courtesy of my boss." He cocked the hammer and took aim at her bowed head. "Bye-bye, b–"

Bellemere struck. With every bit of strength left she flung her sword hilt at him. The jagged tip impaled Mr. 3's forearm with such force it snapped backward to pierce his chest. The hand holding the gun flew upward, finger convulsively squeezing the trigger right as the barrel bounced against his chin. A shot rang out, and with a bloody croak, Mr. 3 collapsed backwards to lie still. Half his face was missing.

"Return to sender," Bellemere smirked nastily, feeling quite pleased at this outcome. She barely even felt the new wounds that had opened on both arm and chest. The young woman closed her eyes with utmost weariness and collapsed over a broken piece of masonry.

Guess this is it. My life's over. I screwed up again. Some Marine I am. Everyone's dead. Maybe it's me? I should never have joined the Navy. A string of failures, all leading up to this moment. Clearly someone has it in for me. Should I try and find out who? Or should I just…

"… get it over with," she breathed.

It was then Bellemere heard a baby crying. And she wondered… if I keep going, maybe things will work out? Or maybe I'll just mess it all up. Story of my life.

Worth a shot.

FIN.