Warning this fic is unbeta'd ! I just really wanted to post something for Zoro's birthday and I didn't know what to write so I started writing and came up with this and now I'm posting it. So yes here in all its raw unbeta'd glory is the thing I wrote for Zoro's birthday that I didn't totally procrastinate to write on the very day. Hope you enjoy and happy birthday to that dork swordsman.
He starts off with a side step to avoid the right flank as they dare try and swing to his 'blind side', yet fail to even cause a breeze through Roronoa's earrings. They're under classed and under skilled, that much is obvious, but they're a stubborn bunch of fools. Hell, they had to be to get this far and provoke the future world's greatest swordsmen enough to make him move. He has heavy shoes, they weigh him down and keep him to his resolve, but sometimes pests are exactly what they are, pests. It was only right they be eliminated quickly enough.
The look of surprise that dawned on their faces was entirely expected. They'd willingly entered the predators den. Zoro didn't need to be a master navigator to see all obstacles at hand, to understand and know the limitations of their environment and manipulate them to his liking. He would enjoy this, unlike his usual low tolerance of distractions. These people dared to at this point take him, of all people, down a few notches? One thing was clear, they'd willingly stepped into their upcoming fates.
The swordsman settles and eases into a standing position, dropping his shoulders. To properly play with his enemies, he'd give them some false hope. It was a minor lesson but Roronoa had learned early on more passion is driven into actions when the light of possibility is in reach. He'd put up a false persona, one that is relax and open, to allow them to feel the humility he had to only once before. To be so close, but have their power matched by nearly nothing. Every swing was an easy dodge to maneuver, a neck stretch here, leaning back or to the side. The tips of their blades weren't nearly as passionate as their resolve, they failed to even be one with their blades.
If it had been just one and two of them, perhaps, Zoro would have finished this outright. But there was an army of them circling in, coming into his lion's den, intent of capturing him or even more laughable, his nakama. Finally, easing his hand out of a relaxed clench, he brushed his fingers against the hilt of one of his swords. He wouldn't be too selfish here, he wasn't alone, on his very person there was more than just he who would enjoy this upcoming bloodshed. In this mass of disappointment, a one on one fight would grant him nothing, but merging his enemy as a group into one opponent might do.
With practiced ease, Zoro released his swords and held them with great pride, their point angling toward the heavens were he countlessly demanded his recognition. Today would not be the day his name rang throughout, he knew this, but Roronoa Zoro was never one not to aim his standards high - and know without a doubt he'd be the one to reach them. There was such trust and respect flowing through Zoro and into his bladed extensions, much like a chakra. It wasn't a merge of beings per say, but ultimately he became one with them, his will and theirs were the same.
Knowing better than to waste even the slightest drop of his own energy when the game was coming to him, Zoro waited with ease until they'd approached just paces away. They probably found their strength in the sheer fact they were in greater numbers and Roronoa Zoro was standing still, but that would, for the first wave of attackers, be their undoing. He would allow them as close as they pleased but it would only guarantee the severity of his attacks. When he would finally push off in such ease and move faster than their general marine grunt minds could process by edging his way past the group, his swords lapped up and began to satisfy their bloodthirsty tendencies.
The sound of blood escaping the body was no stranger to Zoro, he'd experienced it himself first hand and he'd heard as it happened to others countless times, just as it was happening now with all affected dawning fresh x's across their chests. There was a sickening way it brought great pleasure to him, perhaps because of the way it made him feel powerful, or the hum of approval from his blades. Roronoa wouldn't stop right there with his party tricks though, he was just getting started and there were more than a few 'guests' that hadn't been attended to.
There was nothing poetic or beautiful about it, only straightforward. These people were an enemy, intent on being an obstacle to Zoro's goals and future accomplishments. They willingly signed themselves up for this to follow their own paths they deemed to be righteous. Zoro's was different and selfishly, the most important. So when he shifted his body from the position that he landed, sending physical waves through the air like lightening with the twist of his body, he felt no remorse. He only watched in the corner of his eye as the twin dragons, as he often saw the waves of his attack to be, surround and swallow handfuls of marines whole unmercifully. It kept his interest and gave him a high he would continue to strive to taste.
With the back of his hilt he shoved a man down by colliding it with his face, enough to pull his sword back and it's blade to meet another's blade, someone who dared to get so close but didn't realize stopping one of Zoro's swords wouldn't matter. He need only swing the second, like a brother coming to aid, to cut them down and scissor through their squadrons like they were nothing more than ants under his boots. He wanted to feel alive and every moment he came across one of their generals, supposedly the best out of the normal grunts with their odd and peculiar weapons of choice, it was nothing but delightful to crush them as any other opponent.
The best part, they just kept coming. A normal person might find it a bit exhausting or annoying. On any other day, Zoro might have felt the same but today was different. They'd willingly opened up the door to his cage, they were inviting the demon within to come out and greet them. Thinking such an analogy was nothing more than a nickname, that alone signed death certificates. Ironically their only mercy would come in the form of Zoro's final blade. It was the one his connection and passions were most intertwined with, yet it was the purist thing that stood out from all the rest that was Zoro and his ambitions.
Wado wouldn't kill per say, on its own, but to count that as a weakness was an understatement. The battlefield of Zoro's den was gathering the weak, collecting them as they fell to their knees clutching their chests, their arms, whatever they still could before utter defeat. Of course to Roronoa's eye they were quickly dismissed, his vision only looking forward to his next opponent. The adrenaline rushed through him and everything else not related to the chase or the battle made the slightest impact on him. He didn't care how covered his skin had become with the blood of others, how the top of his robes had rolled off his shoulders exposing him to the chill of the air as he moved. Everything was obsolete. There was only winning and advancing on. There was nothing else, it was in his nature.
His game lasted longer than it felt and still it hadn't ended. Zoro had reached the top of the hill figuratively, his eye scanning over what was left of such a great army, those who pitifully were supposed to keep the peace. Peace they wouldn't have already interrupted had they just decidedly left a wild predator alone instead of trying to capture and tame him. The only regret Zoro had, though he didn't feel it was regret at all in a sinful way, was that he'd taken to long to slay down those whose voices could reach out and bring more. But when was Roronoa Zoro ever not willing to continue a fight, this was his practice, this was paving his path. He always greeted it with wide open arms and a grin that could kill on its own.
That's exactly what he did. Chest heaving in excitement, Zoro rolled his shoulder's back, watching the next wave of opponents approach with their new and improved tactics, their so called 'best of the best'. Fairly well, he'd take on them all. He'd fucking win. Zoro lowered Wado from his mouth, snatching the bandanna struggling around his pulsing bicep and tying it with haste around his forehead. He hadn't broken a sweat, this was nothing in comparison to his usual work out and endurance routine, but it was the only signal he needed to make to the marines without saying a single word.
The swordsmen placed Wado back in his jaw and glowered across the playing field. No words had to be spoken, they should just know now. They were in the predators sights, the predator whose menacing blood thirsty grin while covered in several fallen brethren shades of reds, had his sights set directly on them. This wasn't only just something he had to do to fight away marines from his nakama or for practice anymore. They'd awoken the side of Zoro scarcely done, his demon tastes. Zoro was craving this. He wanted nothing more than to see the glint of his swords as they met blood. The power trip was to addictive to quit. They needed to know and feel the truth. He would be the world's next greatest swordsman and he would not lose again. Their fates were decided the moment they entered his cage.