Chapter 21

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

Beta'd by Tomas the Betrayer.

Rafe Merrick examines the woman with glazed eyes laid out on the table before him in all her bare feminine glory. They have finished for the day. He is watching as the almost sentient black magic heals his subject's wounds. Three months ago the process would have taken all night. Today it has been only a handful of hours and her skin is nearly fully repaired. Somehow, little Kyra's powers are growing despite the hundreds of wards carved into the very stone of this building that are meant to prevent that very thing from happening. Every day she is becoming stronger, and every time his soul-bonding ceremony is rejected, the shaman with whom Merrick is allied grows weaker.

His lovey has thrown a wonderful little wrench in his plans.

He remembers the first time he saw this woman, over a decade ago in that corrupt cesspool of Marine Headquarters. Such a tiny little thing she was then, terrified of the unfamiliar surroundings and naively believing Sengoku meant to help her. Merrick smiles at the memory of that awe-inspiring moment there in the old fool's office when his Kyra lost control for just a moment and killed one of the Marines on guard, the psychic abilities he inherited from his father - one of several - screaming their recognition of fearsome magic at work. Such amazing power in one so young. The power of not only death, but life as well, which she demonstrated when she burst into tears and somehow brought the dead soldier back to life. Amazing indeed, and enough for Sengoku to decide that the girl was to be locked away forever. It was the Admiral who handed Kyra into Merrick's care, giving him free reign to experiment to his heart's content and thereby figure out how this tiny child wielded such dangerous might.

What fun the eager scientist has had with this woman.

Her body's stamina and regenerative capabilities are singularly amazing. To think that any human can withstand what she has endured since her youth defies the laws of natural science. By all the logic in the world Kyra should never have lived to see the age of thirteen, and yet here she is as an adult, still alive against all the odds. And her powers are stronger than ever.

With Kyra under his control, the possibilities open to him are endless.

"She has healed sufficiently," the old shaman declares, his hoarse voice pulling Merrick back to the present. The elderly wizard waves a dismissive hand at his battered prisoner. "Take her back to her cell. We shall begin anew tomorrow."

Two of the shaman's magical thugs step up to the table and carelessly drag Kyra's limp body off of the flat surface, holding onto her arms so that she hangs between them. Merrick watches as they exit the spacious ritual chamber, his girl's feet trailing on the cold marble floor until the trio vanishes from sight.

Three months they have been at this. Three months of this ceremony that is meant to bind Kyra to Merrick on the level of their souls, giving him full control over her every action and putting her impressive powers at his disposal. The psychic is growing increasingly impatient with every failure the shaman makes. The beatings Kyra is receiving after each botched ritual are doing nothing but adding more scars to her body. Whatever is going wrong, physical injuries are not the answer, no matter how severe. The shaman is a fool if he has not realized it by now.

Kyra knows the answer to this dilemma. Merrick can see it in her eyes every time their bonding is rejected. He is curiously unable to enter her mind as he has done in the past, nor is he able to use his abilities to get a reading on her emotions. She is closed to him in a way that has never before been an issue, and all the while she grows more powerful by the day. They are running out of time.

They need to bind her soon, or their window of opportunity will disappear.

Dainty white hands press against his chest, once more snapping the madman out of his thoughts just before Lihla leans into him.

"You're so tense, Rafe," the shaman's daughter cooes, fluttering long golden lashes in what is clearly supposed to be a seductive manner. "Come dine with me. Relax. The sordes witch cannot refuse you forever. She will break soon enough, and then she will be ours to command."

Merrick gives her a charming smile, offering his arm to her as any gentleman would. She need not know what a fool she seems to him, this harpy and her senile old father with their belief in his loyalty to them. It had been a brilliant stroke of good fortune when the scientist had run across Lihla just days after Kyra escaped him on Fishman Island. The blonde woman had been instantly infatuated by this strange man with such obvious gifts, astonished to find such a power outside of her own island. A nice dinner and a few well-placed compliments were all that he required to woo Lihla into arranging a meeting with her powerful father. The parent was just as easily manipulated as the child, eager to join forces with a complete stranger for the chance of reacquiring a dangerous tool. A few empty promises later, and the shaman had been happily handing over Kyra's mother, along with a visiting uncle and cousin.

Everything went off so easy. The Marines' information network kept a close eye on all the Supernovae and where they might be heading in the New World. From there they were able to determine a suitable area of the ocean to lie in wait for the Heart Pirates. It had only taken a little time for Lihla to happen upon the crew with whom Kyra was traveling. She had effortlessly played the role of terrified, mute nurse, correctly assuming that Kyra would not recognize her after a ten year separation. A Den-Den Mushi hidden in her clothing had put her in direct contact with Kyra's cousin, to whom she had relayed their destination. The boy did exactly as ordered, tricking his own blood into ending up captured in a desperate attempt to save the life of his father. If Merrick remembers correctly, the happily reunited duo are still somewhere on this island, a home having been provided for them as both payment and prison so that the shaman could keep an eye on them. The old man is taking no chances that the cowardly pair will leave his domain and seek outside aid for the girl they betrayed.

He wonders briefly if this uncle suffers nightmares about being forced to watch as Merrick peeled his sister's face off while she was still alive. Naomi's death had not been planned; it was simply a spur-of-the-moment decision. What better way to break the girl than to kill the one person she loved more than any other? He has not forgotten the adolescent child screaming for her mother during the years of experimentation. It seems as though his plan to break her at least partially succeeded: Kyra has said not a word to anyone all this time since he draped her precious parent's face over her head. The only sounds she makes are ones of pain.

Merrick pulls out his hostess' chair and conducts her into her seat, all the while planning. He has lost what little faith he had in this soul-bonding scheme. For whatever reason, it is not working, and his leave from his department under the Navy's watch is almost up. He does not wish to suffer yet another setback in his plans if Kyra is not under his control before he returns to work. His every ambition rests of her enslavement to his will.

He will give it one more week. If Kyra is not subjugated by that time, he will be forced to consider alternate options.

And the shaman and his pathetic little daughter will have outlived their usefulness.

After three solid months of visitations, Trafalgar Law is not surprised to fall asleep and find himself in the presence of his magician. She is sprawled out in the same snow-covered field all of these dreams begin in, lying on her stomach and dressed in a ragged grey smock that falls to her knees. Thick white flakes are dotted within the black mop of her hair. It seems this time Kyra has been in his mind for a while. That is not unusual; she has confessed to the sadistic surgeon that she falls into this place every time upon losing consciousness, whether Law is asleep or not.

It's barely after sunset now. The Dark Doctor has given himself a very mild sedative to get to sleep, just on the off chance Kyra would be here. A golden locket lies in his grip, more precaution than anything else. Bepo is currently watching over him in the infirmary, ready to wake his captain if he has not roused in three hours.

Law lowers himself to sit in the snow beside her and weaves his fingers into her hair, lightly raking his nails over her scalp. Kyra shudders but does not otherwise move from her sprawled position. Three months ago she had fought him tooth and nail the first time he did that in these dreams, screaming at him that he had no right to touch her like her precious dead mother would. She had kicked, punched, spat, and clawed at Law until he had altered the dream setting so that she was tied to a replica of one of the tables in the infirmary, unable to do anything but curse at him desperately. In the meantime the Surgeon of Death had quite a bit of fun with a conjured scalpel and this girl who deliberately disobeyed his orders by leaving. Her mother might be dead and therefore out of his reach, since Kyra cannot bring the deceased back to life without a body, but his magician is readily available to him whenever he feels the need to punish her for desertion of his crew. He will take care of the other family members at a later date.

Law doesn't feel like playing today. He has things he needs to tell her.

"We have entered a territory of the New World that is known to be under the protection of the Yonkou Red-Haired Shanks," Law informs the girl, stroking her scalp as he speaks. He pauses for a moment, waiting to see if Kyra will react to this announcement. The sorceress moves her head so that she can peer up at him from one eye but says nothing. "I am going to call in the favor he owes you for the re-growth of his arm. As a former member of the Roger Pirates, Shanks has a superior knowledge of the New World. I will convince him to lead us to Veneficus." The surgeon frowns heavily at this admittance, not pleased that he is being forced to ask for help from someone else. Law would rather find the damn place himself, but the fact is that he has been searching for this elusive island for three months without so much as a whisper confirming its existence outside of Kyra's journel. He is growing bored with the search and frustrated with his own failings, tired of seeing his magician waste away because of whatever her captors are doing. He is fed up with only being able to play with her in his dreams, despite her monotonous assurance that whatever injuries he inflicts on her in his mind will transfer over to the waking world.

Kyra moves her head against so that her face is once again pressed into the snow, hiding from the pirate like a child. "If you'd just kill me like I've been asking you wouldn't have to go beg the Yonkou for help."

And the Dark Doctor is sick to death of her continuous pleas for him to end her life.

"You might not have to anyway," the girl barrels on before he can make his displeasure known. "Give me about a week and I think I might be able to get out of here."

Law frowns, fisting his hand and using Kyra's hair to pull her head up so that he might force her to look at him. "You told me that the wards within your prison are sapping you of your powers. Didn't you say that was why it takes longer than usual for your wounds to heal?"

His magician has told him many things about her home island and the building in which she is now kept. He knows that she was born of the lowest class, those referred to by the elite as 'sordes' or filth. He knows that she has possessed the capability to use her strange powers since toddlerhood. This had apparently caused quite a stir, due to the fact that no one in Kyra's family has ever shown the slightest magical talent and the odd black color in which her powers manifested themselves, so different from the eggshell white of the other islanders. She was forced into an apprenticeship at the age of five, seven years earlier than any other magical child on Veneficus. It was rumored that her mother had been in cohoots with a demon, who had given her only child these dark powers while she was still in the womb. Kyra had spent her childhood reviled by everyone, shunned and hated and secretly feared for being different.

It still baffles Law's mind that she would willingly return to this place just for the chance to see her mother again.

"The wards are supposed to be designed to weaken me," Kyra is telling him now, her tone indifferent as always. "The shaman has gloated ad nauseum that he used my blood from the apprenticeship contract I was forced to sign as a kid to anchor the wards into his home on the off chance I ever came back. I don't know why they aren't working as well as they used to, I just know that I can feel them fading a little more every day. Like I said, give me a week and I'll be out of this hellhole. There's no point in going to Shanks. What the hell are you going to do against warriors who throw balls of magic at you anyway? Smirk them to death?"

The pirate ignores her jab, filing the comment away for later so that he might punish his magician when he gets his hands on her in the real world. The landscape starts to change around them; the snow vanishes to be replaced by an endless expanse of white sandy beach, a full moon hanging low in the sky and bathing them both in its light. Sea water washes in waves over Law's feet, not weakening him for the first time in years.

Kyra gingerly shifts in the glowing sand so that she sits cross-legged beside him, her hair still held captive by his tattooed fingers. The Dark Doctor loosens his hold only enough so that she is able to look around, taking in the change in setting with dull blue eyes. Three months ago she would have still grumbled about such an abrupt switch in scenery, irrationally annoyed at Law's experimentation with his control over these shared dreams. Now she shows no reaction at all.

With every day that passes Kyra grows quieter. Every time they share a dream she is thinner, frailer, more vulnerable. His magician is slowly fading away, either as a result of her continued captivity or because she is so set on dying he is not sure. It doesn't matter to Law either way; what matters is that he refuses to allow her to pass into the void. Kyra is his, and he absolutely refuses to give her up. He is the Surgeon of Death, and Death will not be permitted to take what is his.

It is for this reason that Law uses his hold on Kyra to pull her head towards him, pressing his lips against the skin of her temple.

"You will not die," he hisses in a commanding tone, yanking on her hair and trailing his mouth down her cheek to her chin and then her throat. "I forbid it. You will stay alive no matter what is done to you."

And just as it has ever since the first time Law uttered that order, Kyra's magic rises out of her and wraps the two of them in a sheer cocoon of protective energy, acknowledging the words of its mistress soul-bonded partner. Thanks to the girl's grudging admission, he knows now that her powers will follow his commands to a certain extent, as long as she isn't completely against it or it won't put her in danger. She has been hopeful that her wishes will still take priority, but since the magic refuses to kill her and cannot bring her mother back, there is nothing for Kyra has to test that theory.

The girl's shoulders sag dejectedly as the shield disappears, her glazed eyes dulling even further. "I hate you. You have no idea how much I hate you."

"I agree," he murmurs against her pulse, biting down just enough to bruise her. She is shaking against his side, her bony arm quivering like a leaf in the wind. Law slides his free hand around her back, cupping her opposite hip and pulling her closer. He drags Kyra into his lap and buries his nose in her hair, searching for the lost scent he remembers from her time on his sub. The clothing she left behind still retains her aroma, but the body he holds smells of nothing but blood. It sparks the carefully banked embers of the rage that sleep inside the pirate captain, that this Merrick has changed his woman so much in so little time. Three months, and Kyra's body, her eyes, her will, even her fucking scent are different. She is becoming a shell of Law's magician, and the thought infuriates him. He thinks it will take a long time for Kyra to become herself again, and the wait - which has yet to even truly begin - is driving him crazy.

It's just a little bit difficult to have sex with an empty shell, after all.

This separation has done nothing to cool the fires of lust that flair within the Dark Doctor every time he so much as thinks about his magician. Although she has not admitted such, Law is suspicious that this soul-bond she hates so much is amplifying his desire for her. He has had other women in the past months, attempting to sate himself with someone else as he cannot with her. He is still Trafalgar Law, of course, and even out here in the increasingly dangerous New World, he has the natural charm necessary to have women crawling all over him. The relief they bring him only lasts until he falls asleep and sees Kyra's painfully thin form laid out on the snow of his dreams.

He wants to fuck her so bad that at times he physically hurts, but the surgeon is not a fan of necrophilia, and in her present state sexual intercourse with Kyra would be roughly equivalent to that.

"When I have you back on my ship," Law whispers against her neck, "you will never leave my side again. You... are... mine."

"I'm not coming back."

Law pauses in his casual assault of her slim throat. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not coming back."

He takes her to the ground at once, straddling her and holding her arms to the sand with his knees in case she tries to fight him. Kyra does nothing, puts up not even the slightest struggle. She lies there beneath the dangerous Supernova and stares up at him with listless, empty eyes.

"Not coming back, hmm?" the pirate captain muses, eyes scanning the body under him. "I suppose you don't feel you have any reason to return, correct? Not even to collect that lovely trinket of yours, it would seem. It will be somewhat difficult to force you back to where you belong without leverage, due to your endlessly stubborn nature. Hmm..."

He brings one hand up to about shoulder level, like a waiter balancing an invisible tray. A scalpel immediately appears on his palm. Lowering it swiftly, Law cuts the smock off of Kyra with one motion, easily brushing the slit fabric aside with his empty hand as he positions the exceptionally sharp blade between the girl's breasts. Her face has not changed. No fear is present in her eyes, no trepidation at what he means to do to her. Perhaps she thinks that he will finally grant that silly wish; maybe she thinks that she is about to die.

Kyra is sorely mistaken.

"Room."

A small bluish square sinks into Kyra's chest. Her eyes widen in presentiment of new horror, but Law is too pleased with himself to notice. As she watches him with increasing concern, he holds up one hand from which dangles the half-heart-shaped locket she once so prized. Using his Devil Fruit ability, he then very carefully encases his magician's chest cavity in the field of his power. When it is fully covered, the Surgeon of Death lowers his scalpel and cuts out her heart.

Before Kyra can so much as draw breath he has replaced the organ with the locket through use of his Devil Fruit, leaving an otherwise empty hole in the Demon Witch's chest.

Once he is finished the incision immediately closes in a flash of healing white. As soon as it is in his hands, the Heart Pirate Captain leans down and lightly runs his tongue over the thrumming thing, savoring the faintest traces of her sweet blood as dawning horror spreads across her face.

"You - what - what did you -?" Her voice is weak, fluttering like a trapped little bird, like the organ he holds gently in his tattooed hand. The bloody scalpel fades out of existance as Law reaches up to stroke Kyra's bone-white cheek, smirking smugly at her all the while.

"How's this for leverage?"

He kisses her with bruising force just before he wakes up, Bepo's paws shaking his shoulders frantically and his magician's wildly beating heart resting in his grip.

Kyra jolts awake screaming, her powers flaring uncontrollably and thin cords of black magic taking chunks out of the walls of her cell. Her hands fly to her chest, bypassing the smock with its slit up the middle, frantically scratching at the spot under which her heart should be beating fit to burst.

There is nothing; no insane pulse, no docile thumping in a calm rhythm. Only emptiness.

Ohgods-ohgod-ohgods!

Trafalgar Law has just cut out her heart in the dreamscape, and that condition has transferred over to reality.

FUCK!

She curls up on her lumpy mattress, hugs her knees to her chest, and cries. Dammit! How did he do that without killing her? Law just sank that fucking scalpel into her chest - painlessly - and removed her heart like he was taking apart a child's toy! To make matters worse, he even replaced it with what she can sense is her own locket! The thought has Kyra feelin weak with revulsion all over again. Removing it would be simple, only she has no idea what might happen as a result. She could die, which in her current situation would not be allowed. And right now, even thoughs of death offer her absolutely no comfort. She can feel his fingers, touching something no fucking hand should ever touch. Trafalgar Law, Supernova super rookie, captain of the Heart Pirates, is right this moment holding Kyra's heart in his hands.

The sorceress is certain she's going to be sick.

How's this for leverage?

Leverage? He cut out her heart for leverage? Bastard! Why didn't he just give her an order? Kyra has already admitted that her powers will comply with his demands. He could have commanded her to return to the Heart Pirates. He could have ordered her to teleport to his bed stark naked the second she has the ability to do so. Instead, Law has used their shared dreams, the connection forged by the soul-bond Kyra has never wanted, to cut her fucking heart out of her chest. For leverage. Is there no limit to that man's cruelty?

Oh, how Kyra hates Trafalgar Law.

Because of him, she is trapped in the shaman's dungeons, taken out by the Proeliators only to be tortured by the old fucker and Merrick. Sure, Law didn't technically ask to be soul-bonded to her either, but if he had never tried to buy her at that fucking slave auction what seems like a lifetime past, it never would have been an issue. If he hadn't placed her in a position where she had to kill that Marine while in his unwanted company, she never would have been forced to join his damn crew. If he hadn't tried to treat her after Marineford, Kyra's freakin' magic never would have gone bat-shit insane and chosen Trafalgar Law of all people as her soul mate.

Law is stroking her missing organ, petting it like one would a domesticated animal. Kyra wonders wildly what in the world the man plans to tell the rest of his crew about just why the fuck he is in possession of a beating human heart. Has he said anything to them about the soul-bond? Do they know about the shared dreams? The thought is humiliating; such a bond should be a private thing, not broadcasted to the world. Not joked about amongst the crew she abandoned.

She wishes he would just close his fingers around her heart and squeeze until it explodes.

"Bad dreams, lovey? Dreaming of Mummy?"

Kyra flinches, curling tighter into herself and screwing her eyes shut as though to block out that voice. She doesn't want to deal with Merrick. Not now, not when she can feel the sword callouses on Law's fingers against one of her very important internal organs. The deranged scientist has never come to her in her cell before; why the fuck did he have to choose to do so tonight?

Merrick settles in outside and continues to remonstrate her casually. "I only did what was best for you, Kyra-lovey. The woman was only a crutch for you to eventually fall back on, and she would never have accepted our bonding. You're better off without her, I think. You'll come to agree with me in time."

Kyra makes no response. Never in her life has she wanted to kill as badly as she does around this man. Before, during her years as his prisoner and after her escape, he was the monster that terrorized every moment of every day - a thing to be feared above all else. Now, after he has taken her mother from her - after he draped the skin of Naomi's face over her head like a shroud - Kyra burns with the need to spill his blood. She wants to tear him limb from limb with her bare hands. She wants to make him suffer unimaginable pain. She wants his corpse beneath her feet, so the overwhelming terror that suffocates her every time he is near will disappear.

But as with so many other times in her life, Kyra is denied what she wants. All attempts to butcher this man have all failed. With the shaman's wards surrounding her day and night, the sorceress has not had enough power yet to obliterate him in the manner she has hoped for. Even if all the magic in the world were currently at her disposal, Kyra is unsure if she can actually kill Merrick. She tried so many times over the years in his labs, killed countless numbers of his assistants and visiting officials come to gawk at the freak. The most she was ever able to do was shatter his bones. She still doesn't understand this. How can he still be alive when everyone else she's ever tried to kill has died instantly? What is he?

Merrick is speaking again, talking to her from the bars of her cell, his voice having moved low to the ground indicating that he is seated on the cold stone.

"When will you stop this childish rebellion, lovey-dearest? How much longer must we do this before you accept the fact that you belong to me, that you will always belong to me? Eventually this pompous old shaman is going to figure out what it is that you are doing to block our bonding? It would be so easy to give in, wouldn't it Kyra? Just give in, and no one will ever cause you another moment's pain. No more fear, lovey. When we bond, there will be no one in the world with the power to oppose us. Nations will fall at our feet. The World Government will collapse under our might. Wouldn't you like that? Don't you want to make them suffer for all the things that were done to you?"

Now isn't that just a perfect way for the bastard to word that question. Not 'what I did to you'. As if Merrick had had no part in the experiments. As if he didn't enjoy every second of it. Law would be sarcastically applauding him right about now.

Dammit, why does that bastard have such a monopoly on her thoughts even at a time like this? She should be figuring out how she's going to kill all her enemies gathered under this roof, not wondering how her soul-bonded prick of a partner would be reacting in her situation. It's bad enough that the man is palpitating her fucking heart right now like it's a super-sensitive stress ball, she does not want to think of him while being forced to listen to Merrick's bullshit!

"I have so many plans for us, lovey," Merrick whispers, his tone making Kyra's skin crawl. "Give in to me, and I will give you the world."

That offer would have no meaning even before all this happened. He took the world from her when he killed her mother and did whatever with the body. All he can give her now are empty promises. His threat of the shaman's interference is just as empty; if the old bastard ever does pull his head out of his ass long enough to check for a preexisting soul-bond like he should have done the first time he tried the official ritual and it failed, the most he can do is torture her some more. There is no way to break a soul-bond except for one of the bonded to kill the other. Kyra cannot so much as scratch Law with her magic, and Law will not end her life because he knows that is what she craves. The shaman will not be able to do a single damn thing.

The battered sorceress just wants to go to sleep and never wake up. Her life is a nightmare. Her mother is dead, the body either disposed of or locked away in one of Merrick's laboratories. Her cousin betrayed her into torture and captivity. She is tied to the Surgeon of Death for the rest of her life, and thanks to that she can only die when he gives her leave to do so. The mental catalogue of her woes has cold tears chasing each other down her cheek, and the light stroke of Law's gentle fingers over the surface of her heart is just the shit-flavored icing on the cake of the Demon Witch's life.

Kyra curls into the tightest possible ball, wraps as much of her magic around herself as she can, and tries to block out the world.

It doesn't hold anything of interest to her now, anyway.

A/N: Please review.