Finding One's Self
XXX
Chapter 1: Catharsis
Fate is fickle. No matter how vast the fortunes one accrues over the course of their lives may be – the stability of that fortune is perpetually resting on the edge of a knife. All it takes to bring about its destabilisation is nought but a gust of wind. From this a domino effect is created – the fortunes of one are so often tied to the fortunes of others, for better or worse.
If a fisherman dies: his family will grieve and suffer from sadness, and the loss of the income he provided. However a neighbouring fisherman will have his business doubled, and his family will experience a net increase in happiness as a direct result of the tragedy of another. Is this happiness undeserved? Is happiness which grows in the ashes of another's fortune just?
All factors are quantifiable, and the morality of humans is no different.
Bounty Hunters are deplorable creatures. While the neighbouring fisherman benefits indirectly from the death of his rival, he did nothing to seal his rival's fate. A bounty hunter exploits the ties of fortune, and forcibly extracts happiness from others. A bounty hunter is a mighty gale to the fortunes of wanted individuals.
This world is so similar, but so different to my own. At some points I wonder if my homeland was a dream I invented: a fantasy that I devised in some delirium of unknown origin. Certainly: it seems more plausible that stumbling into another world all together.
Oceans stretch across the earth, carpeting its surface and leaving very little land at all. East Blue, West Blue, North Blue, South Blue, Grand Line and New World – the five seas that make up this strange land in which I now find myself. Unlike the Elemental Nations, which operated in a chaotic harmony with one another, the entire planet is under the control of a single body: the World Government.
Patrolling the seas, occupying the land: a truly formidable and vast power source. But not without opposition.
For as many marines as there are, there are equally as many if not more pirates. Seeking plunder and adventure, and spreading chaos in their wake. It is these individuals whose fortune I must steal. The World Government demands pirates, and places bounties on their heads. And I deliver those bounties – no longer concealed to the underground like I was in the Elemental Nations.
Of course, it took some time to get my bearings. "How much?" the Bulky man before me loses some of his confidence during my laughing fit, and at my words a look of confusion forms on his chubby-face.
"E-Excuse me?"
"If I were to kill one of these 'Tenryubito'… How much would its head be worth?" Rising from the ground to my full height, it becomes apparent just how tall I am in comparison to the others. With a casual flex of my shoulders accompanied with the sound of my cracking shoulder bones, I tear the cuffs around my hand like paper. "It's time to get started."
"S-Slave! Cease this disobedience!" Bulky, despite the mix of shock and horror on his face at my action, still manages to maintain some composure, "Kill a Tenryubito? Don't make me laugh! See that collar around your neck?" he nods at the strange crimson device which was fastened to me during my reverie, "It's a Slave-collar! It'll explode if you leave the radius designated by your master, if I trigger it, or if you try to remove it!" he hold up a little device which I can only assume is the trigger, "Speak out of turn again and things will get explosive."
"So cruel…"
"I'll never see my family again…"
The other slaves murmur pointless drivel following Bulky's explanation, and I take note they all possess collars of their own. Letting out a little hum, I take a firm grip of the collar. "Explosive, eh? I wonder…" my grin returns, "Hope I'm not out of practice!"
"Wait – stop you madman!" Bulky issues a warning in vain.
Applying enough pressure to bend the metal of the collar, I give it a swift tug. Instantaneously the material gives way, breaking off of my neck – and simultaneously triggering the explosives within. I'm engulfed in heat, however the flames and turbulence do nothing to me. Doton: Domu is by far my most favoured technique. Skin turned near-charcoal colour from the technique, I stand in a fairly narrow crater holding the charred remains of the collar in a closed fist. Flexing my head from side to side, my neck emits a crack equally as loud as my shoulders, and with my free hand I rub the slight abrasion the explosion caused around my collarbone. "Was that all?"
"I-Impossible…! Haki…? A Devil Fruit user…?" Bulky takes a couple of steps back and I act. In a single swift movement I have discarded the remains of the collar, and hoisted him up in the air by the scruff of his silk cravat. The slavers, who break out of their shock relatively quickly, point their strange devices at me threateningly. "P-Put me down or they'll shoot you!"
"Shoot me?" I meant it as an honest question, having never heard the expression before, but the fellow seemed to take my tone as glibly-challenging.
From within the devices tiny lead-pellets are fired at blinding speeds, the range making the shots particularly deadly. Doton: Domu is a technique I have mastered beyond any other, so much so it can be activated with a simple channelling of Earth-nature chakra over my skin, and quite luckily I stem my curiosity enough to activate the technique before the objects made contact. Had I not done so they would have doubtlessly penetrated my skin and left quite nasty wounds – not enough to kill me, even if I was out of practice, but certainly enough to cause tangible harm. "Fascinating." I murmur, admiring the work of the device's which did not exist in the Elemental Nations, "But futile."
From within my robes dark threads shoot out, wrapping around the other slavers, knocking their weapons to the ground and binding them tightly enough to subdue them. "Now then," my attention turns back to the man in my grip, "Tell me: how much is its head worth?"
"A-Are you kidding!? The Tenryubito are Saints! They are descended from one of the World Government's founders; some of the holiest people alive today!" he struggles against my hold, but is unable to shake the grip I have, "They don't have bounty's!"
With a sigh, I cast Bulky aside in a single swift arm motion, sending him crashing into the nearby wall. Eyes rolled back into his head and a trickle of blood seeping from his mouth, he appears to have died on impact. "I didn't want to hear that. I wanted good news. I wanted easy money." holding my hands against my temple and running them through my hair in frustration I continue to talk to myself, "I am not in the mood for this… All of this…" seven simultaneous cracks echo, and the other slaves scream.
The threads recede back into the folds of my robe, and into my body. "I… need to blow off steam." Leaving the slaves on their own, I head out into the auditorium of the slave-market. It is a wide, theatre-like chamber with a stage to present the slaves, and rows of seats for the potential slave-owners to browse the inventory. The room is filled with noise, as the master's chatter amongst themselves – fifty-six of them all in all. Amongst them was a singularly strangely-dressed individual, who wore a bubble over his head, displayed numerous extra-chins, and was guarded by two tall and imposing figures wearing robes of purest white. Good – fish in a barrel wouldn't have been a warm up at all.
"The plans for the evening have changed," my voice rings out, drawing all attention to my form. Quite notably, the two bodyguards tense and make subtle shifts in their position, indicating they can clearly sense the threat I pose – by contrast their master doesn't notice a thing, instead seemingly mumbling to himself. "I can't quite make sense of my current situation you see. And until I do, I need entertainment." The robes donated to me by the slavers are torn as hundreds upon thousands of threads explode from my back. Amongst them are several porcelain masks, eyes glowing as I pump them full of chakra. "If you are prepared, there won't be any sorrow."
XXX
"To join the Marines was to make a difference," was what the recruiters said – at virtually all the marine headquarters the world over. Commodore Rasputin constantly pondered that phrase during his rise through the training process, through his time as a private under the service of Vice-Admiral Borsalino, and during his post in North Blue as a Captain on the Island of Ars Arcem. More recently than ever did he ponder that question, as an officer outsourced to be the protector of one of the World Government's nobles – Saint Rosé.
Before becoming commodore, he'd only heard rumours of the Tenryubito – the fabled "Dragon Descendants" – but when he was offered a chance to act as a guard to one of them, and was given strong hints it would put him on the Vice-Admiral fast track, he leapt at the chance. The reality was far from the fables. Tenryubito were slovenly, selfish, arrogant, and uncommonly cruel – traits which seemed as inherently-inbred as their lineage.
Saint Rosé was no exception – despite being a young man of twenty-six he could not walk more than a kilometre before he became too tired to continue, due to years of lying about a palace and having everything he desired given to him. When he visited towns, he would pick a new bride every time – and one of their personal aides would capture the girl and secure her on-board his massive sea-vessel, The Elegant Triumph. It was a truly sickening thing to be a part of.
By accompanying the Saint on his "travels" as a bodyguard, it felt as if he was acting on behalf of the entire Marine Force, and in turn was legitimising the Saint's deplorable actions. His comrade, Commodore Komodus, was perfectly content with the situation. Being a pirate-hunting marine by trade, any situation which allowed him to exorcise his ability to kill was a blessing: and from all the toes Saint Rosé tred on he was perpetually drawing his blade from its sheath and staining it with the blood of innocents.
However whatever qualms Commodore Rasputin had, the knowledge of the influence of the Tenryubito caused his tongue to still: with naught but a word from Saint Rosé he would be Court Martialled, tortured, and likely executed. Within 3 months his contract would end, and he could get back to normality as an active Commodore back in command of his crew.
Before that could happen though, the Slave Market visit had to be weathered. South Blue was the only ocean aside from the Grand Line with a booming Slave-Trade business – while West, North and East seemed to only have small issues with slavery comparatively. As such, Rosé couldn't resist but traveling to Lililutea, on South Blue's border with the Clam Belt, to get himself some new toys which he would inevitably break on the journey through the Grand Line to East Blue.
"Hey there, Pacifist-kun." Komodus sauntered up, with that perpetual smug sneer on his face, hand continually resting on the Gladius which would have been hidden by his Commodore jacket otherwise. "How are you feeling this fine morning?" at the withering eye granted to him, Komodus began to cackle, "Gishishishi… You feel it right? Today is going to be our lucky day!" with the hand not resting on the hilt of his blade, he clawed at the air as though attempting to scratch something in front of him, "A great fight is coming up. My warrior's soul is calling to me… It's gonna be epic! Gishishishishi! I'm so glad I took this job!"
"I don't share your enthusiasm, Commodore. Nor do I believe your fantasy regarding your 'warrior's soul'. But I do agree…" mist had begun to creep in from the west, coating the path a dull grey, "the sooner we get off this island the better."
"Komodus! Rasputin! Get back here!" Rosé feebly calls out, staggering forwards and being propped up by two of his well-dressed aides. "How do you expect to guard me from way over there? I'm vulnerable here! Ugh, this air is filled with the stench of poverty… It's making my stomach turn." He sniffs loudly, withdrawing some of the mucus that had spilled out of his bulbous nose, "I need a new wife or two. That one we picked up in Bolross tried to escape again. I can't deal with women like that."
"Sire, you already have six new brides on the vessel already. It may be prudent be more selective when it comes to choosing partners, or else you'll get no enjoyment when it's worth it, " one of the aides supplies helpfully – obviously using language that would mollify his master while also serving to lessen the harm inflicted on the towns they would visit over the course of the journey.
"Hm? Oh, maybe you're right. But slaves are fine right? I can get as many of those as I want!" he giggles to himself, "That'll be fun. I can picture it already…" he begins salivating.
"Gishishishishi… This fucker…" Komodus whispers, audible enough for only Rasputin to here, "… If not for all the people he's let me kill I'd give my sword hand to cut his head off."
"Charming," Rasputin noted, but not disagreeing.
Upon arriving at the market, Rosé situated himself in the very front row of the auditorium, panting and wheezing as he collapsed in one of the seats. "Ugh, this isn't as nice as Sabaody. I don't like it here." He crosses his arms and gives another loud sniff, "Ah well. The slave will make up for it. I want two girls. And another guy to fight with some of the others on the way back. My Fishman died yesterday; he needs replacing."
He continued to talk to himself about what he wanted to buy, while Komodus and Rasputin talked amongst themselves. "This one prick – he's got this fucking massive sword: like, bigger than a row boat. Don't even know why, it was seriously fucking slow. He swung it like a freaking bat, and tried to swat me away with it. So – listen to this, seriously – I jump on top of it mid-swing, skid across it, and press my blade on his throat." Komodus makes a mock-frightened face, "And he's like: "I'll pay you! I'll give you anything! Don't kill me!", and then I go: "Anything you say?" then I cut his head off, and yell – for the crew you know? – "I want your head, you fucker!" The rest of them just stare as it rolls around, and his body drops the sword – actually, it's not really a sword… He drops this fucking cleaver, with me on it, and get this…" he rambles on, impersonating all the different voices with great distinction.
Mid-story, Rasputin stops him with a small hand motion. "Did you hear that? An explosion?"
Komodus loses his grin, and begins to tap the hilt of his blade. "Now you mention it…" after staying tense for a few moments, he laughs, "Ah, probably nothing. Maybe one of the slaves tried to bolt and the collar fried 'em. It happens."
"I don't know… Something doesn't seem-" before he could finish someone walked out onto the stage. He were tall, taller than most men had any right to be, with long tanned limbs that hung loosely at his sides. Robes, barely rags, covered his form – quite clearly this was a slave. Or was. Closer examination showed the signs of faint stitches across the body, including the sides of the jaw – his mouth seemed uncommonly wide, and was only sealed shut by the stitching which held it together. And then there were the eyes – seemingly completely bloodshot, with an iris of seafoam green and no pupil to speak of.
The figure clenched both of his fists, causing muscles in the arm to ripple.
"I told you," murmured Komodus, a mad look in his eyes, "Today is our lucky day."
"The plans for the evening have changed," his voice is deep and booming, easily filling the entire auditorium and commanding the attention of every individual with the exception of Saint Rosé who was lost in his own fantasies. Komodus partially unsheathed his blade, while Rasputin rolled by the sleeves of his shirt. "I can't quite make sense of my current situation you see. And until I do, I need entertainment." Quite suddenly, the robes around his torso were torn asunder, leaving them clinging to his lower form, but more tryingly freeing a dull-steely grey mass of thread which floated behind him as if it had a life of its own. Lost amongst the tangle of thread were several porcelain masks, each showing the face of a different animal, the eyes glowing eerily. Crouching to the ground, and mouth opening impossibly wide, he spoke with that steady and booming voice, "If you are prepared, there won't be any sorrow."
From a tiger's crouch he leapt at the audience, threads apparently being sharp as blades as they tore up some of the nearer slavers seemingly without any resistance. Screams erupted – but those who tried to run were faulted by more threads which flooded from his body in a perpetual stream. The two aides who had accompanied Rosé were killed impossibly quickly, thread thrusting forwards with the speed of a viper and slicing open their necks.
The Saint finally stopped mumbling, taking notice of the blood which now covered his protective suit. "Eh? Human-blood?" he started at the monster before him, and his mouth fell open agape. "EH?" His eyes bugged out impossibly far, and he seemingly attempted to try and crawl into the folds of his chair, "M-Monster!"
"Today is a good day! Today is a good, good day!" Komodus flung himself forward, sword swinging like a windmill at his side, tongue lolloping from his mouth like an excited hound that had located its prey. "Yo, fuckface!" the figure glances at the Commodore, whose blade began to hum as it was swung through the air, "Ha! You looked!" in a flash of gore, the face of the creature was torn open from the cheek. "I ate Kat Kat no Mi! I'm a cutting-man! Not that matters to you anymore! Gishishishishi!"
Komodus' cackles abruptly stopped as the creature drew itself to its full height, and regarded Komodus with a look of curiosity. The wound inflicted to its cheek was apparently shallow, and seemed to be stitching itself up very quickly. "Now that's just not fair."
"'Kat Kat no Mi', eh? How interesting." One of his forearms detached itself from the elbow, still held on by rows of thread, and shot across the chamber latching onto the face of a slaver who had drawn a pistol, crushing the head with ease. "Tell me more."
"Dead men need no tales, matey!" drawing himself, Komodus sword began to hum louder this time. "Heal this: Cxizi Infero!" an almost transparent weave forms from the slices from his blade, which glide over the form of the monster, cutting deeply into his body.
Laughing and allowing himself a mighty shrug, the technique dissipates. His skin had turned a charcoal-black, rendering the cuts inflicted by Komodus useless. "Colour of armaments? A Haki user!"
"Komodus – run away!" Rasputin steps forward, about to dash towards the stage to try and help his comrade, only to feel a pressure on his wrist. Rosé latched onto the Commodore's arm, tears streaming down his face. "Don't leave me! You're my bodyguard! Protect me!"
"He's going to die if I don't help!"
"Humans die all the time! I can't die! Don't leave my side!"
Duties clashed in the head of Commodore Rasputin, rage boiling inside him at the thought of trading his comrade for the life of Saint Rosé. "… Of course. I'm going to get you out of here, Saint Rosé." Grabbing the Saint by his waist, Rasputin carted the Tenryubito over his shoulder and made a bolt for the exit.
"Hey! Put me down, you brute! I'll have you killed for this! Save me another way!"
On the stage, Komodus continued to rain blows on the monster, "What the hell are you, anyway?!"
"I am Kakuzu." Simply allowing the blows to rain on him, either resulting in no effect or a shallow wound which would quickly stitch itself up, Kakuzu walked towards the Commodore, "Even being able to partially pierce my technique is impressive. Your strength is admirable." Arm snaking out, he caught the blade mid-swing, grip halting the vibration. "But I tire of your exercise in futility."
"Futility…?" Komodus' eyes went wide with fury. His free hand formed a spear shape and began to vibrate itself, "I'll show you futility, you fucker! Tranĉi tra ĉielo!" For an instant his arm glowed a pure white to match his Commodore's jacket, before it shot forward with extreme force – landing squarely in Kakuzu's gut. The blackened skin held, then gave, as the Cutting-power infused limb managed to pierce the defence of Kakuzu's technique. "Gishi-shi-shi… How about that… Prick…?"
Kakuzu was staring at the bloody limb that had entered his body. "Admittedly unexpected. A similar technique was used on me a long time ago… The ability to pierce this great defence." He cocked his head, "But it seems to have shattered your arm. You've not practiced this technique enough." He let out a sigh which further infuriated Komodus, "In a few years you may have been a fine opponent. But as you are now, you are only good for warm-up material." Taking hold of Komodus' arm, Kakuzu snapped it with ease, causing it to bend at an awkward angle. As Komodus screamed in pain, Kakuzu wrenched the blade from the Commodore's grip and caused the metal to shatter by closing his fist.
"What is your name?"
After stopping his howling, but still clutching his arm, Komodus glared up at the giant, "Commodore Tiberius Komodus, Naval Officer 2nd class." He extended his middle finger, "Complete with a "fuck-you" all the way from West Blue." The flesh around Kakuzu's arm turned pitch black, and his hand thrust forwards.
Bolting down the path back to the ship, Rasputin still held Saint Rosé over his shoulders, "Put me down this instant! Komodus will have killed him already, so it's fine!"
"Komodus used his most powerful technique on him – it didn't do anything. All he can do is stall for time."
"We had our differences, old friend. But you made this contract bearable." Rasputin gave a solid prayer to Komodus in his head, knowing full well the fellow Commodore would not survive.
"Be that as it may, one as noble as I cannot stand to be carried in such a brutish-" Rosé was cut off as an explosion tore through the air. The Slave-Market Auditorium was torn about by a gigantic wave of heat an energy which sent debris everywhere. "… My father…" Rosé muttered to himself, in shock.
Rasputin stopped running, and allowed the Saint back on to his feet. "Run to the ship, Saint Rosé. If he follows I'll stall him long enough to get away-" Rasputin realised he was talking to thin air as the Saint had bolted in the direction of the ship the moment he had been allowed back on his feet. "… You… You bastard! You utter, utter bastard!" Gritting his teeth, Rasputin clenched his fists hard enough to draw blood. "Die a thousand deaths."
With a long sigh, he turned back in the direction of the Slave-auction. Walking towards him at little more than a pace was Kakuzu, blood coating most of his body. "Presumably not his."
"You killed everyone, then?"
"I assume most of the slaves ran the moment I killed their captors. No point in chasing them really: not worth capturing, not cathartic killing."
"Is that what this is? A political statement?"
"Hahaha! Goodness no. You all just happened to catch me while I was in a bad mood." His eyes flickered behind Rasputin, "I'll be going after your master next. He is the so-called "Tenryubito", correct? I got excited for the briefest of moments in believing he was worth some money. As it stands he was just a noble. And hostage-taking is such a hassle, never enjoyed it really." He grinned, "Killing him will be really cathartic. Don't suppose you'll just let me do that?"
"Believe me, I'd like to. The Tenryubito are deplorable beings, who stand against everything I put my faith in long ago. But I am charged with protecting him till my last breath. Even if I can prolong his life a few moments longer, it'll be worth it. It is my duty as a member of the Marine Corps to protect him with my life, and to try my hardest to stop scum like you killing as they please." Shrugging off his Commodore jacket, Rasputin's muscles doubled in size, "My name is Commodore Gregor Rasputin. Disciple of the School of Earth Sages," he drew himself into a stance, "I shall be your opponent."
"Very well," Kakuzu began to chuckle, "I shall treat one such as yourself with honour. It's the least I can do." Settling into his own stance, the threads which covered his body visibly tensing as he prepared to engage in a physical confrontation, the monster dashed forwards, fist cocked back.
"Plod Zemli," smashing his own fist into the ground, the earth began to ripple and from the ground a Stalagmite shot up, blocking the blow from Kakuzu, "Zemlyanoye Mest'," seemingly throwing a punch in mid-air, a massive earthen-fist formed before Kakuzu and thrust forward in time with Rasputin's blow.
"Impressive." With blinding speed, Rasputin made it behind Kakuzu, fist cocked back in preparation for an attack, "Most impressive." As a black-skinned punch from Kakuzu was thrown, it was met by the equally blackened-fist of Rasputin. "… And unexpected."
"I am perfectly aware of the use of Haki. Vice-Admiral Borsalino taught me all about it!"
"Willpower… A fitting name. However, even with your power that seems to match mine," his free arm snaked out, gripping Rasputin's blackened forearm, "Your defence is still too weak." The charcoal began to crack, and with a heart-breaking sound similar to the sound of glass shattering, the Colour of Armaments around Rasputin's arm shattered. "Try again," challenge the thread-covered monster, "Make this difficult, Commodore Rasputin!"
Shaking off Kakuzu's grip, Rasputin thrust his fist to the ground again, "Plod Zemli," dashing forwards, a wave of earth followed at this side, "I'll bury you!" commanding the earth with his hands, it wrapped around Kakuzu's form, sealing him in an earthen cocoon. Planting his fist on the makeshift prison Rasputin then muttered, "Pyl' Remeslo!" like a torpedo, the pod encasing the giant-Kakuzu shot underground, sealing over itself as it sank leaving no trace of it ever having existed.
For a few pregnant seconds, Rasputin remained tense. Then he relaxed. No one could survive such a technique – even if he could survive without air for a while, the pressure of the deep underground would crush his internal organs.
Even as he sank down into the earth himself he still felt assured of his victory over the monster, and only when he realised only his head was above ground did he realise he was stuck still. The Earthen Sage techniques were reliant on martial arts in order to harness the earth: being unable to move rendered them useless. "That actually hurt." Kakuzu loomed over him, leaning down and grinning. "Just a little though."
Rasputin stared at the monster, almost indifferently. "Komodus was wrong." Kakuzu's arm turned black again, "This really isn't my lucky day."
A sickening squelch resounded. "Now then," Kakuzu rose to his feet, "I feel all warmed up. But still want that catharsis." Turning in the direction of the boat in which the Tenryubito had dashed off to, he started his slow advance, chuckling to himself.
Assured in his own victory, he himself didn't notice the blood around the hole in which Rasputin's remains were buried had begun to recede.
XXX
"That damn Rasputin," cried Saint Rosé, as he continued to move in the direction of his ship. Since leaving the Commodore his sprint had rapidly decelerated, till it reached little more than a half-hearted jog. Tears and mucus were streaming from his mouth and nose, leaving a horrid trail in his wake, "When I get back to Mariejois and tell father…! Impel Down is too good for the likes of that cowardly traitor!" he continued to slow, and began to pant more heavily, "I didn't even get a new wife from this trip… The ones on the ship will have to do."
"That's right…" he began to giggle to himself, despite his panting, "I'll get the Navy to blow up this whole island. Dirty place anyway, no one will miss it. Harbouring monsters, hiding all the good women from me… What a waste of my time!" he stopped entirely, clutching his knees while doubled over as he struggled, desperately, for breath. "I… Wonder… If Rasputin… Has killed that thing… By now…"
Casting a half-hearted glance behind him, he suddenly felt his heart turn to ice. Covered in blood, likely no his own, the monstrously tall form of Kakuzu was approaching – taking long strides but nonetheless keeping to a steady and slow pace. His gaze, with those horrid red and green eyes that seemed to speak of fire and brimstone, were locked firmly on Rosé's form, and a wide grin was plastered across that awful face. Behind him, looking like tentacles as the mist obscured them, was a forest of thread, seemingly moving independently of the man it was attached to.
Letting out the most piteous scream a human can muster, a scream which spoke of desperation, horror, and complete-dread at what may follow, Rosé broke back into a sprint, his second-wind taking effect. No more mumbling, no more promises of vengeance for perceived slights; he simply ran. For some reason his mind went back to those he'd killed.
Husbands, Wives, Brothers, Sisters – people who wanted to protect their loved ones from entering his life – he'd shot them all without discrimination. The women he'd taken to be his bride, the men he'd enslaved to his household: when they saw their loved ones die, they'd let out a scream just like he did. Living in the Holy Land, surrounded by luxury, affection and having all his needs catered for at the drop of a hat – he'd never really felt anything like this before.
Sometimes, before they died, they'd utter something filled with commoners-sentiment, such as: "Don't you have any empathy?" or "Don't you feel any compassion?" He'd never understood those terms. But now, for the briefest of moments, he regretted his past decisions which led him down this road. This was how those he'd tortured felt. Like the organs inside of him were about to burst with adrenaline, like his brain was on fire: like he was about to lose everything.
There it was – like a Lighthouse beacon cutting through the fog to a ship in a storm – his person Wave-Rider pulled by a Yagura-Bull. Taking a fleeting glance behind him but not really absorbing anything from it, he leapt into the carrier and yelled, "Onward, Hermes!" despite having never driven the thing himself: the Yagura-Bull complied, and began to trot forward through the ocean, heading away from the Misty island of Lililutea towards his great ship; The Elegant Triumph.
A mighty vessel, crafted by Tom's Workers two years prior. Carved by hand and coloured a loving Royal Blue and Mahogany-brown, the ship was truly a work of art. At its hem sat a white-dragon figurehead, a cannon emerging from its jaw which, like all the other cannons on board the vessel, had never before been fired. On deck was equally beautiful – with artisan carvings decorating the ships interior walls, depicting great battles of the past. The flag waving atop the mast showed the Tenryubito emblem in its fullest glory.
Below deck were numerous cabins which Rosé had never visited: the kitchen, the crew-deck, the crew-mess hall, etc.: and many more that the crew themselves were forbidden from and used at Rosé's person leisure. This included his honeymoon suite, and his bridal chamber: where he kept all his newest purchases: until they bored him. Slave-quarters were at the lowest deck, where all sorts of magical pirates and people he secured in his voyage were kept, like beasts in a menagerie.
As he reached the stern of the ship and began to climb the ladder onto The Elegant Triumph, he cast one final – almost triumphant – look behind him at the island. That feeling of dread returned, with even more potency. Kakuzu, the demon covered in thread, was walking across the surface of the water. His eyes, those damn eyes, were still locked on Rosé's form – promising unrelenting justice.
"Saint Rosé?" one of the crew approached him; perhaps it was the captain? Rosé honestly never learned the names or ranks of those on The Elegant Triumph, and simply let his aides deal with that nonsense.
"Fire on that man!" screamed Rosé, his eyes virtually bugging out of his face, "Blast him out of the water! Don't let him get any closer!"
"Man-?" some of the crew peaked over the side in confusion, but instantly realised the threat upon seeing the dark-form approaching. For the first time in its two-year life The Elegant Triumph let loose cannon fire, sending shot after shot at the monster.
"Don't stop firing! Set the sea ablaze if you have to! Don't let him get-!" Rosé was cut short as a large hand wrapped around his face and clenched his jaw shut. The hand, with the closer view Rosé suddenly hand, was dark-skinned and covered in stitches – some barely visible to the naked eye. He could smell blood – not his own – but obviously belonging to the previous victims of the hand. "Possibly," he thought to himself, in a moment of out of place tranquillity, "Komodus and Rasputin. What pathetic guards they were."
That was the last through that went through Rosé's head, as Kakuzu tore the Tenryubito's head from its body, letting loose a spray of red gore in the process.
The crew stared, frozen in shock.
Tossing the head aside, Kakuzu's gaze drifted over each and every crew member. "You realise," he spoke in a level tone, which belied the horror of his previous action and the gore that covered his form, "That I can let none of you leave here alive?"
Within twenty seconds bullets rained down on him, a rainbow of colourful death was let loose in the form of fire, wind, lightning, and water – and the crew of The Elegant Triumph perished along with their master.
Allowing himself a second to pauses, Kakuzu stretched his arms wide and stared up at the sky. The mist had passed in the open ocean, and the sun was beating down. Basking in the glow, he allowed himself to laugh again – a luxury he rarely afforded himself back in his old world.
"This," he spoke to himself, "Can only get better."
XXX
Cxizi Infero – Esperanto; Cutting Hell. Creates a blade-like vacuum in the air, taking the form of a deadly "cutting net" which slices up anything it covers.
Doton: Domu – Japanese; Earth Release: Earth Spear. Hardens the skin to a varying degree. Masters of this technique are said to have skin as hard as diamond. Known as "Colour of Armaments" to most who inhabit One Piece universe.
Tranĉi tra ĉielo – Esperanto; Cutting through Heaven. Trades cutting power for piercing power, coating an arm or weapon with the ability to pierce any defence. The recoil is enough to shatter the infused weapon beyond repair.
Plod Zemli – Russian; Fruit of the Earth. Sage technique – turn the ground malleable and bend it to your will. Can change the density of the earth at a touch, and guide it around the body.
Zemlyanoye Mest' – Russian; Earthen Vengeance. Make the Earth follow your movements: a fist thrown by the user shall be a fist thrown by the earth.
Pyl' Remeslo – Russian; Dust Craft. Bury any earth brought up by an Earthen Sage technique deep underground.
XXX
Coming back to this story has been a refreshing experience for me. I really liked thinking about this one in the early days – more so than several of the others. In recent years I've been really, really busy, and have worked on several projects which sadly never came to fruition (due to lack of direction, or simply lack of motivation) but I recently got back into this.
After catching up with the recent OP, and rewatching some of the show, I fell in love with it again. It's just a fucking awesome story – drama, comedy, emotion; it's operatic and I fucking love it. That's how inspiration for this came back. This story won't be overly serious – but it will have a darker tone than the mainstream OP, as befitting a cross between Naruto and OP.
As for the timescale: in a couple of chapters I'll place it in the pre-timeskip OP canon, but as of this chapter the time period is before Gol D. Roger's execution (i.e. before the Golden Age of Pirating).
Hope y'all liked, and I'm happy to be back!