Chapter 20

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

Beta'd by Tomas the Betrayer.

Every instinct in Kyra's body begins screaming at her that something is wrong the instant her teleportation sphere sets them on the island of her birth. She ignores this, brushes it aside as unimportant. A quick look around allows her to orient herself before darting off in the direction of her mother's hut, dragging Jericho along with her. He does not protest her rough handling, still visibly shaken by Law's parting words of warning. Kyra has no time to stop and reassure him; she must find her mother. Everything else can take a backseat in her mind.

In spite of the decade of absence, the frantic sorceress finds the city of Veneficus to be exactly as she remembers it. The buildings are built in ever-widening rings, with those of the powerful closest to the center and everyone else lumped in behind. Shops for various paraphernalia are interspersed within each layer, their wares depending on how far from the center they happen to be located. Between the districts are iron walls measuring several feet thick, sporting single doors and guarded heavily on both sides by apprentices of the head shaman. Spells and wards have been worked into the structures, ensuring that the citizens of each layer have no chance in hell of getting over, under, or through those walls without special permission to use the doors - permission which can only be granted by the head shaman, a pompous, powerful old fucker who is so revered by the islanders that his name is not to be spoken under pain of death. The sprawling metropolis stretches out to encompass the entire island, seventy-seven sectors all told.

Kyra wastes no time in pulling up a sheet of black magic in her mad dash for the door leading out of the central hub. She doesn't bother to stop and ask for an entry permit. She doesn't threaten the guards with dismemberment and disembowelment if they don't get the fuck out of her way immediately. The mage simply mashes her cousin into her side and sprints through the feet-thick iron door, caving it in as the wall of her powers connects with it, wadding the barrier into a ball and tossing it aside as though it is made of paper. The guards on either side are reduced to blood smears on the ground as her magic tears them apart.

Kyra's mother has no magical abilities whatsoever. She is not connected to the head shaman by blood or marriage, nor does she have ties with the Council. Naomi has lived on this island her entire life, and because of her lack of status she has been segregated with all the other undesirables into the farthest ring. It was in this location that Kyra was born and raised. And it was there that, during one of the gloating parades to showcase his power, the head shaman witnessed Kyra - age three - cause rocks and sticks of various sizes to fly through the air with wild gestures from her tiny arms.

This is the ring in which Kyra hopes to find her mother now, and if she is not successful in her search, then she will tear down this entire city brick by brick and stone by stone until she has what she seeks.

And she's fully prepared to kill anyone who tries to get in her way.

Duck.

The word whispers through Kyra's mind like a sigh on the breeze ten layers in, and she is lying on the ground with Jericho beneath her an instant later. A jagged flash of white light misses her head by the barest of inches, striking the next door leading to another city circumference and exploding in on itself with a boom that sends shockwaves through the earth. Kyra immediately throws up a circular, transparent shield around herself and Jericho, crouching over him protectively as her eyes scan their surrounding in search of her attacker. What she finds is enough to have her swearing furiously.

Donum Proeliators. Mage soldiers of Veneficus.

Fuckfuckfuck.

Adorned in tunics of the purest white over brown leather trousers, the platoon of warriors march in perfect barefoot step. Their bare hands glow the same shade as their tunics, their eyes following the trend in a manner which has fooled many an outsider into mistakenly believing them blind. It is an error never repeated by the same person twice. On this island where magic is power, the Donum Proeliators are the equivalent to the World Navy. They are the fighting force of Veneficus, enforcers of the law, and executioners of all classes.

And right now fifty pairs of milky eyes are fixed on her.

Shit.

The Proeliators come to a halt a mere ten feet from Kyra's shield. She does not move, watching them closely for the first signs of attack. One lone soldier steps forward, immediately drawing Kyra's full attention. Like all the others, he is dressed in the standard Proeliators uniform. The only difference is the black band which encircles his left arm just above the elbow. This denotes his rank to be that of an Imperator, highest command amongst the mage army.

"Sordes," the Imperator intones in a magically enhanced voice that would likely cause bleeding to the ear canal if not for Kyra's powerful shield. "The Veneratio Simultas commands your presence. You will come with us immediately."

Sordes - filth. Veneratio Simultas - Honored Shaman. Kyra lets her eyes bleed black, onxy energy wrapped around her arms to the elbows as memories of her life under the thumb of that monster return. "Fuck you."

"Do not test my patience, sordes. You will come with us immediately. If you resist, we will use force. You are outnumbered and outmatched. Lower your demon shield and stand down at once. The Veneratio Simultas must not be kept waiting by trash."

Kyra forces her shield to shrink until only Jericho is protected, readying herself for a bloodbath. "Make me, you little shit. Your Veneratio Dickhead can kiss my ass."

The Imperator cocks his head slightly, regarding her out of dead-white eyes. Then, in a more natural voice all the more chilling for its softness, he speaks. "Your mother is waiting at the home of the Veneratio."

Kyra instantly freezes, the breath whooshing out of her lungs as though she has just been punched in the solar plexus. No. No. Don't let that be true...

"What did you just say to me?" the sorceress whispers, terrified of the Imperator's possible answer. She has to have misheard. There's no way her mother is really in that monster's home. Naomi hates the shaman as much as Kyra does. The only reason she would ever go near him would be in some half-cocked scheme to murder him. Kyra must have heard wrong.

"I will not deign to repeat what you obviously know to be true."

Oh gods.

Kyra crosses the space between her position and the Imperator in a blink, her fist flying towards his heart with every intention of putting a hole through his chest. The highly trained fighter is ready for her, twisting to the side and bringing his glowing hand up in an arc towards her neck. She dodges, going into a sloppy roll and coming up with her back to the rest of the Proeliators. Panicking at the realization that she is not between the magical hitmen and her cousin, Kyra swiftly teleports, rejoining him and reinforcing the protection around Jericho's huddled form with a sharp gesture of one hand.

"You cannot defeat me," the Imperator informs her calmly, not in the least bit fazed by her sudden attack. "If you resist, your mother will die. If you flee, your mother will die. You will both come with us immediately, or your relatives will be dead within the hour."

Relatives? Fuck, that means they must have Uncle Chi. What should she do? Does she dare risk the lives of her family by trying to kill these men and storming the head shaman's home? Kyra is fairly confident that she can kill the Proeliators, but the shaman himself is another matter entirely. Has her magic matured enough over the years to trump the shaman on his own home field? If not, if she tries and fails, her mother will perish, along Uncle Chi and Jeri. Her whole family wiped out because of her mistake. Kyra bites her lip so hard she tastes the coppery tang of her own blood. She can't risk it. She can't fight.

The Demon Witch yanks her power back into her skin and relaxes her stance, hands hanging loosely at her sides. She can hear Jericho's shocked gasp from behind her as the protective shield vanishes. Kyra stands stock still as the Imperator signals his men to form a tight box formation around her, two of them taking her arms and twisting the limbs painfully behind her back. She says nothing as they are led back through the destroyed doors, staring straight ahead and refusing to acknowledge anything around her.

The march back to the inner ring is completed in absolute silence save for the sound of Jericho's heavy breathing.

The shaman's house is just as coldly beautiful as Kyra remembers. The entire structure is built of black obsidian, three stories tall with a myriad of windows. It is the largest home in the entire city, showing the shaman's rank and importance. Even the Council does not live in such a splendid dwelling. There are hundreds upon hundreds of wards carved into every inch of the reflective stone, symbols for everything from protection to the enhancement of power. The doors are of pure white marble; they swing open silently at a touch from the Imperator, revealing the magnificent splendor within. Rich tapestries hang everywhere. The floor is dotted with crystals of various sizes and colors, there for magic storage more than for decoration. An extravagant staircase of the same marble as the front doors spirals up to the floors above, cutting through the blackness of the obsidian like a beam of light.

And standing at the foot of those stairs is the shaman.

He is exactly the same as he ever was. A thin man of small stature, barely taller than Kyra had been as a twelve-year-old child. He does not possess an impressive musculature, nor is he prone to simple physical violence. As with the Proeliators, countless numbers of outsiders have taken one look at this elderly man and dismissed him as a weakling. And just like with his servants, it is not a mistake that any man makes a second time.

"Welcome back, discipulus." His scratchy voice cuts her like a knife, sliding slick and slimy down Kyra's spine.

"Where is my mother?" the younger mage demands at once.

The shaman ignores her, placing his hands behind his back and slowly beginning to cross the room. "Long have I awaited the day that you would return, my student. Ten years it has been, has it not? Ten years since you abandoned your training and ran like a coward. Ten years since you left poor Naomi alone."

The sound of her mother's name on this... creature's lips has Kyra fighting to control her powers. The voice is screaming in her head, baying for his blood, demanding his pain and his screams for daring to speak that name. Her magic pushes to break free, urging her to kill him kill him kill him -

"WHERE IS SHE?" The bellow bursts from her mouth without conscious thought, other voices layered with her own in a terrifying echo. "WHERE IS MY MOTHER? TELL ME, OLD MAN! GIVE HER TO ME!"

The shaman takes his time replying, all the while edging closer and closer. "Your mother is currently enjoying the hospitality of my daughter's favored guest. I believe the two of you know each other - quite well, actually, if he is to be believed."

Guest? What guest? Kyra knows his daughter, of course; Lihla, a bitchy blonde hellcat of the same age as herself. The girl once helped her father punish Kyra for a minor infraction by pouring agonizing magic into her body until she passed out from the pain. Given the chance she would gladly return the favor in kind, and without stopping until her victim was well and truly dead. But that explains nothing about what is going on her.

Apparently her confusion is evident on her face. The wrinkled little toad smirks knowingly at her, coming to a stop much too close and leaning in even further.

"Oh, you haven't figured it out yet? To be fair, the man is rather closed-mouthed regarding himself, though he makes no secret about his intentions regarding you. He has some rather unique talents of his own. You have good reason to be concerned, child; Rafe play well with others, as I have had reason to learn."

"Speak plainly, you shitty old windbag!" Kyra snaps, ignoring the burst of pain that radiates through her arms from the hands of the Proeliators that hold her captive. "What has this bastard done with my mother? If he so much as bruises her I'll slaughter your whole fucking family!"

"I assure you that your precious parent is quite beyond harm," the shaman replies, and something about the way his thin lips quirk after speaking has Kyra's guts tying themselves in knots. "Our guest will be here shortly."

"What about Dad?" Jericho suddenly blurts out.

His voice shocks the hell out of Kyra. She has completely forgotten about her cousin, has pushed everything else out of her mind. She cranes her neck to look at him over one shoulder, amazed to see that he is not being held by any of the Proeliators. Her cousin stands free in the shaman's foyer, sweating profusely and white as snow.

"I - I did what you wanted - I brought Kyra back. You said you'd let us leave. You swore! Where's my Dad?"

Kyra can feel the blood draining from her face. No. No, this isn't happening. Jericho is her beloved cousin, her childhood best friend, the boy who once promised to eventually save her. He would never betray her. He would never lie to her. He would never stoop so low as to hand her over to the bastard of a man who did everything in his considerable power to make Kyra's childhood a living hell.

He didn't. Surely he didn't...

"Yes, yes, you've fulfilled your part of the bargain," the shaman is saying somewhere far away from Kyra and her all-consuming horror. "With no small help from my daughter, I will add. She spoke very highly of your acting skills, boy. Apparently the reunion with your demon witch of a cousin was very believable. Well done. My men will take you to where your father is being held once we conclude a little business. For now, the Imperator will escort you to a guest room, where you will wait quietly until you are collected. Gentlemen, if you would be so kind?"

Kyra watches, stunned into immobility, as the Imperator and the platoon of Proeliators surround her shamefaced cousin and march past her. Not once does Jericho look at her, nor does he say a word. The group walks right past the shaman, marches up the stairs to the second level, and disappears from sight. Kyra is left alone in the foyer with the shaman, who promptly reaches out and grasps her chin between his knobby fingers.

"Quite the fine woman you've grown up to be," he muses, turning her face this way and that until the sorceress snaps back to her senses and jerks away from him. "I can see why that man has grown even so obsessed with you since you last parted ways. You will make a fine vessel for the continuation of my family's line, once I stamp that demon magic out of you for good. What greater honor could there be for a low-born sordes? We will bind your powers to us, and with you at our command, there is precious little we cannot accomplish. The world will be laid low at the feet of our family. You put a bit of a damper on my planning when you disappeared during chastisement like that, but thankfully that has been rectified. It amazes me what sordes relatives will do to each other given the proper motivation, although I suppose the freedom of a cousin cannot be expected to measure up to the life of a father."

"Oh, Papa, of course a parent comes first. Only a demon would kill their own father."

Kyra whirls around, throwing up a shield on instinct alone and horrified that she did not notice someone standing behind her. She backs fast to the nearest wall, hands encased in black magic that swells around her like a whirlwind. Ready for the worst, the mage is given pause by the vaguely familiar blonde beauty currently closing the massive marble doors. Who is this? Why is she familiar? Confusion wrinkles Kyra's brow. Could this be Lihla? She has not laid eyes on her tormentor in ten years, why in the world is this woman so familiar to her?

The blonde - Lihla, it must be Lihla - mock-gasps and puts a delicate hand over her pouty lips. "Oh, how rude of me. Didn't you kill your father, Kyra darling? I do hope you'll forgive my slip."

The voice is what makes everything click, and at the instant of realization Kyra's face loses every last drop of color.

Oh, gods, the nurse. The Navy nurse Law saved from that ship days ago. The one who spent the journey locked up in Kyra's room with only a talking polar bear for the occassional company. The Heart Pirates had dumped her on the last island just hours ago, right before going to the bar in which Jericho had been waiting.

A set-up. It's all been a fucking set-up right from the moment Law dragged the blonde out onto the deck of that Navy ship. The shaman and his brood have orchestrated all of it.

"Is our honored guest not here yet, Papa?" Lihla is saying, having walked up to the shaman while Kyra was distracted and given him a kiss on his withered cheek. "How typical of him to be late. I do hope he isn't much longer. I'm sure Rafe will be just thrilled to see his dear Kyra again."

The shaman nods to her without taking his eyes off Kyra. "He should be here any moment now, my daughter. Have some patience; he has baggage with him."

Lihla's dainty nose scrunches in disgust. "Ugh, he's bringing those sordes here? The house will be contaminated by such people."

Rage boils within Kyra at this description of her family. In an instant she has leapt away from the wall and pounced on the blonde bitch, taking her to the floor with both hands wrapped around her neck. She keeps the shield around her so that the shaman is unable to interfere, remembering from those hellish lessons all those years ago that her former teacher cannot penetrate that barrier. Kyra is free to straddle Lihla's tiny waist and lean over her, overwhelming fury in every line of her face.

"WHAT IS THIS?" she screams at the other woman, her hands tight around that gracefully slim throat. "WHY AM I HERE AGAIN? WHY HAVE YOU TAKEN MY FAMILY? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU PEOPLE WANT FROM ME? WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF SICK GAME ARE YOU PEOPLE PLAYING? YOU CAN'T DO THIS! YOU'RE NOT FUCKING GODS, YOU CAN'T TOY WITH PEOPLE'S LIVES -"

Balls of searing white magic explode against the outside of the sorceress' shield. An ashen-faced Lihla lifts a hand, encased in an eggshell color, and drives it into Kyra's shoulder up to the wrist. Kyra lets out a hair-raising scream as pain tears through her.

"Sordes vermin!" Lihla gasps. "Let... go!"

She ignores this command, instead lifiting Lihla's head one-handed to bash it against the stone floor, knocking her unconscious with the blow. Rolling off and stumbling to her feet, she sees that the shaman is hurling multiple balls of energy at her shield in a futile attempt to weaken it, joined in his endeavors by a platoon of Proediators. Her protective bubble is rippling and shivering, but so far it's holding.

With the jerk of one clenched fist, the malicious mage yanks Lihla up to hover beside her, a tight band of black magic wrapped securely around her neck.

"Stop it right now or I'll fucking kill her!" she bellows, shaking her fist and swaying the limp body around in the air.

The shaman does not hesitate, nor do the Proeliators. Kyra opens her fist and slashes it towards the supernatural warriors, causing a handful to explode in a shower of blood and guts. This is not pleasing, as she had intended for all of them to die; the level of power she put behind that swing should have killed more than a measly five. She draws back a fist to repeat the gesture -

And has it caught in a firm grip from behind. Someone is inside of her shield! Turning, ready to take this intruder's head off, Kyra lets Lihla's unconscious form drop, pulls back her remaining arm...

And screams.

"Hello, lovey."

Kyra can barely hear him over her own howls combined with the wailing inside. Merrick is clutching her wrist in a death-grip. That sight alone would be enough to send her into a panic. But even worse is what he is holding in his other hand: it is a human face, the skin expertly flayed off the bone with the hair still attached. Like some kind of gruesome mask, this sad shapeless sack of flesh dangles from his fingers by its hair.

Even like this, Kyra recognizes her mother.

She knows it is Naomi's face: the scar starting above the right eye and disappearing into the hairline was given to her by Kyra's father right before she killed him. The eye sockets are empty now of those loving blue orbs, and the sagging lips hang open in a sad parody of life.

"Do you have a kiss for Mummy?" Merrick whispers.

And before she can move, he drapes the thing over her head like a hood.

Blackness descends upon her, and oblivion with it.

Six days after his magician's temporary bon voyage, Trafalgar Law is about to step into his private bathroom. He has just finished slaughtering a tribe of aborigines and their extraordinarily large pet tigers, and is looking forward to cleansing himself of the evidence. However, the bloody pirate is stopped in his tracks by a knock at his door.

Law sighs, running a tired hand through his matted hair. "Come in."

The portal is opened and Bepo shuffles through, his fur wet with blood around both claws and snout. In one paw he holds a familiar satchel. The sight of the bag has a certain mixture of lust and killing rage flaring up in the Dark Doctor's belly.

"You said I could use the shower in the extra room, Captain," Bepo reminds him quietly, setting his burden on the floor at the foot of Law's bed. "This was still in there. I think her soaps and stuff are still in the bathroom, too, but I haven't looked yet. I just thought you would want this with you."

Law gives a curt nod, watching as his first mate exits the room once more. Bepo has been extremely withdrawn and even quieter than usual these past six days. Not once has he said Kyra's name, and he has refused to partake in the conversations about her that the rest of the crew are still thriving on when they don't think their captain is listening. The bitch's betrayal has hit the sensitive bear hard.

Law lingers for a moment, eyeing the girl's pack before scoffing at himself and continuing into the bathroom. He has already been through all of his magician's things, prior to picking her up at Marineford months ago. It is doubtful that Kyra would have purchased anything new since then, as she has always been in his presence on all of the New World islands and he does not recall her doing any shopping. A shower is more important at the moment, anyway.

After the gore has been removed from his skin, Law sits on the edge of his bed and once again appraises the satchel at his feet. Stupid little girl, leaving all of her things on his ship when she has no plans to return. How foolish of her to leave not only her clothing but a detailed record of her daily thoughts... and that bauble of hers. Grey eyes narrow at this, and the surgeon reaches down to jerk the bag into his lap, opening it and dumping out the clothing. The leather-bound journal and the small pouch which holds Kyra's necklace fall out as well. Law tosses the empty sack aside and picks up the two items. The pouch he sets to one side for now. The diary he immediately flips open, leafing through until he comes to the newer entries.

...just so fucking infuriating! Why the fuck does he have to touch me all the damn time? Would it kill the bastard to learn respect for my personal space? Between him and that damn chef, who tried to grope me yesterday, I feel like I'm constantly looking over my shoulder waiting for one of them to pounce on me. At least when the cook bothers me Bepo has a habit of popping up out of nowhere and showing off all his nice pointy teeth. I wish he'd do that with his pervert of a captain. Maybe if they'd stop harassing me like that these fucking dreams would go away. Every time I feel Law put his hands on me it's like I'm back at those labs for the shortest moment, with Merrick leaning over me and his hands on my skin. Maybe if I give in to the urge to vomit next time Law slings an arm over my shoulder he'll get the fucking hint and leave me alone...

Law flips to the next entry

...He saw the scar on the back of my neck. I had to go through some kind of checkup, since he apparently thinks I'm going to drop dead a week after Firefist's resurrection. He's such a mother hen sometimes, when he's not trying to stuff his hand up my shirt. Which he did during that damn exam, probably just because he wants to be an asshole whenever possible. And then he saw the signature and I just felt so dirty. He looked at me like it was my fault I got that name carved into me with a fucking scalpel. Yeah, well, fuck you, Law, and the horse you rode in on! Did I mention that it's apparently bad for my mental health to be around the man when he's drinking? He sniffed me tonight, just like his bear did that one time weeks ago. The guy's a fucking psycho. Gods, my hand's shaking so fucking bad I'd better stop before I fuck up the page. I think I'll just sit in the corner over here and hug something until the tremors stop...

...He saw me, he knows where I am oh gods what do I do should I leave? Bail on this crew before I get them all killed? Fuck, fuck, what do I do? I don't know, I can't think, oh gods his voice...

...So... Law kind of... gutted his cook today. Like literally cut the man open from collarbone to groin. Not that I'm complaining, because that beanie-wearing son of a fucking bitch-face had the nerve to call my mother a whore at breakfast. I haven't been that angry about anything in a long time. This totally trumped the temper tantrum about getting drugged and ending up in a slave auction, and I killed that asshole. I probably would have killed the cook this morning too, if Law hadn't come in and pulled me off of the bastard. And then he fucking guts the man himself. Cooky's only alive because I'm a fucking bleeding heart and healed him. Well, not the face; he deserved the face, but I fixed him up so he'll just have an angry-looking scar from now on. Law did that. Law. What the fuck does he care what's said about my mother? My captain is possibly walking around with more than a few screws loose upstairs...

Every single one of the entries after Marineford, excluding the four sentences pertaining to their little adventure on Fishman Island, is about Law.

Interesting.

He skims idly through the first part of the book again, brooding over his magician's apparently fickle nature. It would seem obvious from her journal entries that she was growing to like the Surgeon of Death at least a little. Why else would all of these pages be filled with his name? If that is the case, then why did she leave? For a mother she hasn't seen in a decade?

Law decides that he will ask her once they find and recapture the girl - most people will tell you just about anything if they are subjected to enough pain. And Kyra is certainly going to become intimately familiar with the concept of agony. When Law is through with her, she will never again so much as acknowledge a miniscule speck of desire to leave the Heart Pirates. She might not be entirely sane at that point, but Law could really care less. He is going to immensely enjoy disposing of the girl's worldly connections until the only thing that holds sway over her will be his voice. He will erase the memory of this mother; destroy that fucker of a cousin along with the smug bastard's father; obliterate Merrick and the feel of any hands but Law's from Kyra's mind.

His own mother and her lectures on how to treat women can go hang. He is a pirate, not a gentleman, and it isn't as if he did not give the stubborn wretch ample warning.

A word from her early writings begins to pop out at the Dark Doctor from numerous pages. Reading this word, Law's eyes narrow in thought. Veneficus. It has caught his eye partly because of the frequency in which it is used and also because it is not a word he has heard before. Flipping back until he finds the first entry with this strange word, Law begins to read once more.

...This makes forty tries in one fucking week to get back to her, and every time my fucking magic just dumps me in the middle of the stupid ocean somewhere. I almost got eaten by a Sea King! The fuck do I have to do to get back there! That teleporting sphere takes me all over Saboady, it got me out of those god-awful labs, so why the hell can't I go home to Veneficus? Mama's there! I can't just leave her! I want to see her again so badly it physically hurts. Why won't it take me back? I just want to go home.

It would seem that 'Veneficus' is the name of her home island. Strange that she has failed to return to the place multiple times before; it worked just fine this time. Perhaps this is why she said that her precious cousin would be the guide for her powers. Most likely she was only able to leave successfully because of her darling Jericho. Law is going to have a lot of fun killing that little twit for sure.

Dropping the journal on top of the pile of clothes, the Surgeon of Death picks up the small pouch he had set aside earlier and removes a half-heart necklace. Out of all the things his magician left behind, this little pretty is what baffles Law the most. Why would Kyra leave this on his sub when its partner had been so important to her that she had come within an inch of killing her own cousin over it? Had she simply not thought about it in her haste to get herself and that little brat out of Law's presence before he could make good on his promise and butcher the man? But if that is the case, why did her powers not collect her belongings as well? They have done so before, when all Kyra had ended up doing before being dumped back with the Heart Pirates was re-growing a man's arm. Why not this time, when she has run from him so foolishly? It makes no sense at all, and he is annoyed at his lack of understanding.

The cutthroat scoundrel rubs a hand over his face with a tired sigh. He has not slept for more than catnaps since his magician's departure. The rage inside him, the need to kill and maim and hurt, has kept him awake and vibrating with energy. But tonight, Law's body is adamantly letting him know that he needs to sleep. Depriving himself of rest will do nothing but make him more vulnerable, a chance he cannot take in the dangerous New World. Standing and sticking his head out into the hallway, he takes the necessary time to inform a passing Haru that he is not to be disturbed for anything other than a life-or-death emergency before shutting and locking the door. He makes himself comfortable in his bed, closes his eyes, and falls asleep with his hand still fisted around Kyra's necklace.

When he opens his eyes, it is to an endless sea of white. Snow lies heavy upon the ground, with still more falling in fat flakes towards the earth. Despite his bare chest and equally bare feet, Law feels no cold against his skin as he walks through the massive field before him. A small portion of his brain recognizes this as a field on his home island in North Blue, where he often came as a child. He realizes that he is dreaming, strangely cognizant of the situation, but brushes this off as his tired mind trying to calm him. This particular field is one which he would frequent after his latest experiment had failed or the older children had been stupid enough to start a fight with him. Only three miles from his childhood home, if he remembers correctly.

But why is he dreaming of this field?

"Fuck."

The pirate whirls around immediately, hand groping for a nodachi that is not there for only a moment before what he is seeing registers in his mind. Once it does, Law finds himself unable to do anything for a long moment as he stares at the woman in front of him.

Kyra is huddled in a tight little ball on the thick snow, naked as the day she was born and covered head to toe in blood and bruises. His magician is shivering violently, as though she can feel the cold while Law cannot. She is eyeing him with an expression that is somewhere between shock and resignation. After a long moment of tense silence, Kyra lets out a sigh and drops her head to rest against her rather mangled knees.

"Come to gloat?" she whispers, her voice raw as though she has been screaming. "Stupid little Kyra didn't just fucking stay with her captain, and now she's reaping her rewards. Fuck, like I really need you in my dreams with all my other problems."

Law watches in silence as the girl slowly falls onto her side, moving her hands from where they were previously clutching her thin ankles so that she lies with her knees hugged to her chest. His quick eyes dart along her nude body, taking in the bruises and deep gashes that litter her skin as well as large burn circles the likes of which he has never seen before. The burns are a nasty greenish color and all of them are weeping pus; Kyra has gotten them infected somehow.

"How are you in my dreams?" the heartless captain demands coolly, walking around behind his shaking magician to survey what damage has been done to her back. More bruises, more blood, more burns... and a brand that stretches from just below her shoulder blade all the way down her spine. A stylized R and an M, intertwined like the more popular slave brands usually are.

"Dunno," Kyra slurs, twitching as though in pain when Law kneels behind her to turn her on her back. Her face is the only part of her body that looks relatively unharmed, with only a bruised cheek and a split lip. Her eyes are bloodshot and dull, her unmarred skin chalky in its paleness. She is hideous; she is glorious; she is in Law's dreams.

He fists a hand in her blood-matted hair and holds her still as he kisses her, throwing one leg over her hips to straddle her. This time her teeth are not set, her jaw not locked. He plunders her mouth like the pirate he is, free hand sliding across her sticky belly. She tastes of sweetness and blood, and her breath is so cold Law's teeth ache with it.

Lust rages through him like fire. Every inch of skin that touches her burns for more. He wants this to be real. He wants to bury himself inside her. He bites on her busted lip, sucking the blood into his mouth, lavving the slit with his tongue to aggravate it further. More, more, he must have more.

Kyra does nothing. She neither struggles nor kisses him in return, merely lies like a corpse under his mouth and hands, shivering in the snow.

"She's dead," Kyra murmurs when he releases her lips and moves to lap at a deep cut just under her chin. "He beat you to her. Will you kill me instead?"

Law hums noncommitally, pressing his fingers into a fist-shaped burn on her side as he suckles the gash on her neck. He wonders idly if Kyra's magic has somehow altered her chemical make-up, for her blood to taste like liquid sugar to him. His fingers are wet with her infection, the pressure he is putting on the burn enough to rip screams from the throats of the toughest men.

She doesn't even seem to notice.

"Please," she rasps softly as he trails his tongue down to her collarbone, moving his arms so that his hands clutch at her ribs. The bones jut against her skin like those of a starvation victim. "Please, I just want to die. Kill me before he wakes me up. Please."

Her wounds are healing as she lies beneath him. The surgeon watches as the burns slowly fade to shiny scars, the cuts closing up and the bruises fading away. He wonders if this is because her powers are healing her body in the physical world. He leans down to lick up a line of blood just above her left breast, breathes in the scent of her. It isn't right; Kyra should smell of lavender and steel and woman, not copper and sweat and cadavers.

"And why should I give you what you want?" Law hisses, digging blunt nails into her skin. "Why should I kill you when I haven't had the opportunity to discipline you for leaving against my explicit orders? Why should I deprive myself of the entertainment awaiting your return to my crew?"

"Then torture me!" She is becoming animated now, more herself, releasing her own body from its death grip and grabbing at his biceps. "I don't care! We're in your imagination, you can do anything here! Conjure up whatever and torture me into insanity! Peel my skin off! Cut out my organs! Rape me, give me to your damn crew, I don't care! Just promise me when you're done with me you'll kill -"

She stops, sea-blue eyes too wide in her face, blanching so pale Law thinks she would faint if not for the fact that she is already asleep.

"Oh, gods," his magician breathes out, sounding equal parts horrified and bitterly amused. "Of course. Of course. That's why the fucking ceremony isn't working. It's you..."

Law grabs her wrists and pins her arms to the snow, moving to snarl quietly in her ear. "Explain."

"The ceremony... to bond two people from my island... The magic chooses a person and if you're agreeable... oh, gods!"

Hysterical laughter shatters the stillness of the field, shrill sounds as mirthless as a death wail.

"It's you... you, oh fuck... that's why I can't bond with him, I'm bonded with you... oh fuck why? Why me? Why why why..."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" the Dark Doctor snaps, the curse spilling out as his anger and confusion rise.

"Six days... six fucking days of torture because it wasn't working... you were why all this time... it chose you of all the fucking people in the world!" The insane cackling has changed to wrenching sobs, the girl's entire body practically convulsing with the force of them. Law watches, teeth grinding together in his need for her to explain herself, itching to wrap his fingers around that slim throat and squeeze. The next words bawled out of her mouth stop the pirate captain cold.

"My fucking magic bonded me to you! That's why it doesn't hurt you! That's why we're sharing a dream! Oh gods, I'm fucking soul-bonded with you!" Kyra looks up to him, her face streaked with tears and her eyes devastated beyond anything he has ever before seen. She opens her mouth, starts to speak again -

And Trafalgar Law jolts awake to a quiet knocking on his bedroom door and Bepo softly announcing that breakfast is ready, covered in sweat with a major problem that is extremely uncomfortable to wake up with in the morning. His hand is coated in drying infection drainage, his chin feels sticky, and he can still taste the sweetness of her blood. The tiny necklace remains securely clutched in his fist.

And his magician is nowhere to be found.

A/N: Please review.