Her cerulean eyes lifelessly watched an enormous pirate frigate turn into a tiny dot, squashed between the fiery sky and the boundless sea. Her black, shoulder-length hair swayed gently in the salty wind. The pitifully young—barely ten years old—girl was trapped in a calm dance of a tiny boat she had been forced to be a passenger of.
She sat at a stern thwart, now with her head down, lost in thought. Her hands were chained by metal and her neck was weighed down by seastone. A simple black dress covered the many scars and bruises of her tiny, tanned body. She ran her tongue over the dry lips, recognizing a familiar taste of blood. She blinked several times, feeling her right eye sting. Her elegant, charming face was, as always, covered in many different traces of abuse.
And right now, tied up and laying right at her feet, someone was staring at it with obsessive curiocity. Another passenger of the boat, – or, more accurately, another prisoner – a young mermaid. She was rather big for a child the girl's age, blessed with large blue eyes, thick black eyelashes, short blue hair and sharp, shark-like teeth. A long fishtail took shape below her hips, and above appeared a pale human body, dressed in a tight purple t-shirt.
Their gazes met. After a short pause, the girl decided to speak up, her voice quiet but firm:
"Your teeth seem sharp."
The mermaid blushed slightly and made a small nod, her mouth gagged in a futile attempt to keep safe from the powerful jaws.
"Sharp enough to–"
"No chattin', slaves," barked a senile man, busy rowing the boat to a nearby shore.
He was clad in loose, torn clothes, and had a gray capotain sit on his head. He reeked of sweat and piss, and had only three teeth remain in his mouth. Just half an hour ago he paid a fortune of stollen over lifetime treasure to try and start his own slave-trading business, heading for Brittle Star Archipelago – a filthy place, overflown with the most deplorable pirates from all over the North Blue.
The girl ignored him, muttering again:
"Sharp enough to bite through metal...?"
The mermaid nodded once more.
"And seastone...?"
She shook her head left and right.
"I told yer to shut it! Or I'll cut yer up!" he let go of an oar and pulled out a chipped cutlass, pointing it intimidatingly, not a trace of sanity in his eyes.
The girl swallowed a lump in her throat and faced the man, asking, provocatively: "You will?"
"Oh, I will, little guppy," he got up, "I'll fuckin' cut yer up!"
It would take him two steps to enter attack range and slice the girl down. As he took his first, her handcuffs broke under the pressure of the mermaid's jaw. By the time he took the second, she was already standing ready, her heart beating faster and faster.
The man raised the weapon in the air and swung it down, aiming for the neck. The girl's eyes locked on the attacking arm, watching it come, mad and unsteady. As it crossed a halfway point, she took a deft step to the side and lightly pushed the arm with her hand, forcing the sword to continue past her with its previous momentum and hit the gunwale.
"Ah–"
A surprised gasp escaped the girl's mouth as she found herself falling, having tipped over cut pieces of rope. The man grinned, rising his arm once more, and let the blade fall. Yet before it could rend her body, she nimbly rolled to the side, dodging again.
Two tiny hands grabbed the man's sleeve, barely able to keep the armed arm in place. Amused, he got down on one knee and formed a fist with the other arm, sending it to defile the girl's frightened face. The knuckles connected, effortlessly breaking the tiny nose. Her mind went blank. Yet her part was done.
Something appeared before the man's eyes – a mouth, full of horrifying, pointed teeth. Dozens of sharp blades pierced his skin and muscles, and as the lower jaw moved, even his old bones began to crumble. He whimpered in anguish, tumbled backwards and let go of his weapon, desperately trying to get the mermaid off of him.
By pure luck, one of his blind punches hit the kidney, which forced the mermaid to scream in pain and release the bite. The man bawled torturously while searching the boat for the cutlass, and he soon found it. Right in his stomach.
The girl slowly let go of the hilt and took a step back, watching him cough up blood. She watched life escape his pupils. Watched his body go limp.
Satisfied, she dragged him overboard, pushing into the bottomless sea below. She sighed with relief and closed her eyes for a moment, wiping away the blood from her face.
Disgusted coughing resounded to her right. She heard someone struggle to speak up.
"Are you... Your... Your name is Nico Robin, right?"
Robin turned towards the voice, looking down. "Yes," she replied meekly.
"The Devil Child..." the mermaid whispered, pondering, "I... I saw you in my prophecy... I think."
Robin walked up to the center thwart, realizing the oars are too wide apart.
"A prophecy?"
"Yes, a bad one. About myself. It said... The Devil will abduct me. Someday."
"Then go... Swim away, before something bad happens to you."
"But what about–"
"I'll be fine."
The mermaid remained silent for a moment, staring into the endless, glistening with fires sea, a drop of melancholy whirling in her eyes. Then she turned to Robin, watching her struggle to move the oars.
"My name is Sharley," she said gently, "Nice to meet you."
Robin nodded in response.
"I can help you push the boat," offered Sharley, crawling overboard, "Where do you want to go?" she jumped into the water.
"There," Robin pointed to the nearest piece of land – the Brittle Star Archipelago.
"You... Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Then hold tight, please."
The boat glided through the blue canvas, leaving a long, wrinkled wake behind. Beyond the sea, the Sun kept drowning deeper, encouraging the Moon to come out and expose its gentle glow. Soon, the stars appeared too, blinking in a cosmic play. The night finally arrived, chilly and drowsy.
Yet the island never slept, glowing with hundreds of lights all over. Corrupted and rotten, it resembled a brittle star, having numerous long, twisty tentacles reach out in all directions from its main body. The limbs had no life grow on them, covered only with sand, rocks and wooden houses that were built on top, along with countless protruding jetties.
In time, hidden by the sympathetic darkness, a single boat docked at one of those. A shadow grew tall from it, promptly climbing on the pier.
"What are you looking for here, Robin?"
"A needle," Robin pointed to the seastone collar.
Due to its diamond-like durability, the locks on seastone shackles were fairly simple, making them susceptible to any thin, sturdy objects.
"I see. Then I will..." Sharley yawned, "Sorry. I'll take a nap around here for now. If anything happens, come back and wake me up, alright?"
Robin nodded dispassionately.
"Be careful."
Shivering, the little shadow sprinted towards the nearest light, its tiny footsteps disappearing among the teasing whistle of the wind and boring choir of the waves. As it got closer, enlivened chatting reached its ears. The voices escaped a skinny, square hut, leaking through the glowing, round windows.
The shadow climbed the creaking stairs and peeked inside: five men sat a table, drinking and playing cards. All tall and burly. All armed.
The shadow promptly left, running up to a neighbouring house. A naked man appeared inside, sitting on a bed and counting coins. Another person sat right between his hairy legs, sobbing and repeating a weird movement. A large gun lied right next to him.
The tiny shadow moved again, approaching the next building. Inside, a woman stood over a kitchen counter, dressed in a simple green dress and apron, gutting fish. A knock on the wooden entrance drew her attention
After a while, the door opened slightly, casting a line of lamplight on Robin's body. From the gap, a muzzle of a musket emerged, aimed way above her head.
"Go away," the woman said.
"Please... My tummy hurts..." whimpered Robin, hugging her stomach.
The gap became wider and the woman's face appeared, her sharp, insomnia-filled eyes falling on Robin's skinny frame.
"Get out," she slammed the door.
Five more knocks followed. Then several more. And a couple–
The woman emerged again, now without the musket.
"Where's your master, slave?"
Robin hid her face by looking down.
"He... He died..."
"You killed him?"
"N-No, he–"
"Don't lie to me."
She bit her lip. "Yes..."
The scary eyes kept frying Robin's forehead for some time. Eventually the woman stepped outside and lowered herself to match the young girl's height, her ginger fishtail braid resting on her shoulder.
"Your name?"
"S-Sharley."
"Your real name," she snarled.
Robin clenched her fists. "Robin..."
Another scrutinizing stare. "Robin, huh? Anyone knows you're here?"
"No, I swear!"
"Shut it," she growled.
"Sorry..."
"Anyone else with you?"
"No."
The woman squinted her eyes, looking around. At last she sighed and stood up, walking back inside the house.
"Come on in," she said.
The interior was fairly simple: a little kitchen section, stained with blood and chopped up fish; a bed rested next to the opposite wall, covered with multiple rough wool blankets; a closet was placed near it, seemingly hundreds of years old. Here and there stood wooden barrels and racks with dried seaweed. Long ropes were hanged on the walls, with dried fish attached to them.
"Don't mind the smell," the woman locked the door, "And sit down on the bed over there," she pointed with her arm.
She walked up to the kitchen counter, opening it and rummaging inside. In a moment a large bottle appeared in her hands, half-empty.
"Oh, right."
She looked at Robin and put the wine bottle back in place. Instead, she grabbed several slices of bread and cheese, inspecting them in her hands.
"Whatever," she mumbled and put the food on a poorly washed plate.
After pouring water in a jug, she served Robin her most nutritious meal in months and returned to gutting the fish.
"Take the dried stuff too if you wanna."
Robin sat with her back upright, legs brought together, staring at the food. In a second her cheeks were stuffed and unmannerly noises escaped her mouth, mixing in with the rhythmic sounds of a knife hitting against a wooden surface. Before she knew it, the plate had become empty, and her mind – drowsy. She took a sip of water and cleared her throat.
"Umm... Madam..."
"Lyra."
"Madam Lyra, do you... Could you... Is there a needle you could give... Share with me? Please?"
"What for?"
"The... The collar. It's really, really heavy and–"
"No."
"I see," Robin forged a tiny smile.
She stayed there on the bed, thinking, when aggressive knocking resounded around the room.
"Shit," Lyra wiped her hands with a towel and grabbed the musket, "Kid, get under– Oh, you're quick."
Robin hid under the bed, watching the door fling open. Experienced and well coordinated, three men rushed inside, all armed with curious weapons – tridents with broken central prongs.
Despite the commotion, something else entirely caught Robin's attention – a thin nail protruding from the wooden boards right next to her. She began pulling at it with all of her strength.
A gunshot made her flinch. One of the men dropped to the floor.
"Got her!"
Another person, the tallest among the three, pushed Lyra down and put a trident right at her throat. The third guy kicked the musket away and stepped on her palm. He ran a hand through his long, brown hair.
"Fifteen million, was it? Our captain is in need of such a sum right now," he said calmly, inspecting the room.
Lyra gritted her teeth. "I told you I'll give it back next week!"
He applied pressure on her arm.
"T-tomorrow! I'll pay all of it tomorrow!"
Several repulsive cracking sounds escaped her fingers. Lyra released an agonizing cry.
"Do it now, please."
"I, I will!"
"Oh? You will? Then go ahead," he removed his foot.
The woman took a long look at her broken hand, grimacing. Slowly, she got up, hatred and guilt twisting her physiognomy.
"I've got seventy nine million. Take it and leave me alone. Forever."
"Of course. Where is it?"
Her other arm began rising up. It pointed to–
Suddenly, a loud 'click' resounded around the room, drawing everyone's attention. From under the bed, a little girl emerged, her neck covered with layers upon layers of scars.
"Hmm? Who is this? Your friend?" the long-haired man turned towards Robin, "Hello there!" he waved his hand, "Did you come out to play?"
An innocent smile appeared on her face as she made a single nod, her arms behind her back.
"Let's play, mister!" she said playfully, taking a step forward.
"Oh? What game–"
"Mister, catch!"
Robin tossed an old, rusty nail right above the man's head. As his widening eyes went up, something appeared behind him – a child's arm. A child's arm grew from his nape.
Before he could move a muscle, the arm caught the nail. And buried it deep inside his eye socket.
Despite the harrowing screech, several more limbs had already taken shape, now from his lower back. The hands grabbed his long, greasy hair, pulling on it with combined strength.
He fell to the floor, and four arms grew from the ground near his throat – two to the left and two to the right. They promptly intertwined and performed a double sleeper hold.
The man began flailing around in anguish, grabbing and punching and clawing and jerking. Soon, his eye rolled back into his head and foam poured from his mouth.
While he struggled, the other man finally let go of Lyra and charged at Robin with his broken trident, roaring with both courage and fright.
The girl crossed her own two hands, forming what resembled bird wings. Before the weapon could pierce her body, three arms materialized from the floor, caught the shaft and brought it to the wooden boards, firmly keeping the trident in place.
Two more limbs came to exist from the man's trembling shoulders. Robin's lips moved silently, and the soft hands reached for his chin and nape.
Lyra blinked. As her eyes opened, the man was already lying on the floor with a twisted neck. Dead. As was the long-haired person, who rested next to him, now drenched in sweat and completely motionless.
Lyra watched the little girl turn to her. Consumed by fear, her body moved instinctively, crawling away with desperate haste. A musket reflected in her eyes, laying just a little bit further. She made the final effort and leaped.
"Curse you, you Devil!"
She managed to reach it just in–
The musket turned. It was picked up by several arms, and aimed right at her forehead. A tiny finger was placed on the trigger. The finger moved.
"P-please..."
A gunshot.
Silence took residence in the house. Robin placed a hand on her chest and took a deep breath, feeling her heartbeat calm down. She watched the four corpses rest peacefully, her face expressionless and tired.
She turned around and walked up to the old closet, stepping over the bodies and carefully avoiding the scarlet puddles on the floor. Bit by bit, she emptied its messy insides, searching for something warm and protective.
A lovely fabric touched her hands. After giving it a thorough sniff, Robin put a small blue blanket over her shoulders and continued digging through the large pile of clothes. Since nothing fitting happened to be inside, she left–
A single drawer at the bottom piqued Robin's interest. Opening it revealed a bunch of old coins, crumbled paper, dirty jewelry and other junk. To the left, though, rested a single... book.
As if to confirm its existence, Robin gently placed her hand on the rough but pleasant cover. She carefully moved her fingers left and right, feeling every little bump and enjoying the familiar texture. Satisfied, she picked it up, studying the colorful front painting: an armored man sat on a skinny horse, a lance in his hand.
Robin just now noticed her wide, unceasing smile. She quickly got rid of it, looking around cautiously, and clutched the book to her chest, standing up. She walked up to the kitchen counter, grabbed the wine bottle, opened it and finished the whole thing in one go. After putting several dried fish in her mouth, she rushed out of the house and into the gloom outside, an oil lamp in her hand.
Struggling against the vigorous wind, her wobbly legs took her further up the sand tentacle, away from the central island. They stopped upon reaching a heaving on the cold waters caravel. Making a bridge of tiny arms, she climbed on the deck, fortunate to find the hatch leading to the hull open, and promptly entered inside. Passing by a suspiciously large amount of mostly empty wooden crates, she discovered a safe spot between three large boxes.
Robin placed the lamp to her left and sat down, wrapping herself with the blanket. She set the fish aside and took another look at the book. She smiled again. It was a rare, genuine smile, followed by an excited shudder.
Creaking of old wood pleased her ears. Flickering of warm light played with her body. Assuming a comfortable position, she, unable to subdue her heavy breathing, finally opened the book...
"Dere-shi-shi," she chuckled with unrestrained excitement, "Dere-shi-shi-shi," her tired eyes turned watery.
Robin read the first sentence in a whisper, the myriad of letters dancing in a blur. She sniffled, feeling tears roll down her cheeks.
Robin felt alive.