Gatecrash
Bright and early in the morning on the New World island of Spinoza, Edward D. Spadille made his displeasure known to all and sundry by reducing the front gate to the island's Marine base to vapour and ballistic molten spatter. Striding inside in full Logia form and radiating heat like a blast furnace, the simmering pirate made his way calmly across the yard and through the front door. He ignored the men trying to shoot him whose bullets were reduced to misshapen, molten lead before they even reached him, ignored the panicked shouts of the petty officers as their men fainted in the intense heat and ignored the two-inch-deep footprint-shaped craters of molten slag he left in his wake; none of that was really important.
"H-h-halt!" squeaked a trembling Marine as he coolly walked right through the steel-reinforced, triple-barred door in a shower of ash and molten metal. Spadille paused and turned to look at the man.
"Which way to the infirmary?" the eight-foot-one apparition asked, thumbs casually hooked over his belts but with a distinct edge to his voice.
"Ah?" the Marine gibbered, hands shaking so badly he could barely aim his gun. He squeaked again as the vicinity to the Flame Logia made the weapon's powder spontaneously combust.
"The. Infirmary?" Spadille repeated, eyes hooded and teeth gritted. Flares burst from his shoulders ominously and the air temperature rose another twenty degrees.
"Ah! Left wing! S-s-second floor! Y-y-you c-can't miss it!"
"Hn." The walking firestorm turned and set off down the corridor to his right at a steady pace, the paint smoking and peeling from the walls and ceiling as he passed and the cement bleaching and cracking under his feet. Behind him the marine he'd just intimidated collapsed in a dead faint. Spadille casually upped his heat output as he made his way deeper into the building, causing doors to spontaneously combust, light fittings to explode and boiling the water from the fire sprinklers into chocking, scalding steam. Screams of terror soon rang out all around him as the fires spread, smoke and steam rose from broken windows and Marines tried desperately to escape the spreading conflagration.
He strolled into the infirmary without bothering to open the door, calmly brushing the ash from his top hat as he looked around at the seven men cowering in their beds. Two had what looked like training injuries; them he ignored. Three had been crippled by cutting wounds to their joints and the sixth was missing his hand and about two inches off the end of his forearm. The seventh man looked like he'd been brutally beaten, so Spadille ignored him too: he'd probably been 'disciplined' by his senior officer.
"Greetings," the flame Logia said bitingly, briefly whipping off his hat and bowing politely. "I am called Spadille and I am looking for my charge. I believe you have seen her?"
"Charge?" one of the men with training injuries asked as the three cripples and the man with only one hand cringed in unison. Spadille grinned, unhooking his hands from his belt and stretching with his fingers laced over his head.
"Dracule Lisska, Pose Artificer," he said with a sadistic smirk. "About so high, white hair, six months' pregnant? Looks a lot like her father Hawk-Eyes?" Two of the four cringers started trembling uncontrollably and one of them passed out; the last one lost control of his bowels. "Ah," the Logia said with a terrifying smile, "so you have seen her. Care to share with the class, gentlemen?"
"I-I-I" one of the tremblers stuttered. Spadille walked closer, compressing his aura so as not to affect the room more than by scorching the ceiling, cracking the tiles beneath his feet and raising the air temperature by a mere fifteen degrees.
"Do tell," he purred, leaning over the man's bed and casually reducing the metal frame under his hands to a custard-like consistency.
"!" the man managed before pissing himself and passing out. Spadille frowned.
"That won't do," he muttered, poking the unconscious man's arm with a glowing golden finger. His victim awoke instantly with an agonising scream, clutching at the third-degree burn he had just acquired and rousing the man who had fainted.
"You were saying?" the black-clad pirate prompted, absently examining his nails.
"She was here," rasped the badly beaten man on the end bed. Spadille turned around to face the speaker.
"Then why isn't she still here?" he asked, his demeanour suggesting that he had a good idea already and was just going through the formalities.
"Commodore Henken ordered us to arrest her," the man replied, coughing up bloody spittle. "Then he hit her over the head with the butt of his rifle. She didn't go down, he tried to kick her in the stomach, missed and then she knocked everyone out somehow and legged it." Another cough. "I recognised her and refused to give chase, so Henken beat me up. She wiped out four six-man patrols, two out of the last patrol and crippled these four before Commodore Smoker from G-5 showed up and took her into custody. No idea what happened after that."
"So these four," the Logia waved at the four maimed and panicked men, "attacked my charge? My pregnant, civilian charge?" He turned to frown at them. "How… unjust. Hawk-Eyes will be very displeased; he may even file a complaint." The man lying in a puddle of his own shit made a keening sound in his throat. "Maybe I should spare you the experience." Green-blue fire condensed around his fingertips. "Nah. I'm not that nice." The fire faded. All four terrified Marines burst into noisy tears.
"Get a hold of yourselves," the beaten man rasped disgustedly to his comrades.
"So, Mr Helpful, where can I find Commodore Smoker?" Spadille asked with a cheerfully manic grin.
"G-5 Marine branch, Lookout Island," the newly-dubbed Mr Helpful grunted. "There're charts in the main dispatch room and Eternal Poses to the major Marine bases."
"Thank-you; where's the main dispatch room?"
"Primary tower, first floor opposite the Commodore's office." The flame Logia bowed, whipping off his hat and holding it over his heart.
"You have my gratitude; I'll mention it to my boss." He then replaced his hat, turned and sauntered out of the empty doorway, whistling eerily as he turned up the heat again and the ceiling caught fire. "Try not to die before then."
How's that for a debut?
For the record, Spadille wears baggy black trousers tucked into black leather boots that end halfway up his calves, two belts that cross over at the front -and back- and a black top hat exactly like the one older-Sabo is wearing on the front cover of Chapter 596. He's got an Ace of Spades tattoo on his left shoulder with an 'S' in the middle and looks like he's made entirely of white-gold fire. His eyes and the inside of his mouth are heavily shadowed while in Logia form, making him look a bit like a reverse jack o' lantern.
No shirt, of course; he doesn't wear shirts.