Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece
TW: Gory-ish
"Nao, wait in the office for Garp or Kuzan to return," Rosinante commands, and for a second she wonders whether or not he knows who he's talking to.
He proceeds without checking to see if she had listened to his ludicrous order—a fatal mistake when it comes to someone as stubborn as Nao. She waits for the sound of his footsteps to grow faint—so quiet that she can barely hear it—before she follows after.
Rosinante really is a naive man.
The unmistakable sound of war—the roar of gunfire and the agonized shouts of the almost-dead—penetrates the ship's steel walls, echoing throughout the hallway in an eerily muffled fashion.
Nao doesn't flinch at it. Her years with Rayleigh had hardened her through unimaginable means, and now commonplace atrocities in a cruel world are just that—normal. (Her ability to function as a human being is more fucked than ever, which is saying a damn lot since the Universe had deemed her screwed from the very start.)
She can make out the last bit of his shadow as he turns each corner. As far as she can linger behind, she will; she can't afford to get caught by the man she's tailing. Rosinante is too kind of a person to let a child get caught up in battle.
But things never do go quite as planned.
"You know, Nao, you're a pretty impudent kid," Rosinante comments, stopping her in her tracks. She attempts to move away from the man—perhaps make her way back to the office without confirming her presence—but by the time she gathers the nerve to try it, it's too late.
Rosinante stands directly in front of her, hands on his hips and leaning over in a manner that emphasizes just how much he dwarfs her. He shoots her a half-assed annoyed glare; it's one that betrays just how angry he is at her for following him—as in not at all.
When he realizes he's getting nowhere with his stern facade, he drops it. "Why do you have to always put me in a hard place?" he asks somewhat rhetorically.
Nao offers him a closed-eye smile. "Because if I didn't give others a hard time, I'd have a hard time myself. Following everyone's orders is just what the complacent and cowardly do. I'd rather die doing something that matters than die cowering in the corner."
"If you die, I'll probably end up doing Garp's paperwork until the day I cross over too." She wilts at this, presuming that he's about to send her back. Then he flicks her forehead. "So stay behind me when enemies are around, and don't do anything too stupid."
"Aye aye, Captain." And though she has no intentions of doing as he says, she beams at him anyways.
He gives a sigh, already exhausted. "Just don't die."
"Now that I can probably do."
And like that, the two begin to rush towards the general area where the explosion had come from—the middle of their deck. As the rush through the seemingly never ending halls, another boom resounds from the ship, this time one from the spot Nao had just vacated.
"Good thing you're stubborn, kid," Rosinante comments, trying to make light of the situation as he spares the now-smoldering office a lingering glance. "Garp's going to have us filling out paperwork for days."
"You're only now seeing my stubbornness as a good quality? Maybe you really are only suited for menial tasks," she quips, indulging herself in a little friendly verbal-war with the blond.
"With a tongue that sharp, you could just slit your own belly instead of dragging me down with you," Rosinante snaps back, though the little smirk dancing on his lips lets her know that nothing she's saying is being taken personally. "Are you sure you're just a brat?"
"Shut up and get rid of the enemy already, idiot."
They finally make it onto the ship's deck, and the banter they had going on between them is silenced. The scene they are faced with can be described as no less that atrocious—the real epitome of the damned word. Blood smears the now-splintered wooden planks, and from the small fires that ensued from the blast, Nao can make out what looks to be what's left of people's' limbs.
She grits her teeth at the sheer ugliness of it all, but doesn't give any further reaction.
Rosinante begins to wonder just how much Nao had seen for such a watered down response to the gruesome sight of battle. He gently places a hand on her shoulder and pushes her behind him, using the other hand to point to the sides of their ship.
Though the deck holds no sign of life aside from Nao and Rosinante, the grunts of people struggling to climb aboard comes loud and clear. Rosinante draws a raised finger to his lips, inducing silence through his devil fruit, and quickly hands Nao a small dagger.
"I hope you're okay with using this," he says as the weapon is grasped by her, not sure if he wants her answer to be yes or no.
"More okay with it than I am with dying."
"Fair enough," he concedes before he allows noise to enter their ears again.
For the first—and most likely the last—time, she adheres to his previous order, falling back and obscuring herself within the shadows. Her small frame allows her to wedge herself between two structures, effectively hiding her from anyone who isn't actively searching.
But people are actively searching—most of them looking for their own respective places to hide in order to hitch a ride out Mariejois once the conflict has blown over—and before the worst of the fight has ended, Nao is dragged out by what she assumes is an escaped slave. If she were wearing the ragged clothes she had had on before she left Rayleigh back in Sabaody, she might have passed for another escapee, but the marines had allowed her to borrow one of their chore boy uniforms, and now she stands as an enemy to those looking for freedom.
If she were any other child, she might have collapsed in fear.
If she were any other child, she might have been more compassionate.
But she isn't any other child, and she isn't collapsing in fear, or gaining a new sense of compassion.
She's killing.
The escaped slave is a teen, perhaps a few years older than her current physical body, and trembling in both fear and exhilaration. Her pupils are dilated, and it's obvious to Nao just how mentally unstable she is. If Nao were given more time, she could possibly persuade the girl to lay down her shabbily crafted weapon—a piece of wood primitively sharpened at one end.
But time is a privilege—one that she's never been given in both this life and the last. There is no room for peace talks; other escapees are already rushing towards her with the intent to kill.
Nao feels her blood pumping through her veins—it's her first battle in quite a long time—and delicately wraps her fingers along the knife's handle. It's, for lack of a better word, a cute dagger, nowhere near big enough for a real fight, but between the little weapon and the unsophisticated ones that the former slaves held, there is no question of whose weapon is superior.
The handle is cool to the touch, and she finds herself almost eager for the inevitable bloodshed.
It takes a little bit of a courage and a lot of apathy for her to swing, but the moment the blade sinks into her attacker's abdomen, something snaps within Nao. Her expression mirrors that of her assailant—deranged and frenzies—and she lets out a closed-mouth scream when blood splatters onto the white uniform. The teenager drops to the floor, clutching the injury, while Nao continues to plow through the mob.
To her credit, even in that state, she's aiming for places that are not totally lethal—as long as medical aid is given as soon as possible.
They're in enemy territory though—the thought of a medical professional coming to save them is almost unthinkable—and so a trail of corpses and soon-to-be corpses begins to form where she walks. She's a murderer, and she goddamn well knows it.
But this isn't just about bloodlust. There's no empathy in her movements—her heart holds no room for a luxury like that. It doesn't matter if the people she's cutting down were once good people. She can't—and won't—think about the lives her victims could have lived.
She's killing—she really, truly is—but not to kill.
She's killing to survive.
(She has to suRviVE. She won't let them them drag her dOwn DoWN back dOwN to that VoID.)
Whether it's because his face is the only one she knows in the bloody crowd, or because of pure coincidence, her slaughter leads her to where Rosinante, too, is struggling to survive. The sheer number of people is overwhelming, and unlike her, the kindhearted man is putting in a real effort to only incapacitate his enemies. He is significantly worse for wear compared to her in an injury sense, but she is more drenched in blood than they had both ever thought possible.
They're standing back to back now, both of them having been cornered by the unrelenting crowd of desperate escaped slaves. Rosinante's heavy breathing is felt against her own panting figure, and she finds herself throwing a concerned glance behind her to check on his condition. He's down on one knee, struggling to even keep a grip on his sword as he tanks attack after attack. Seeing this, Nao shifts closer to him.
She does it just in time to see an assailant get dangerously close to them—one placed right in one of Rosinante's blind spots.
The man, unlike the others, is wielding a real sword and swings it more assuredly than any of the other frenzied ex-slaves combined.
He is dangerous, and Nao knows it.
Before she can shout a word of warning to her impromptu comrade in battle, the man has already begun to jab the sword towards them, intent on impaling both of them at the same time.
Nao reacts so quickly that she barely realizes it herself. The blade grazes her cheek, slitting open a shallow cut while continuing on its path into Rosinante's turned back. Her body seems to move of its own accord as her hand shoots up, stopping the sword mid-swing. She doesn't flinch as the blade digs into her palm—doesn't even acknowledge the blood squirting from her nearly amputated hand. The red liquid spurts onto Rosinante's neck, catching his attention, and he stares in horror at the spectacle bestowed upon him.
Nao is looking at the attacker right in his eyes—as detached from reality as Rosinante thinks she can ever get. (He's really in for a surprise with that one.) Blood drips from all the various scrapes and minor punctures that riddle her body, pooling beneath their feet. She uses her grip on the sword's blade to hold the man in place, and with her other hand, she delivers a gory killing blow, shoving her own weapon into the man's neck and gouging out a chunk of it.
"Nao!" Rosinante exclaims, abandoning the fight and ditching his sword to grab hold of her tiny, bloodied wrist instead.
She's trembling.
Carefully, he tries to pry her sullied weapon out of her hand, but a recomposed stare from her makes him pause.
"Stop being so concerned over whether or not they die, and start being more concerned over whether or not we live," she snarls, yanking her hand out his and shoving him back towards where his weapon lay unguarded on the ground.
In a split second, she somehow regains her grip on reality, and resumes her role in the skirmish.
But something's changed. She's no longer focused on aiming for the least lethal areas on her helpless opponents.
She's swinging to kill.
Before the death toll can rise much higher, however, a presence of great power overwhelms all those on the ship, eventually leaving only Nao and Rosinante standing.
"Sheesh," Rayleigh starts, "I leave you alone for a few days, and you go and lose it on me."
Rayleigh's back already!
This took a little bit longer than usual to update, and I am so sorry about that, but this past week has been literally so mentally taxing. I hope you guys can understand. I'm back in the flow of writing, though!
I hope you guys enjoyed this bloody chapter! I know I had fun writing it.
If you did enjoy (or even if you didn't) please review! It means the world to me, and I'll admit I was a little underwhelmed by the amount of feedback last week.
I love you guys! Have a great day. ~