Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece, but Kyra was my idea.

When Kyra wakes up somewhere other than the bar in Sabaody that she doesn't remember leaving, she is pissed.

Upon realizing that she's in a goddamn cage and that there is an explosive collar around her neck accompanied by the shackles around her wrists, she becomes absolutely livid.

All she had wanted was a drink. Just a little alcohol to enjoy on her own, no questions asked, no unwanted company from random sleazebags. She had paid that fucking bartender for that drink. And he had the gall to drug her?

He is so going to die when she gets out of this mess.

Kyra stays sprawled out on the floor for a while, letting her magic burn off the rest of whatever drug the soon-to-be-dead bartender slipped into the rum. It leaves her with a pounding headache even after being expelled from her system; her temples pulse in time with her heartbeat as she very slowly sits up. A guard dressed in ridiculously bright clothing notices this from outside of the cage she's in, but does nothing other than eye her disdainfully. Kyra ignores him for the moment to get a better understanding of the surroundings.

She is in a long, narrow, hall filled with people. Slave auction house. That figures. It is strangely quiet; in the dim lighting, Kyra is unable to tell exactly how many people are being held captive with her, but she knows that there should be more noise than this. She seems to be near the middle of the room, with more prisoners on either side of her from wall to wall in a long cage that stretches the length of the area. Faint sounds from the other side of the bars lead her to believe that the opposite wall is also one large cage.

The chamber reeks of misery.

She is going to torture that fucking bartender.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty."

Kyra glances irritably to her left. An old man sits there, on a box that puts him above her position on the floor as he smiles kindly. He radiates calm, as though he doesn't also wear an explosive collar; as though he isn't also sitting there waiting to be sold like a fucking piece of furniture. The smile on his face annoys Kyra to no end.

"Fuck off, Gramps," she mutters rudely as she staggers to her feet, legs numb from her ungainly sprawl. She wonders how long she's been here, how much time she has to get out of here before they put her on the bidding block. She can think of dozens of ways to get out of her collar and away from this building right now. All she has to do is concentrate on these cuffs and the collar, snap her fingers, and she'll be loose. She can wave her hand and kill every damn person who works in this building right now if she wants to escape the easy way.

But the problem with that is that Kyra doesn't really feel like doing things the easy way right now; she's too far beyond furious. These bastards think they can snag her off the streets; collar her; cuff her; sell her to some sorry excuse for human flesh for an obscene amount of money - and they expect her to simply docilely go along with it? Fuck that plan; she's nobody's possession. She's going to butcher every single one of these scumbags before she leaves to go show that damn bartender why drugging her drink was the stupidest mistake of his life.

Besides, there are other potential slaves in this room with her; other people who have been cuffed and collared and are waiting to be sold as though no better than a dumb animal. No way in hell is Kyra leaving anybody to that kind of fate.

The sound of a door banging against a wall somewhere to her right pulls Kyra out of her thoughts and shatters the unnatural silence. Screaming and crying can be heard moving ever closer to her along with the sounds of footsteps. She steps forward and has to stop; there is a very short length of chain connecting her collar to the wall. She cranes her neck as the noise draws closer, wanting to see what is going on.

"Stop it! It hurts!"

The voice of whoever is crying is high-pitched and feminine. So, some other girl has just been dragged into this hellish room. Kyra relaxes her neck, curiosity momentarily satisfied. Beside her, the old man leans forward on his box, peering around the giant sitting next to him. Kyra assumes he's watching the screaming girl get dragged down the length of the room, and wonders for a moment which cage they're going to -

Whoa, wait a second. Back up.

There is an honest-to-god giant sitting on the old man's other side. A giant.

Holy shit.

"Poor child. There's no telling how much a mermaid will draw, or what kind of sick person will buy her."

Mermaid? Kyra finds herself moving forward again, straining against the tug on the back of her neck as she tries to get a look at what the old man is seeing. She always wanted to see a mermaid. She has heard tales of their supposed beauty and of the strange magic they are said to wield against men of all species. To Kyra, such stories smack of bullshit - but that doesn't mean she isn't still curious.

"Hey, stop fighting already! We can't tell how big your neck ring is supposed to be!"

What, and they think that would be an incentive not to fight? Are those men retarded?

Frustrated with her limited field of vision, Kyra decides she is done being chained to the freaking wall. She is not a dog that needs a leash, damn it. Having come to that decision, the sorceress gathers a small bit of magic into her right hand, intent on getting rid of that stupid annoyance. She hears the old man make a faint noise of surprise, but ignores him in favor of reaching behind her and wrapping her fingers around the footlong length of metal holding her. Two seconds later and there is a line of what appears to be black sand leading from the wall to the backs of her bare feet. Now unfettered, Kyra pauses for a moment to shoot a threatening glare at the ever-grinning fool beside her. He raises his hands to her in a submissive fashion, and Kyra stalks silently to the bars of the cage, satisfied that the geezer will not raise an alarm. Glad of the chamber's poor lighting, she leans causally against the pieces of metal keeping her from freedom and peers over to her right - where all the commotion seems to be coming from.

The first thing she registers is the pink fish tail desperately trying to free itself from the clutches of one of the hideously dressed guards. Following the length of the appendage, she sees that it is indeed attached to the waist of a young girl with green hair. The mermaid is putting up a hell of a struggle - were she a human in the possession of legs Kyra is fairly certain she'd be free by now. As it is, all the mermaid can do was wiggle and twist furiously as a man with pinkish hair in an ugly blue outfit - which she swears looks like a dress - walks right past where Kyra stands to leer at this newest prize.

"Hey, hey, don't be so hard on the merchandise!" he admonishes the guards, who promptly drop the mermaid to the ground. Her hands are restrained as the pink-haired man crouches beside her, his back to Kyra so that she is unable to see his expression. She does, however, see the way the man reaches out and grabs the mermaid's chin as if it were his right to touch her, turning the girl's head first one way and then another before laughing and releasing her. The mermaid glares at him before sticking out her tongue in a childish manner; the pansy's shoulders tense half a second before he slaps her in the face.

Instantly two guards rush forwards to restrain the dress-wearer, shouting things about not marking the slaves where the bruise would be visible. The mermaid hangs in the grip of the guard restraining her hands, tears pouring down her cheeks as one of them begins to swell from the slap she has just received.

Kyra has seen enough. She has always wanted to see a mermaid, but she has no desire to watch one suffer like this. She turns away from the bars and moves back to sit next to the old fool with the constant grin, who at the moment looks rather serious. Kyra makes herself comfortable on the floor, crossing her legs, putting her shackled hands in her lap, and resting her head against the wall. She eyes the greybeard questioningly.

"You be upset if you don't get sold today, Gramps?"

The old man smiles at her yet again. "Slavery wasn't really one of those things I wanted to do in my old age."

Kyra snorts, closing her eyes to wait for the auction to begin. She's going to make sure it is a very, very short show.

Trafalgar Law slouches gracefully in his poorly-cushioned seat within the stuffy auction house, watching with bored disinterest as a scantily clad dancer girl is sold to a man who looks to be at least thrice her age. Pathetic. This whole auction has been a colossal waste of his time. Why would he spend his beri on some dancer girl when he can walk into any bar in the seas and have women throw themselves on him? By far the most interesting thing that has happened since Law sat down was watching that pirate bite his tongue off. That showed at least a measure of dignity; a quality he knew exactly how to squeeze out of people when necessary, and so held appreciation for it.

This entire island seems designed to grate on Law's nerves. The brightness, the noise, the people; the slender pirate longs for the quiet order of his sub. He belongs a hundred fathoms beneath the sea, surrounded by quiet and gloom with only his crew for company. He does not like being trapped on this archipelago for a week. Even running into his fellow Supernovae hasn't gone the way he had hoped it would: the ex-Marine Drake had barely glanced at him earlier; Eustass Kidd at the back of the room had not risen to the taunt of Law's one finger salute nor had the first mate Killer jumped to his defense; and in spite of the fact that most of the well-known Straw Hat crew is standing not far behind Law's seat, neither Straw Hat himself nor Pirate Hunter Zoro is currently in attendance.

In short, Law has yet to manage to pick a fight with any Supernovae, and the failure is trying his patience.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, on to our next item!" The obnoxiously loud voice of the auctioneer easily catches Law's wandering attention, drawing it back to the stage before the next slave is led out. His eyes narrow slightly when he sees no one. The auctioneer's vapid smile becomes a frown as his call is not answered by the results he wants; he turns to face the wings of the stage.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, our next item!"

The sounds of a scuffle can be heard from backstage. Law straightens slightly, interest peaked. Is something entertaining finally about to happen?

Two of the guards in the foolish auction house uniforms come into sight on the stage, a struggling figure in between them. A shouted oath blasts through the stagnant air of the building, no doubt blistering delicate ears with both it's volume and it's content.

"Screw you, stupid fucking bastards! Like hell I'm going to calmly waltz to the slave block! Get your slimy hands off me and I might consider letting you live in a few minutes!"

One of the guards, the one with his back to Law, abruptly goes tumbling off of the edge of the stage, his prisoner having somehow managed to kick him in a somewhat tender region. With him out of the way, Law has a clear view of the pissed-off figure about to be sold. A young woman stands glaring out at the audience, her wild black curls framing an angry face and falling in ringlets to her elbows. She wears the collar and cuffs common for all slaves, along with a black tank top and a pair of trousers that flair at the knees, baggy enough to cover her feet while hugging her hips and thighs.

Before he can complete his perusal the lady is then tackled by the remaining guard, as the one she kicked struggles to his feet and back up onstage. More guards come running from the wings, and the auctioneer shouts at an unseen someone to close the curtains for the second time in the duration of the auction.

Law's eyes stay on the struggling form of the woman until the curtains block his view, a small smile playing with the corners of his lips.

Oh, yes, things have indeed become entertaining at last.

Kyra silently eyes the crowd before her, unable to rid herself of the bile creeping up her throat. The smell of human sweat is overpowering; the leering faces sicken her. She tries to roll her neck, desperate to alleviate some of the tension straining her muscles; her attempt is severely hampered by the collar locked securely around her throat.

She wants to scream.

She wants to kill them all.

"And here we have item number 15!" the auctioneer in the man-dress shouts into the microphone; Kyra can't quite suppress the wince caused by his insanely loud voice bellowing so near her sensitive ears. Seriously, he's holding a damn microphone; does he have to shout?

The man edges closer to her; Kyra growls low in warning. She saw how he treated that mermaid, grabbing her face so rudely and then slapping the kid for a little defiance. If he tries that on her she is going to bite the shit out of him.

Her guards - the same two that fetched her from that charming cage backstage, now sporting various bums and bruises from their little argument moments ago - smack her sides with their clubs simultaneously, obviously telling her to stop with the growling. She ignores them.

"As you can see, we have here a pretty young human woman; lean, tall, beautiful skin. Her hair is as soft as silk, ladies and gentlemen! She's toned as well, captured on the seas with the physique to show it- "

"How the hell would an earthworm like you know what 'physique' working a ship builds? And a bar downtown hardly qualifies as 'the seas' anyway. Do you lie this much at every one of these stupid auctions, asshole?"

The auctioneer stutters, his mouth falling open as silence reigns supreme in the smelly auction house. Then gales of laughter wash over them both. Every eye in the front of the building is now fixed on Kyra, who is currently giving the loudmouth auctioneer a look that clearly questions his sanity. Flustered, the wimpy-looking man turns back to the audience, plastering a smile on his face as he attempts to salvage his salesmanship.

"A strong personality on this girl, as well; she will provide quite the entertainment during training for whatever you may wish her to do. Shall we start the bidding at 50,000 beri? 50,000 beri, do I have any takers?"

A plump, balding old man raises his paddle, his beady little eyes leering at Kyra from under rolls of fat.

"Number 81 with 50,000; any other bids?"

"Don't forget to mention my abilities, dumbass," Kyra speaks up blithely, rocking back and forth on her heels. "Or didn't you know that I can liquefy people's organs with a wave of my hand?"

Murmurs instantly begin sweeping the crowd; the words 'Devil fruit' are now on half a hundred lips. The fat man is hesitantly lowering his paddle and no one else is raising theirs. This being Sabaody, where pirates are known to gather, many residents have born witness to the mysterious abilities prized by such riffraff. Even if it is a bluff, no one is willing to risk forking over the money to find out.

Hah. Not so keen to buy a slave that can kill you without touching you, are you people?

Just as Kyra grins smugly in triumph a cool, deep and highly amused voice from somewhere near the back calls out "100,000."

Shit. Her eyes sweep the crowd, trying to identify the bidder so she can maim him. So many people buying each other - it makes her sick to see just how low human beings will sink. Besides, with all these dirtbags to pick from it's nearly impossible to figure out which one is her target.

Fine then. She'll just have to make a demonstrative point.

In an instant the explosive collar and handcuffs that had shackled her are dust at her feet, and one of her hands is poking clean through the left guard's chest and out his back. The other man lies dead on the stage, his neck twisted at an impossible angle. Kyra yanks her hand out of the first guard's chest cavity and wipes as much of his blood off her hand and onto his clothing as possible before letting his body drop to the floor.

That done, she snaps her still-slightly-bloody fingers, and every single guard in the auction house immediately explodes.

Blood and guts and random body parts rain upon the shocked and terrified crowd. The loudmouth auctioneer stares at her with his jaw halfway to the stage, not seeming to notice that he has dropped his microphone. Screams ring through the air, although for a minute Kyra could swear she hears someone laughing. Whatever; maybe the sight of such carnage has driven some rich bastard insane.

Path cleared, Kyra jumps down from the stage and begins walking calmly up the stairs towards the exit.

"I'm not real sure which one of you idiots just bid on me," she calls out nonchalantly as she suanters up the lane, "but if anybody tries to stop me from leaving, your guts are going to be decorating the floor. Oh, and I just freed all the other suckers backstage, so don't bother waiting around to pick up your purchases."

This is true; at the same time that Kyra's collar and handcuffs disintegrated, so too did those on of every other potential slave in the auction house, along with the bars of both cages and the locks on the backstage exit. Right about now, that old geezer should be helping everybody else get safely out of the building.

"Just help the rest of them make it out when you're free, Gramps," she told him as the guards came for her. "I'll do everything else."

Well, now she has, and now she's going to go kill that damn bartender in the most painful way possible for handing her over to a bunch of slavers.

Before anyone can respond to her threat, there is a terrific crash from the doors leading outside. This is followed by screaming and then another crash, kicking up an amazing amount of dust that billows over the large room in a great cloud even as chunks of wood and stunned people fly through the air in every direction. Coughing, unable to see, Kyra trips on the steps and would go sprawling if not for the hand that shoots out and grabs her elbow. A firm grip steadies her before withdrawing back into the dust to her right; Kyra registers that the fingers of the helping hand are tattooed at the knuckles but is unable to make out the marks. Shrugging it off as some random person's body art, Kyra mutters her thanks as she looks up towards the epicenter of the dust cloud that is beginning to clear, revealing shapes to her curious eyes.

A boy stands panting at the top of the stairs, glaring furiously at what looks suspiciously like one of the Flying Fish Riders Kyra has seen a few times around Saboady. The fish is out cold with a sizable lump on its head, lying in the wreckage of what might once have been the auction house doors.

"What the heck! Couldn't you land any better than that!" Clutching a battered straw hat to his head, the boy yells at the fish's pilot as a dizzy looking man with lime-green hair staggars towards him.

"And you're the one that told me to get on, idiot!" the fellow growls while adjusting three swords strapped to his waist.

That's Straw Hat Luffy, Kyra realizes, studying the boy with interest as the rest of the infamous Straw Hat crew moves to stand with their captain. Bounty of three hundred million beri, second highest of the Supernova super-rookies. Burnt the World Government Flag on Enies Lobby and survived the ensuing Buster Call. Lime-head would be Roronoa Zoro, bounty of one hundred and twenty million beri, Straw Hat's first mate and right hand man. Couple of regular powerhouses, those two.

Right then that daring pirate captain abruptly turns and comes tearing down the stairs towards her, a rather manic glint in his eyes.

"CAMIE!" he screams out, his voice reaching a decibel level that she is quite sure would break glass. "CAMIE, WHERE ARE YOU? CAAAAAMIEEEEEE!"

There is a strong possibility that Kyra's ears are bleeding. However, she has no time to wonder about this, as Straw Hat's world-renowned clumsiness chooses this moment to assert itself. The kid promptly trips over his own feet several steps above her. It is only because Fate decreed long ago that she would be its bitch that the young woman finds herself rolling down the steps she has just climbed, tangled up with a boy who seems one part rubber and the rest knees and elbows.

They roll in a two-person ball to a stop against the stage, Straw Hat's foot firmly planted in Kyra's face for a much-too-long moment before he jumps to his feet as though nothing has happened.

"Sorry, lady! I didn't see you there! Maybe you should'a moved!"

Seriously?

Kyra looks up at Straw Hat's face, sees the big stupid grin he's wearing, and groans.

Stupid fucking bartender is so going to die.

A/N: Please review. Beta'd by Tomas the Betrayer.