The group was approaching the bar when he heard his laugh.
Zehahahaha
His gut clenched and a shudder ran through his body. Cold sweat erupted across his body and his limbs felt like lead as he moved, he was reminded of a struggling fly trapped in honey.
Zehahahaha
Bushido felt like he was falling down and down an abyss, darkness (Teach's darkness) defiling him. Struggling and drowning, his senses blind. The smug and treacherous laughter splitting open his head like a hammer, his ears ringing. He couldn't think!
Zehahahaha
This was all wrong, he thought wildly, a mere memory shouldn't affect him like this! Focusing his good eye, even as the imaginary darkness licked and pried further at his body, he analysed the situation.
This was all mental.
So then, what mentally was it representing?
"Uragiri no Kuro!"
The commanding voice echoed through the darkness, shattering through the darkness's hold on him. Bushido gasped as the view of Mock Town shifted and warped.
Like two sets of film being played on top of each other, the world blurred. He could still see and hear Mock Town but, at the same time, he was more than faintly aware of Little Garden. The edges of his vision seemed to bleed back into the buzz of the immense jungle. And when he breathed in quick gasps, he wasn't greeted by the hazy stench of a dirty rundown lawless town. No, he was greeted by a miasma of humidity and dirt.
On an even worrying note, his perspective of Little Garden was constantly in motion
Zehahahaha
He made to abandon the memory and froze, his skin taking on a sickly hue. His body didn't respond to his call, not even a twitch. His mental body's reactions became erratic and sporadic, limbs pulling in different directions at once, as he tried to command the body that refused to respond to his will any longer.
There was something morbidly ironic, he would later reflect, in the fact that the body he had stolen from its rightful owner was no longer dancing to Bushido's tune.
But as it happened, all he could do was panic.
The jungle was a blur and, with a furrowed brow, he realised his body was starting to sprint.
That couldn't bode well.
As the darkness threatened to lick and rip at his feet, the horrifying truth came to him and Bushido groaned.
Wax guy's partner: the girl with the mind controlling paints.
She had taken control of his body.
And he was trapped in the memories, unable to let go of the sword.
Zehahahaha
He uttered an oath and tried with renewed vigor to take control of his physical body. His mental body's muscles screamed in protest, sweat coated his quivering skin and his teeth ground together in frustration. He dug his fingers into his palms, drawing blood. The sanguine droplets dripped to the dusty ground and were instantly swallowed by the ravenous and insatiable darkness.
It was no use. His real body's hand remained clenched no matter how much he struggled and cursed. He could dimly see it through the haze of the sun beating against the ground in Mock Town, his tanned right hand wrapped tightly around Kuina's blade as if it was a lifeline at sea.
The darkness coiled almost invitingly at his knees, it seemed to whisper seductively at him: full of false promises and half truths. Why not just fall down? Why not just give it all up? It was a doomed mission anyway. Pirate King without any loss?
Impossible.
Besides, they didn't trust him. Well, Luffy and Vivi did. Glimmers of distrust still hung in the eyes of the others, driving him mad with their crew wa disjointed and fragmented. It couldn't be saved. The Straw Hat Pirates were dead men walking. They were destined to die.
Luffy was destined to die.
He was on his hands and knees now, the group long since entered the bar (he could hear Bellamy whaling on them). The bubbling darkness had coated his limbs and snaked up to his ear, nibbling and gnawing at his brain.
Zehahahaha
If they were destined to die...then why not at his hands?
Zehahahaha
The darkness was smothering him now as he fell down on his back, pillaging his throat as it poured in. Smothering him with its absoluteness. He dimly wondered if he could die in the memories? Would his younger self automatically get the body? Would the body slip into a coma? Younger Zoro trapped forever in the mental plane?
Just before the darkness stole his vision, he saw Teach. The fat man plonked down in the middle of the street, chortling as he choked down cherry pies and swigged down rum. Then the sight of Mock Town was stolen from him.
Zehahahaha
Darkness was absolute. Darkness was unchallenged. Darkness was everything. Darkness was him and he was darkness. His senses were gone, robbed by the all prevailing darkness. Even the view of Little Garden was growing murkier and murkier, tainted by the darkness.
Bushido could see some some of grotesque, gigantic wax cake structure though his dimming vision. Surreally, he recognised Sanji in his stead, the caricature of the cook was half frozen with wax and had one leg raised high in the air. Wado Ichimonji's bright and glittering white blade shone like an open flame in the darkness and, with a soft moan, Bushido tried to move his paralyzed body towards it.
Then the blade was singing through the air and a spray of blood filled the air, the red seeming to glow in the black. Bushido heard Sanji cry out (or was he just imagining it in the darkness?) and watched as Sanji fell book, the force toppling him from the sculpted cake.
Zehahahaha
The Straw Hat Pirates were going to die.
At his hands.
Zehahahaha
The Straw Hat Pirates were going to die at his hands.
The darkness soothed him.
Luffy was going to die at his hands.
Snuggly wrapping around him like a dark fur blanket.
Luffy was...going to die at his hands?
The darkness stiffened as Bushido tensed.
Like hell!
Bushido would not let his own doubt and insecurities hurt or kill anyone close to him. He owed that much to Kuina at the very least.
Not not, not ever!
The darkness screamed and writhed, tendrils burning in the sunlight. A gasp broke Bushido's lips as the tar-like substance loosened from his face. His good eye blinked, the fleeing darkness feeling akin to flakes of sleep in the morning. Nami and Vivi's screams rang in his ears as the darkness, seemingly so pitiful now, slinked away completely.
"People's dreams never end!"
Teach's sudden proclamation drowned out the sounds of Little Garden completely and utterly and, in the following silence, Bushido could nearly pretend he was actually in the dingy and derelict port town.
"Yeah," Bushido said quietly, eying the man who had been responsible for so much heartache, "I'll give you that much. They never end."
His dream was to protect Luffy.
And he'd be damned if he didn't. Hell or high water, Luffy would survive. He swore that on Kuina's grave.
"ZORO!"
The anguish-filled scream nearly brought him to his knees, his skin taking on the visage of a corpse. He turned and, waiting impatiently for the blurry vision to settle, observed what was happening in Little Garden. His stomach instantly heaved in protest, bile rising up the back of his throat.
His body now stood on the wax cake (the white wax now tarnished by sanguine red), Wado Ichimonji stained with blood. Vivi's bruised body lay thrown in a crumpled heap on the ground a few metres away and Sanji was still clutching at his gushing chest. And Nami-Nami was…
Writhing and screaming under his sword.
Bushido had heard screams before. All manners of screams, in fact. From tearful mothers clutching far too still babies to the roar of men at war who had lost everything and had everything to gain. As a pirate, he had heard a plethora of screams. He had long ago become desensitised to them.
He had believed that screams no longer fazed him.
He had been wrong. Oh, so wrong.
The scream made his knees buckle, the sound a sweeping wave of white hot agony piercing into his brain.
It was the sound of sheer agony. The mind-shattering quality the worst of them always held. Like the owners sanity and life were balanced on a knife's edge, the yawning abyss of insanity stretched out before them in earnest welcome. A crooked half-grin on its face.
But, beyond that, he realized what made it so much worse than all the others. It was a scream of broken trust. Scared and pain filled brown eyes stared up at him from an ashen face, those eyes screamed why at him. An honest-to-god sob escaped from his mouth as the scream vibrated in his very soul.
The scream became garbled and muffled, a pitiful whine like an old dog that needed to be put down. A moan left his mouth and he watched with horror as his body's weathered boot ground down on Nami's throat. A second hand joined the one stubbornly clutching at Wado Ichimonji and the katana was raised high into the air, directly above Nami's writhing body.
The blade swung down.
"NO!"
Bushido didn't realise he was not the only one who had screamed until his vision blurred and broke. The blurry world was a flashing myriad of colours with Mock Town as his only anchor. His physical body landed in the dirt with a dull thud. Motion sick, Bushido warily scanned the wax cake. Was Nami okay?
"ZORO!"
Steam hung in the air like some sort of physical representation of the tension and Bushido felt tears trickle down from his good eye as he looked up at the wax cake.
Glowing pink, and with eyes full of hate, Monkey D. Luffy stood perched above him. The rubber teen had a clenched and shaking fist outstretched, flecked by droplets of blood. Bushido's blood.
"WHY?"
The voice was so savage and full of hate, so unlike Luffy, that Bushido recoiled in the memories. That was the voice reserved for men like Teach and Akainu. The lowest of the low.
Being lumped in with them...made him feel physically sick.
Luffy disappeared in a blur, not content to wait for an answer. Bushido saw his arm come up, coated black, and catch Luffy's fist in a vice grip. Luffy swung his leg in a sideways sweep, a snarl on his face. Bushido's physical body leaned back and he effortlessly threw Luffy over his shoulder.
Bushido had seen enough.
He had to stop this right now.
He saw down cross-legged on the dusty ground of Mock Town and closed his eyes tight, trying to block out the sounds of fighting. Of steel on skin.
He opened his eyes and found himself in the familiar comforting abyss of his mental plane. Roronoa Zoro hadn't yet noticed him, busy with one-armed pushups. "Oi," Bushido called out, "catch!"
And Wado Ichimonji flew through the air.
Acting on instinct, Zoro's hand snaked up and wrapped around the hilt. Bushido watched his eyes widen and saw him mouth "why?"
"Protect them," Bushido said, "I beg of you."
And then he was alone, Zoro whisked away to take back control of his body.
Bushido massaged his temple.
All he could do was wait.
Why, why, why?
The obsidian blade came at him in an angle and nearly skewered him, Luffy rolled to the side and instead came away only with a nasty gash on his side.
Why, why, why, why?
The rusty and cracked lock groaned, a large gash running down the center.
Why, why, why, why, why?
Why was Zoro doing this?
Why wouldn't the fucking lock break?
Zoro's Haki infused knee came up into his ribs and a sharp crack tore through the air. Luffy stumbled back, blood erupting from the corner of his mouth, as tongs of white hot agony pried at his aching chest.
His limbs felt like lead and his lips were turning blue, his heart a the point of bursting. He was out of steam. Literally and figurative.
Zoro mercilessly cut open one of his hamstrings and Luffy cursed weakly as he fell to the ground. He moved to get up but his failing body only twitched, a last dredge of energy spent. He couldn't move. Zoro turned and began to walk towards the unconscious Sanji, sword trailing through the dirt as he walked.
They'd only been fighting for about a minute! Was he still that much outclassed?
And why wouldn't the stupid infernal lock just open?
The lock creaked in response, mocking him with its existence. Luffy's brow furrowed as he put all of his mental strength into breaking it. A fleck of rust was the only result.
Zoro reached Sanji and paused, a twitch running through him as he raised his sword. His back muscles strained, a sharp contrast to the strange black tattoo (tattoo he thought wildly, that wasn't right. Zoro didn't have a tattoo, did he?), as if he was fighting some mental demons.
Someone deeper and more primal welled up inside of Luffy as he watched one of his friends about to be murdered by another.
Something much more ancient and powerful than the power held back by the lock.
For a moment, and a moment only, time seemed to freeze. Luffy's tired eyes took in everything at once.
The unconscious giants.
The gloating Baroque Works duo, a child and a man with his hair styled in the shape of a three.
Usopp, knocked out by Zoro within seconds of the start of Luffy's fight with Zoro.
A bruised Vivi, whimpering as she lay curled up in the fetal position.
Nami, her precious blood dripping down the wax.
And Zoro (why Zoro? Why?) with his sword held proudly high over the defenseless Sanji. The bug nipping at Zoro's neck.
Time resumed. The sword whistled as it moved down through the air.
"STOP!"
The power surged forward at once from Luffy's every pore, sweeping through the air.
Everything fell silent. The chirping insects fell from their perches on trees and bushes, Baroque Works agents, foaming at the mouths, fell to their knees. Vivi's moans subsided. And Zoro, undefeatable Zoro, toppled like a tree felled by lightning.
Everything was silent.
Silent as the grave.
