Note: This one was inspired by and written to Epic Score's "Siren's Call," so if you want the full impact of the fic, youtube it for added awesome :D
Title: Discord
Theme: #5: Music
Claim: Zoro
(Words:) 7,572
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Swearing, a gritty fight, a reference to nudity (not my fault, it's classical mythology!)
Disclaimer(s): I do not own, or pretend to own, One Piece or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Eiichiro Oda. I do not own the prompts either—those are assigned by 30_OnePiece.
They arrived at the island shortly before noon. It was uninhabited as far as the crew could tell, but looked safe enough, and even from a distance they could see the trees were covered in fruits that would be an excellent edition to their food supplies. There was nothing particularly unusual about the place, other than Nami's comment that the air was oddly still, as though they were in the calm belt; but weather patterns were different for every single island, and she shrugged it off, saying it would be fine. The crew decided to dock and spend the day foraging to supplement their food supplies. Who knew when they'd come across the next inhabited island to buy from, after all.
The island was quiet. Zoro could hear some birds in the distance, and the occasional chatter of whatever rodents lived here, but the critters kept their distance, and Zoro was fine with that. Shortly after noon, though, he began to hear another noise: something faintly in the distance, that almost sounded like a song, or even more strangely, like somebody calling his name. It touched just barely at the edge of his senses, felt soothing and innocent and solemn and wise all rolled into one, so complete, and yet oddly, so broken, not whole yet. There was loneliness in it—he was meant to fill that. There was weakness in it—he was meant to protect it. There was fear in it—he was meant to drive it away. The song was unquestionably meant solely for him, called only his name, and tugged at his senses, at his mind, at his heart, insisting, pleading, cajoling him to come search for it, for its owners; to make the music whole, to erase that weakness and emptiness and fear.
He tried to, several times—stood to go search for the sound, looked around curiously to try and pinpoint it, settled his hands resolutely on his katana blades to cut through anything to find the singers. But whenever he did the usual Straw Hat noises, filtered out in those moments of intensity, would crash back into his consciousness without the least bit of subtlety: Nami shrieking at Luffy to store the fruits, not eat them, Usopp enthusiastically telling a story about his eighty-thousand warriors and a fierce battle, Franky doing his super dance. In those moments he lost hold of his focus, and when he listened again the music and the call was gone, and he couldn't remember why it had been so important, or what the words in the song had been.
If he looked hard enough, he might have noticed several of the others exhibiting signs of equal confusion. How Chopper's ears kept flicking up and down far more than usual, how Sanji kept going farther and farther into the trees and the interior of the island, how Brook's bony hand would sometimes lift suddenly, as though conducting an invisible, inaudible chorus. But such brief moments of unnatural behavior were hard to spot, when interrupted with the Straw Hats' usual clamor of loud bickering and bragging and declarations. And Zoro felt a little more muddled than usual, less observant than he should have been. He never noticed a thing, or he might have objected later, when Sanji finally declared that he would head further into the forest and see if he could hunt up any big game to supplement their meat stores.
No one protested. It wasn't unusual for one of them to spend the day hunting, especially when the crew had to deal with Luffy's voracious appetite for meat. Sanji disappeared further into the thick woods of the island, and no one thought anything of it.
But it was unusual for their cook to miss dinner—and that was when the first set of alarm bells began ringing in Zoro's oddly confused consciousness. Sanji might go hunting well after dark, and frequently did sometimes—on some islands the better game only came out at night. But he would always return at a "respectable" dinner hour to prepare something for the crew (although he always insisted it was only for the ladies) before going out again. So when nine o'clock came and went with no cook, everyone (even Zoro, not that he'd admit to it) started to get worried.
"This isn't like him at all," Nami said, frowning. "Something must have happened to him."
"Like what?" Usopp asked nervously. "There aren't any m-monsters on this island, are there? It didn't look like there was anything here..."
"Perhaps he became the game for something else," Robin said with her usual cryptic morbidity.
"Don't say things like that, Robin!" Chopper said with a whimper. "That would be terrible if Sanji got hurt like that..."
"He could've just fallen down into a ravine or something," Franky offered a little more practically. "One good whack to the head'd still knock even a guy like him out."
Zoro frowned. That was possible, but he had this strange feeling tugging at the back of his mind, like he almost knew the answer to their problem but couldn't quite reach it. It made him feel unexpectedly anxious—he didn't like being unable to get to the answers, especially when protecting the crew was on the line. Something about the situation kept making him think back to earlier that day, too, when they'd been foraging. He felt like something important had happened then, like he'd heard or seen or sensed something that was vital to their current predicament. But his mind still felt hazy, like it had all afternoon; his memory felt muddled, like he'd had a little too much to drink, and he couldn't quite remember what it was that was supposed to be helping them. It was frustrating as hell, but he didn't show it in his expression, nor did he voice his own opinions—no use worrying the crew, and that was if they believed him, anyway.
"We should search for him," Nami said decisively. "Franky needs to work on those repairs he mentioned earlier, so he's exempt. Usopp, you'll take the south side of the island with Chopper—it looked like Sanji headed in that direction, and he might need a doctor. Brook, on the off chance that Sanji turned around or tracked something North...you check the other side of the island."
"Certainly, Nami-san!" the skeleton agreed. "My eyes will be peeled...though I have none, yohohoho!"
"How come you aren't going?" Usopp asked, giving Nami a suspicious look.
Nami smirked. "Robin and I will stay with the ship, in case Sanji comes back," she said, with an irritatingly righteous tone to her voice. "After all, if we left he'd come rushing right back after us, now wouldn't he?"
"What should I do, Nami?" Luffy asked.
"Nothing, Luffy, you'd get lost here too easily. Same with Zoro. Better if you two just stay here and don't cause any trouble."
Something about that didn't sit right with Zoro. Not that he cared what happened to the shit cook, but on the off chance that something bad had happened in a different sense...his instincts were usually right about this sort of thing after all, and right now his instincts were telling him something bad had happened. "No," he said decisively.
"Excuse me?" Nami asked, with a raised eyebrow.
"No, we shouldn't stay behind," Zoro said flatly. "Luffy'll go with Usopp and Chopper and I'll go with Brook, just in case."
"Why? Are you worried?" Nami asked, looking vaguely amused.
He was, actually. Every passing minute that anxious scratching at the back of his mind continued, insisted that something wasn't right here, and that Sanji was probably in the thick of it by now. But he'd rather die before admit it, so he just shrugged and said, "Hey, if something's out there that can beat curly-brow, it's gonna take me or Luffy to bring it down, right?"
Usopp and Chopper both screeched in fear and latched onto Luffy's arms, and Brook attempted to hide behind Zoro, which was difficult due to being several feet taller. The captain laughed. "Alright, let's go look!" he said decisively.
So they set off into the forest, and almost as soon as they got away from the comforting lights of the Sunny and the clamor of the crew Zoro knew without a doubt something was very wrong here. The forest was oddly quiet now at night, and completely motionless; he was acutely aware of the stillness of the air now, that absence of wind that Nami had mentioned upon arrival. Every sense he had was screaming at him now that he had to be prepared, and yet despite his instinctual warnings he still felt muddled, unfocused, like he couldn't quite concentrate enough to be ready for whatever was going to happen. Something was definitely doing this to him, and he didn't like the odd helplessness it resulted in. He resolved to stick close to Brook, so that even if something got past his clouded mind and senses he would still have enough time to react and protect their musician.
"Beautiful," the skeleton whispered suddenly. His voice was breathy, awed, like he was afraid to speak, like he was trying not to scare something away. He raised one bony hand quietly as if to conduct, and Zoro looked around sharply, searching for the threat—
—and then suddenly he heard it, the voices calling him again, musical, serene, knowing, soothing, loving, and the voices needed him, needed his protection and his strength and his loyalty to erase the loneliness and the weakness and nothing else mattered, nothing at all, he just had to find the ones calling his name, singing to him, desperate for him, just him, because if he could find the owners then his troubles would be all over and he knew it—
He stumbled forward towards the voice he could hear in the distance, and the song grew stronger, more insistent, guiding his steps. It was amazing how the singers seemed to know him so perfectly; the song spoke of everything about him, called him closer, called him home, and he couldn't disobey, didn't want to disobey. He could feel somebody stumbling alongside him, saw out of the corner of his eye that it was a skeleton, moving in the same direction as him, but what did it matter? The song was for him alone, and this other stranger couldn't possibly have the same connection that he did to those beautiful voices, to that song that distinctly called his name—Zoro, Zoro—the one that was for him alone. The other man wasn't important—
Brook, a distant, tiny voice in the back of his head, a voice all but smothered by the tantalizing notes of the song in the distance, seemed to say. Not a stranger. His name is Brook.
Something about that was very confusing. How on earth could he know the name of a stranger he'd never seen before in his life? The bliss of the music receded for a fraction of a second as he frowned, tried to work that out, and in that tiny moment he tripped over a tree root, was sent sprawling to the ground.
Pain sent a momentary shock through his system, and with a blink of surprise he realized Sandai Kitetsu's hilt was jammed into his ribs from where he'd fallen on it. The cursed sword had taken the brunt of the blow while the other two got away clean. Zoro felt the sword's anger at its mistreatment flare up suddenly, like a spoiled, violent child. The sword seemed to rage in his head, hungry for blood to sate its wrath now that it was stirred, and Zoro found his mind assaulted with a blinding moment of clarity as the cursed sword's spiritual push smashed through the beautiful song's insistent pull and cleared the haze from his mind.
The music was unnatural, Zoro realized suddenly. There was some sort of power to it that it shouldn't have had, and it was doing things to their heads. Already, as Kitetsu's rage subsided into sullen irritation, Zoro could feel the song pressing forward on his consciousness again, calling more and more insistently for him to come find the singers, to help them, protect them, drive the terrible things away, that all his dreams would be found and questions answered and life put at ease if he just came to them and—
No! Zoro snarled furiously in his head. Before the music could seize control of his mind once again, hypnotic and potentially deadly, he drew several inches of steel from Wadou's sheath (not Kitetsu, too dangerous) and deliberately bit into the palm of his hand with the blade. Sharp pain brought back equally sharp clarity for a fraction of a second, and as Kitetsu started yowling against his subconsciousness again at the scent of blood he took a deep breath and sank into the meditative half-trance he used to feel the world. Normally he reserved it only for cutting steel, but feeling the awareness of life and movement all around him offered one additional benefit, one he rarely needed: truth. In such a state he heard, saw, and sensed things as they were, not as they appeared. That was why he could do things like cut steel or sense the weaknesses or locations of people and things that would keep that information concealed otherwise. He was betting such a state would help now—he had to hope it would, or they were in deep trouble.
He was right. The pain receded after a moment, but his meditative awareness of the world remained, and suddenly he was aware of the beautiful song again—only it was no longer beautiful. Now it was distorted, warped, a disgusting cacophony of screeching noises and false promises that assailed the senses and jumbled his thoughts so much it almost hurt. He grit his teeth, winced as the sounds beat against his ears and his subconsciousness both, and understood suddenly why his senses had been so muddled all day—he'd been feeling the effects of the real music, the first part that lowered its victims' defenses and turned them into easy prey.
But he was onto this thing's game now, whatever it was. It might cloud his senses, make him less aware and dampen his abilities, but he could see and hear and feel it for what it was now, and it wouldn't trick him again. He was ready for it, and what was more, now he had a measure of his opponents, now that he could discern the truth from the illusions and the lies.
Brook was still stumbling forward through the trees, staggering drunkenly, one arm still waving in a ghostlike imitation of a conductor at a symphony. He seemed unaware of anything else around him, and Zoro realized he was still enthralled, and hadn't even noticed that Zoro had fallen behind. That made sense. The song was still effecting him, and likely Brook believed it was for him and him alone, as the illusion intended, just as it had worked on Zoro.
He narrowed his eyes, jogged forward and grabbed Brook's bony wrist to haul him back. There was no weight to Brook; Zoro could hold him in place all day if he wanted to. But the skeleton turned on him suddenly like a thing possessed, and hissed, "I must go. Let me go. I must go to the source of such an angelic sound. Please do not make me hurt you, sir...please let go."
Great, so Brook didn't recognize him either, just like he hadn't recognized the skeleton next to him when the song called to him too. Even worse, Brook's free hand was sliding towards his cane sword, hooked over the opposing elbow, and Zoro realized the skeleton would be driven to violence if he tried to drag Brook away.
Zoro's first instinct was to overpower the skeleton and drag him back anyway. He was definitely a stronger swordsman, and physically stronger as well. It would be easy to disarm Brook, and the skeleton was so thin Zoro knew he could just as easily pin the musician's bony limbs to his sides and haul him away under one arm. If he could get Brook far enough away from the noise, he might snap out of the weird hold the song had.
But then something else occurred to the swordsman, with an unexpected, unpleasant jolt: the reason they were out here to begin with. Sanji was still missing—and, muddled as his instincts might currently be by the cacophony assaulting his senses, Zoro had absolutely no doubt that, whatever was causing the noise, Sanji was already in the teeth of it. Zoro had discerned the truth of the song, but the senseless noise was everywhere at once; it was impossible to pinpoint where it came from. The illusion would lead him there, but it would leave him senseless, as well. Unless he let Brook lead...
He came to the conclusion in a fraction of a second, and released Brook's wrist. Without so much as a nod Brook spun on one heel and continued staggering deeper into the woods. Zoro followed after, staying close in case something decided to pounce on the completely helpless musician, although Zoro had a feeling that whoever was singing the song wouldn't let anything bad happen to its prey until it had arrived.
Zoro would just have to take care of things after that.
They walked for about twenty minutes. At first, Zoro thought that maybe Brook was heading deeper into the woods, possibly to the very heart of it. As it turned out, the skeleton cut completely across the forest, and soon they emerged from the trees on what Zoro thought might be the opposite side of the island. There were tall rocky cliffs and a sandy beach, and the surf churned viciously over here. Brook headed unhesitatingly for a large cave cut into the base of one of the cliffs, wide enough that one might have been able to fit the Mini Merry in it had the cave been on the water. Zoro followed, and grit his teeth as the cacophony grew all the stronger, more screeching, more painful. He was surprised his ears weren't bleeding yet, or that he hadn't gone deaf; the noise pounded at his head like hammers, cut like knives.
He ducked inside the cave after Brook, and was surprised to find it even larger on the inside than it appeared, going quite deep. Phosphorescent moss glittered on the walls, lighting the inside of the cave surprisingly brightly, and the distorted, screeching notes grew louder and more echoey as they bounced off the stones all around him. Zoro was sorely tempted to raise his hands to his ears, block out the din, which now pounded so alarmingly it physically pained him, but he resisted. His hands would have only one purpose here: to hold the swords that would kill whatever the hell was messing with his crew mates.
That was when he spotted the inhabitants of the cave and the origin of the music of discord.
The source of the dissonance was women. Three women, to be exact, all sitting on moss-covered rocks at the back of the cave that were practically thrones, the way they treated them. All three were strikingly gorgeous even to Zoro, who as a rule tended not to go all googly-eyed over girls like the shit cook did, and every single one of them completely and totally buck naked. Ho. Ly. Shit. This was definitely not what he'd expected to see at the end of the very nasty trail that had led them here. He felt his face going hot despite himself, but hell, it was their fault for not wearing anything!
The women sang together, weaving notes in and around each others' voices in an odd harmony even through the screeching chaos. Though they turned to view their prey with interest, they never so much as faltered even once in their song. Zoro didn't even think they were drawing breath. These things definitely weren't natural.
They did appear to have natural emotions, though, and a hell of a lot of power. As he and Brook entered, he could feel the women growing excited very suddenly, and their stunningly beautiful faces leered maliciously in their direction as they grew still closer. It took Zoro a lot of forced concentration to get his muddled, swimming mind to decode the creatures' warped notes, but he realized after a moment that they still thought he was enthralled—and also that they were more excited about Brook than him. Somehow he understood that his skeletal presence, alive but not exactly, made them delighted. He picked up at the fringes of their musical discord that they were pleased to finally have prey that wouldn't waste away on them and die, leaving them hungry instead.
Wait. What?
It was only then that Zoro was able to take in the rest of the scenery. The women seemed to dominate the cave, their presence overbearing and absurdly powerful, even without the cloying music to seize control of one's mind. But with a lot of self-discipline and the help of his own meditative half-trance he was able to look away, take in his surroundings—and what he saw was not good. There were skeletons everywhere—full, human skeletons, every single one of them large enough to be a man. Some were piled to the side, like they'd been absent-mindedly tossed out of the way to clear space. Others were outstretched in front of the women, like worshippers, loyal to their dying breath. Some of them, Zoro realized with disgust, weren't entirely skeletons yet, and still possessed clinging bits of flesh.
One of the worshippers was still alive—and very familiar. Sanji was nestled in between several of the skeletons, kneeling uncomfortably on the stone ground and the remains of the dead and staring up at the women sitting before him. Zoro was at enough of an angle that he could see the positively euphoric expression on the cook's face, like he was at the absolute height of happiness and pleasure and comfort all rolled into one. He was perfectly still, rooted to the spot, arms limp by his sides, jaw open—Zoro could even see a little bit of saliva dripping down from the corner of his jaw, like he'd forgotten how to swallow.
It just figured that the cook would be completely enthralled, and for a moment Zoro was almost willing to call it normal, except that there was something completely and utterly wrong with Sanji's current state. There were no heartfelt praises, no heart eyes, no nose bleeds. Sanji was a perverted son of a bitch, but he also liked to pretend he was a gentleman, and under normal circumstances Zoro was reasonably sure he eventually would have offered his coat to one of the women. But it remained securely buttoned on the cook's body, like he hadn't even thought of it. It was like he'd forgotten everything, every aspect of his being or of life or existence, outside of the enthralling song and the women that spun it.
Son of a bitch, Zoro realized suddenly, with disgust. These skeletons...they weren't eaten. Every one of them willingly starved themselves to death because they were trapped by this stupid music!
That explained why they were so happy about Brook, too. He couldn't starve to death, as his years on the Florian Triangle had proven. He'd be in their thrall forever. Whatever they gained out of the illusion, they'd have it for the rest of their lives.
Okay, he decided. Definitely time to get out of here.
Brook stumbled over the bones of the dead worshippers and came to kneel beside Sanji, in front of the singing women. They were still creating their cacophony without stop, without breath, weaving their harmful music into existence to seize still further control over their helpless prey. As Brook fell before them they smiled in unison, a creepy and oddly beautiful motion all in one. Even Zoro, protected by his own awareness, felt their sense of satisfaction, felt them extend their gratitude in illusory song to Brook. The skeleton shuddered with what was unmistakably pleasure in his mental thrall, and went still as stone, gazing up at the women just as Sanji did.
They turned their eyes on Zoro next, and he could feel the pressure of the cacophony growing stronger, more insistent, against his ears, his skull, his mind. It was harder to fight now, and he could feel the insidious control scratching at his awareness, trying to breach his mental defenses, although the women themselves seemed unaware that their power wasn't affecting him completely. Still, it was getting much harder to keep his focus at all, and if he didn't figure out a way out of this trap soon he was going to be stuck right there next to the other two, unaware of his own hunger of fatigue or existence as he wasted away in front of those creatures.
He had to shut them up. The only way he could think to do that was to kill them, and that meant getting closer to them. So he did, feigning awe and devotion as he did so, keeping the women's minds appeased, playing along. With his senses shot, he had to be sneaky, make his first attack really count, because who knew what they could do in retaliation—
Every step closer that he took made it harder and harder to think, harder and harder to focus. The protective bubble his sense of the rhythm of the world gave seemed to grow thinner, smaller, the truth it revealed less clear, less precise. The discord receded; he could feel an edge of beauty at the fringes of the distorted notes. It called his name, clawed at his defenses, and his mind felt more muddled than ever, twisted up and around and inside out and he couldn't even think any more, could barely breathe with the voices growing closer, stronger, louder, clearer—
He felt the stone floor suddenly beneath one knee, and became aware of the outside world for a fraction of a second. Too close, he lectured himself furiously, you came too close to losing yourself there, and where would they be? But he was close to the women now too, on one knee before them alongside Brook, and within perfect striking distance. They didn't seem worried. They looked ageless, had probably never feared for their lives with their prey so easily enthralled before—
But Zoro was going to change that.
His mind was already fading away as the song—no! Noise!—pressed in on his consciousness again. Once again, just like before, he drew Wadou and sliced his own palm open a second time, drawing more blood and more sharp pain that cut through the clouds in his head like a blade. Something snapped in his mind, and for a few brief moments he was free, hearing true without even the need of his meditative half-trance to aid him.
And seeing true, too.
The women had changed. Before they were supremely gorgeous, with exotic features, perfectly smooth skin, shining hair, bright eyes. But suddenly all of that was gone, and Zoro realized suddenly, as an awful, rotting stench assailed him, that that was a lie too. Now there were still three women there, but they were just as twisted and warped as their cruel songs: they possessed scaly bird legs now, their bodies were covered in filthy, broken feathers, and their arms were warped, half wings that were too broken to ever let a person fly. Only their heads seemed fully human, but not even these were pretty anymore—the hair was matted, the eyes dulled, the features twisted into ugly expressions of hatred and fury. The creatures were monsters—absolutely nothing about them was what it had originally appeared to be.
Zoro swore in surprise. But their newly revealed appearances changed absolutely nothing about his plan, and so in his moment of pain-induced perfect clarity he launched himself forward and swung out with Wadou Ichimonji at the nearest of the creatures. His katana slashed with perfect accuracy across the first bird-woman's stomach, a cut that would mean a slow, but distracting and highly effective death. But the sword didn't bite nearly as deep as it ought to have. And although the creature's song warbled higher into an oddly musical screech of pain, it did not collapse or clutch at its stomach, and the cut sealed up almost as soon as his katana finished slicing it.
It just fucking figured that Sanji and Brook would get themselves caught by the invincible monsters. As if they didn't have enough problems already!
The beasts were angry now. Zoro could tell by the sudden shift in their song's pitch, the sudden fury as it beat at his mind, ripping, tearing, desperate to cause pain, to teach him a lesson. He resisted with everything he had and slashed out again, this time at the creature's neck; maybe he could sever its head.
No luck—the katana barely put a hole in the bird-thing's throat. Their keening grew angrier, and then Zoro felt the unmistakable impact of a reinforced dress shoe in his shoulder blades as Sanji, screaming wordlessly, attacked him from behind.
Zoro swore in surprise and smashed into the far side of the cave face-first. In another moment of pain-induced clarity Zoro realized that his crew mates were still in thrall, and that the creatures could apparently do more than just hypnotize them—they could use them as pawns, too. He rolled aside just as another vicious kick smashed into the stone, putting a small crater in it. The cook wasn't holding back at all; he was out for blood, face twisted into an expression of sheer fury, although his eyes were oddly blank in a haze of euphoria that the creatures still held over him. A second later Brook's cane sword plunged towards his head, and Zoro deflected it hastily with Wadou Ichimonji, throwing himself aside and drawing his two other blades in a rush.
Shit. This was bad. Sanji and Brook were dead-set on killing him, and on top of that Zoro's clarity was already receding again as the pain of Sanji's attack faded, leaving his mind fuzzy once more. He wouldn't be able to keep up a fight for long here, not with those stupid monsters still singing their strange hymns of discord, screwing with his senses and controlling his friends. The ideal solution would be to kill them, but they just wouldn't die, no matter what he did. And it was too hard to try and think of another creative solution when he could barely keep the bird-women out of his head as it was.
Run, his instincts struggled to tell him. Get away from the noise.
Pretty much the only solution as far as he could see. Sometimes running was necessary, much as he detested it. But he wasn't leaving without Brook or Sanji, and therein lay the tricky part—how did he get them out of here? He knew the women wouldn't let them follow if he tried to taunt them out of the cave. Their control was obviously strongest the closer their victims were to them, and they wouldn't want to relinquish that—
He'd have to make them leave then. Forcibly if he had to. A task far harder than it sounded, since he didn't really want to kill them in the process. He bared his teeth around Wadou's hilt and set to work.
Brook would have to be first. Both skeleton and cook charge simultaneously, fueled by the women's rage. Zoro dodged Sanji's outstretched kicking leg and made for Brook, forcing his muddled mind to stay focused on the task at hand under the monsters' mental assault. Brook lunged forward with a rapid sword thrust, fast and furious. Zoro batted it aside easily with Kitetsu, deftly twisted Shuusui around to expose its flat, and cracked Brook's bony wrist with it sharply. The skeleton yelped even in his thrall, and dropped his cane-sword. Zoro caught the hook dexterously with Kitetsu and flung it to the entrance of the cave, effectively disarming him.
Brook seemed surprised, but charged him again, this time with the lacquered purple sheath of the cane-sword. Once again Zoro flung himself out of the way of Sanji's furious spinning assault, slipped around the skeleton, and flicked Shuusui at the sheath, sending it spinning to the cavern mouth next to the blade it normally held. Now completely disarmed, Brook screamed angrily—his voice rose and fell in eerie sync with the screams of the bewitching women, and Zoro didn't know if it was because of the thrall or because he was a musician—and the skeleton charged at him bare handed, bony fists drawn back to punch.
"Sorry," Zoro muttered around Wadou, and bringing the flats of both Kitetsu and Shuusui to bear, he spun and cracked the skeleton in the head. Zoro wasn't actually sure if it'd work, seeing as Brook didn't have a brain to be concussed. But Brook emitted a yell of pain that clashed with the discord in the air, and collapsed to the ground in a bony heap, not unlike the dead worshippers they were surrounded by. Zoro didn't have time for niceties, and hooking his two katana underneath the skeleton's rib cage, he unceremoniously tossed the musician towards the cavern entrance as well and away from the song.
Okay. One down—
The conflicting sensations of pain and clarity smashed into him simultaneously, and he was flung aside into the cavern wall again as Sanji, wild and uncontrollable, connected with a malicious kick. Anyone else short of Luffy might have died from it; as it was Zoro caught himself gasping in pain as he took the unexpected hit. Shit, the cook was positively murderous—Zoro didn't think he'd ever seen Sanji like this before. This was more than the (literally) burning anger the cook had when he'd discovered Absalom's peeping on Nami, or his rages at the thought of women being hurt. This was something foreign, deadly, ugly, something that matched the twisted, violent expressions on the faces of the three monsters still sitting at the back of the cave, still singing. Those things were intent on killing Zoro, any way they had to, including doing it through his friends.
All right, he growled. Fine. You want to play, then here we go. Whatever I dish out, curly-brow can take it, anyway.
He dove away from the wall as Sanji launched another kick, and threw himself at the cook, blades flashing. Sanji snarled wordlessly and retaliated, blocking and deflecting, launching more kicks. His unnatural rage made him faster than usual, and while Zoro was able to dodge the majority of the blows he was still left with glancing hits that would definitely leave him black and blue for a week or more. They hurt, but it was a blessing as well. The women probably hadn't counted on it, but every injury Sanji dealt out cleared Zoro's mind for him, forced back the confusing, hypnotic mess the monsters' harmonic cacophony created, allowed him to stay focused on the fight. Ironically, it was the very injuries Sanji was dealing out that allowed Zoro to make sure they weren't fatal. Not exactly the easiest tool to take advantage of, but he'd make use of anything at his disposal.
And there was another weakness to the monsters' harmonic control as well: Sanji was incredibly powerful, far more than he should have been, but that power seemed to come at the expense of coordination and defense. Sanji didn't seem to remember their previous fights and arguments—which made sense, since Zoro himself hadn't recognized Brook when he'd been in thrall. But that meant he didn't utilize his usual combative tricks against Zoro either, left certain weaknesses normally long since shored up open. If Zoro could just overcome Sanji's unnatural speed fast enough—
There. Sanji shifted back on one leg, a tell-tale sign that he was about to launch a lethally powerful jabbing kick. Zoro hurled himself forward at the last moment, twisted aside to avoid the blow—took a glancing hit to his ribs, hurt like fuck but definitely worth it—and ducked inside Sanji's range. With his memory gone he wouldn't remember this particular move, Zoro thought with grim satisfaction, as he skidded to a stop on Sanji's side—and smashed Shuusui's hilt straight into his unprotected ribs.
Sanji grunted in surprise, gagged as the air was forced from his lungs. But even then the overpowering berserker rage the women had forced him into seemed to win out, and although Sanji staggered he remained conscious, began turning to unleash another kick.
Zoro had pretty much counted on that happening anyway, and was ready for it. With the last of the clarity Sanji's final kick had given him, he spun Kitetsu around and cracked the cook over the head with the cursed sword's hilt.
One blow was stunning; two blows was too much. Sanji's eyes finally rolled and he sank as his knees buckled, finally falling into unconsciousness. Zoro quickly sheathed his swords and snatched the cook up under one arm, bolting for the cavern entrance without so much as a glance back.
The monsters' fury was practically tangible now. It smashed against his head, his body, his senses, his mind, his very existence with blinding agony, almost shattering his protective trance. He held onto it just barely, but the result left him staggering, had him almost dropping Sanji as he dragged the cook after him. He fought hard to hold onto the last vestiges of his sanity and his focus, for now giving himself one single, solitary goal to hold onto even while under fire both mental and physical: Get them out. Get them out, get them out, get them out, now now now—
He could hear the women screaming behind him now, even their attempts at the illusion forgotten in their sheer fury. He did not want to be around if they started chasing—he had to get Brook and Sanji away from them as fast as possible. He stopped only long enough to sling the very light Brook around his shoulders like a scarf and snatch up the cane-sword and sheath with his free hand. Then he bolted headlong out of the cave, across the beach, and towards the woods—away from the screaming, away from the song, away from the monsters, away from the assault.
He didn't know how long he ran for, or where he was going; he just ran, and no matter how far or how long he went the screaming seemed to follow, made the pain of his bruises and the weight of his burdens and the pressure on his mind all the more prevalent. Then, unexpectedly, the cacophony of screaming took a higher pitch, more frantic—no longer angry, but pained, desperate, pleading, not a song but instead a noise of nothing but anguish.
And then, with unexpected abruptness, there was nothing but silence.
The pressure on Zoro's mind disappeared suddenly, at the same moment everything went quiet. He staggered to a stop, panting hard, and after a moment very, very tentatively released his trancelike hold on the world, his grasp on truth, ending his communication with the rhythm of all things. There was no music, no melody, no beautiful voice calling his name. There wasn't anything, just silence, the cold emptiness of night. It almost hurt, after the noise that had assailed him both mentally and physically ever since he started searching for the cook.
The things had stopped calling. Whatever they were, they'd stopped singing, and their presence was gone from the island. Zoro was relieved to know it, not that he'd ever tell anybody. He grit his teeth, set the cook and musician down long enough to re-sheathe Brook's sword and stuff it through his haramaki—his swords seemed irritated at the company, but they'd just have to deal for now—and then, hauling them up a little more comfortably, he set off once more.
He wandered for a bit—the forest was a lot bigger than he remembered—until he unexpectedly stumbled across Usopp, Chopper, and Luffy, standing around and looking quite confused. "What the hell are you three doing here?" he grunted—he was tired, and Sanji was way fucking heavier than he looked.
"You know," Usopp said thoughtfully, "I have no idea. I can't remember what we were doing. We just kinda figured heading in this direction would be good, I guess?"
Damn. Those monsters' voices had quite a range. "Yeah, well, I found Sanji, so we can go back to the ship," Zoro said. "And somebody else take him, I'm not dragging his sorry ass around any more than I have to."
"Oh no!" Chopper said. "Is he hurt? Doctor, we need a doctor—"
"That's you," Usopp reminded him dutifully.
"Oh, right!" Chopper expanded to his Heavy Point and obligingly took the cook from Zoro, which in turn let the swordsman shift Brook a little more comfortably over his shoulders so the dead man's ribs didn't dig into them quite so painfully. "What happened to him?"
"He got knocked out," Zoro supplied. "Brook too. Should be fine. Let's just go back already."
Luffy regarded him quizzically, and seemed to ask-without-asking if something else had happened, but Zoro waved him off. The mess was taken care of; what had happened in the middle of it really wasn't that important. Luffy nodded, and the group headed back to the ship, with the captain insisting that they get Sanji woken up quickly so they could have a late meat-dinner. Zoro had sort of forgotten that all of this had started because they'd missed a meal, and was surprised to find himself very hungry as well.
Later on, when everyone was conscious again and Sanji had (with much cursing and wincing as he felt his bruised skull and ribs) finished a late meal, Zoro gave an edited recount of events as everyone ate. Brook and Sanji didn't seem to remember anything that had happened while they were in thrall. Zoro explained about the strange singing monsters, omitting the fact that they were women (mostly for his own safety from Sanji), and that Sanji and Brook had been controlled by them. Both of them would probably not be happy to hear they'd been conned into violently attacking nakama, and it wasn't really important in the end. He just made it sound like he'd fought for a bit with the creatures instead, to explain his bruises.
"Sirens," Robin said, when he'd finally finished the tale.
"Eh?"
"I believe you encountered Sirens, Swordsman-san," Robin said calmly. "They are supposed to be extremely rare. Personally, I have only read about them in historical accounts; I assumed they were extinct. There hasn't been a report in centuries."
Nami cocked her head curiously. "Those are the monsters that attract men to them by singing, aren't they?" she said. Robin nodded, and Nami shrugged. "Sounds about right, then. And it explains why we didn't hear anything, I guess. In all the Siren stories I've read, they never had any effect on women."
Robin nodded again. "They are very cunning creatures. Their song is said to be irresistible to any man. Once bespelled, their victims worship them incessantly, and waste away in front of their captors, dying of starvation and exhaustion without ever realizing it." Sanji went pale at that. "They are said to be immortal as well," Robin continued, "as long as they can sing, and attract potential prey to them. They don't feed on the flesh, just the life force, from what I am told. However, legends say that if a person is able to escape from their song, their strength withers, and they die."
"So they're dead now?" Usopp asked, shuddering slightly. "Zoro got away, and he brought Sanji and Brook with him..."
"They're dead," Zoro said, very confidently. "I'm sure of it." He would never quite look at silence the same way again, that was for sure.
"I must confess I am a bit sad I cannot remember the song," Brook said wistfully. "I have a vague impression that it was beautiful, though I cannot remember the words, or the music. But I will thank you all the same for saving my life, Zoro-san...even though I am already dead, yohohoho!"
"Yeah," Sanji said slowly. "Thanks, mari—uh. Zoro." And he slammed an unexpected bottle of sake on the table in front of the swordsman, muttering under his breath.
Zoro raised an eyebrow at the offering, but shrugged. Everyone was safe, not enchanted, back on the ship, and totally unaware that they'd almost killed him to boot. Things were better again. And hey—if he got free booze out of it, who was he to complain?
"Any time," he said, and popped the cork on the bottle, satisfied once more.
Shit. I wanted to do something with classic sirens and just kept rolling with it and it got creepier than anticipated but it was very fun to write and that's the point right?
And I guess I have to put my calling card of creepy in at least one of these, lol. It seems to be what I do best.
~VelkynKarma