AN: This chapter ended up jumping ahead in my planned timeline, so I'm having to rearrange the order that I had in place. I'm just as interested to see how the next few chapters unfold as the rest of you. Thank you for reading as we go on this adventure together!
Karmen sits on a yardarm attached high on the mainmast, legs dangling over the sail. She watches the crew scuttling across the deck far below, tending to the ship, the sails, and overseeing shackled slaves scrubbing the deck. She finds it hard to tamp down her disgust. Sensing her emotions, Pierce shifts on her back. "Would you like me to kill them?" he asks, even and sincere, despite the venomous undertones of his own anger.
Karmen is quiet for a moment, then shakes her head. "We have to be better than them, Pierce. You and I both," she says. He knows she doesn't mean the slavers. "I expect we'll scare these people enough that some of them might choose a different path."
Pierce composes himself and nods. "I follow your lead, Mistress." She knows he means what he says, but there is a dark hunger that sits just beneath his compliance and she can see hair rising on his neck as the slavers call insults and threats at the people doing all the actual work.
Deciding she needs a closer vantage point and that he needs a distraction, Karmen leaps off the mast without giving him a word of warning. His reaction time is as reliable as ever and his wings snap open to slow their descent down to the bowsprit.
These men are harder than the guards at the winery- a crew used to ripping people from alleys and homes and feeling they have the authority to do so. Many of them even enjoy it. More pressingly, she can't stab them with a toxin and tell them to take a hike. There's nothing but ocean for more than half a day's sail.
"-pulling to port some. I think there's a defect in the rudder," one of the slavers nearby is saying to one of his cohorts.
The man being addressed scowls and stomps a heavy boot on the deck before spitting where a slave had just cleaned. The slave grins broadly and cleans the spot again. "This hunk of junk is always defective- going against the currents, ropes coming untied or fraying all together, sails shifting in the middle of the night- You'd think it was cursed."
"Don't talk like that!" the other man hisses in a low voice. "You'll jinx us."
"You boys are too superstitious," another man growls. "it's just a hunk of wood and metal."
Karmen's jaw tightens as she places a hand on the bowsprit, observing the lack of a figurehead. Even her builders didn't believe that a ship could be a living thing, or they hoped that a ship put to this use wouldn't be sentient enough to care. To them, it was just a tool- a form of transport.
Though it is obvious that none of the crew can see her, she is certain she's being watched. She searches with her haki, but no one onboard is aware of her. She's sure of it. She expands her search to the ocean and increases her fade, but still can sense nothing more than the hair on her neck prickling and her skin knotting into gooseflesh.
Who are you?
Karmen freezes. The voice is speaking directly into her mind. There's no mistaking this sensation. It's a different one from the first rescue mission.
What will you do?
It doesn't sound familiar like the one before. The tone is hopeful and curious with heavy undertones of sadness.
Who are you? Karmen thinks back to it. It doesn't answer. I'm Ghost. I'm here to help.
Help who, exactly? How far are you willing to go?
"-men? Karmen?"
She becomes distinctly aware of Pierce shaking her shoulder slightly as his voice breaks her out of the near trance state she's in. She blinks her way back to awareness. "Hm?"
"Are you feeling well, Mistress?"
"Perfectly fine," she says. "Why do you ask?"
"You stopped breathing," he notes. "And you went completely still for five minutes."
"Did I?" she asks. "That's interesting."
"Karmen, you start acting off every time we go on a mission," he says. "If there's some trigger I haven't noticed, please tell me so that I can watch for it."
"Pierce, dear, I'm fine," she assures him. "I didn't mean to worry you. There was just a presence here on the ship that I was focusing on."
"The Fishmen?"
"They're down there," she confirms.
"When do you plan on starting?" he asks, not quite appeased about her wellbeing but picking up on the fact that they are done with that conversation for now. "Are we following the same plan we used at the winery?"
"Not quite," she responds. "But we will be carving a message."
Karmen stands and stretches, accommodating Pierce's weigh so they don't topple over. The crew carries on with their activities as she picks her way across the deck to the mainmast.
Pierce lifts his wing from her shoulder and sets a sharp claw against the sanded wood. "Here?"
"Wait," she says quickly, placing a hand on his claw to still it. This isn't right. The slavers may not value their ship, but she can't harm it to send a message. Not after what she'd seen and experienced.
Do it. It's ok.
Karmen blinks. The voice is clearer here than before and distinctly feminine.
Help them. Do what you have to. It'll be alright.
Understanding dawns on Karmen and she asks in a shaky voice. "Are you sure?"
"Are you?" Pierce responds.
I'll be ok. Please. Help them. Stop them.
There is a quality to her tone that resonates with the very core of Karmen's being. It echoes through her bones until it solidifies in resolve.
"Pierce," she says in her still quavering voice, "this is what I'd like for you to carve."
Ten minutes later, the man overseeing the slaves glances over in the mast's direction and blanches. "C-Captain!"
He calls a few more times before a surly man makes his way over, grumbling at being disturbed. "This had better be important," he mutters. He has a deep gruff voice that sounds used to barking orders and hurling profanities and insults. "Well? What's got your goat?"
The overseer points a shaking finger to the mast. The crew in the area gawk at the message.
"FREE THE SLAVES BY NIGHTFALL OR SUFFER THE GALLOWCOMB CURSE," the Captain reads. His eyes narrow and he grits his teeth as he tries to decide how to handle the messages' sudden appearance.
"What's the Gallowcomb curse?" one man asks.
"Didn't you hear about what happened at complex #68?" another says. "The Gallowcomb family angered the dead, and now we're all going to suffer for it."
"You spineless, superstitious ninnies," the Captain roars. "This is clearly the work of the slaves. They must have heard you talking nonsense and are using it to their advantage."
He steps over to the grinning slave who is desperately still scrubbing, afraid to speak in his own defense. He stares at the message, frightened and hopeful, but the hope in his eyes dims as the Captain's shadow looms over him.
"Tell me who's behind this and maybe I won't flog the whole lot of you," the man growls at him as he lifts him off the deck by his lapels.
The slave holds up his hands in a sign of innocence, shackles clanging with the motion. "It wasn't us, sir, I swear it," he stammers. "I've never even heard of the curse before just now."
The Captain tosses the slave roughly to the deck with blatant disbelief. "I'll get the answer out of you one way or another," he growls.
As the Captain rears his leg up to kick the slave, Karmen leaves a thin scratch just behind the collar of his shirt. His eyes lose focus immediately and he teeters backward, falling to the deck with foam bubbling from his lips. The crew steps back in shock, staring at their leader, then looking over at the first mate for reassurance and instruction.
Karmen kicks the pin out of an algidity grenade and sets it into her boot, spilling a light cloud of toxin that frosts the deck before drawing Pierce's hat low over her face and allowing herself be seen in thin wisps. The crew and slaves alike stand frozen, unsure of what to do.
"Release them or suffer my wrath," she says in a venomous voice. "You have until nightfall." She cloaks herself completely and quickly relocates as the crew recovers.
"Take the slaves below and make sure they're chained tightly," the first mate orders. "Don't let anyone else up or down the hatch."
They search the whole deck for her, then the sails. When she isn't found, they check below deck and in the cargo. Some men take the Captain to his quarters and the ship's doctor tends to him.
Karmen splits her time between watching the crew scurry like ants across the deck and checking on the slaves, occasionally setting off an algidity grenade off on the stairs to discourage anyone from coming toward them with the sudden drop of the temperature.
Among the multiple races of men chained to the wall in the cargo hold, the Fishmen aren't hard to find. They're the only two in the group. One is a lungfish Fishman with a brown head, a pale yellow underbelly peeking from beneath his shirt, dark freckle-like spots, slender arms, and long fingers. The other is a speckled shrimp, pink, multi-armed, and armored. He has two antennae coming off his face that make it look like he has a mustache.
They sit in the middle of the group where they can't strain against their bonds without hurting the men beside them. Her eyes trail the line. There isn't a single woman or child among this group. They're all young, burly, strong men- fit to be laborers and horses for nobles. Her nose curls at all the places she'd seen men like these throughout her childhood. Used and broken until they'd given up hope or dropped dead.
Kuma had always said that you could tell a lot about a person by how they treated animals. Humans that treat other people like animals, well, you can tell a lot more about them with a single glance. Sometimes when they were in the vineyard drinking tea, he would simply watch Ikaika, Willow, or the overseers.
The entire time she'd known him, he'd been good at masking his anger and keeping emotions off his face. Still, she could sense the slight shifts in his mood like a palatable pressure in the air. She studied his still visage, learned from his silent awareness, scrutinized his delicate control. She was always impressed by how intense his anger could be while he kept from crushing the porcelain teacup in his hand. Even in his anger, he taught her to survive in that unforgiving place.
As the hours tick away toward nightfall, while she's whispering subtle threats into the crew's ears, Karmen observes that several of them have started carrying gas masks. Curious about this, she moves back down to the cargo hold and settles next to the man the Captain had gone after. Pierce, despite being half asleep, wraps his wings around her protectively. Karmen unfades just enough that he becomes aware of her presence without being able to focus on her.
"I knew you were still here," he says, smiling warmly. "I suppose I should thank you for earlier, but once the Captain recovers, I'm afraid a little cold won't be much of a deterrent."
The other slaves look in his direction, surprised by his sudden dialogue. Those who have no observation haki see only open air next to him and seem worried that he's cracked under the pressure. The others, including the Fishmen, stare at Karmen's outline.
"Still," the man continues, "it was nice to feel hope again. It wasn't something I thought I'd find on this ship."
"I wouldn't lose it just yet," she tells him, returning his smile. "Is it the Captain's devil fruit powers that have you worried?"
He nods. "I could have taken him in a straight fight, but that gas he makes works fast. We were all asleep before we had a chance to raise our fists."
So it was similar to Smoker and Caesar's power somehow. "Is that all he's able to do with it? Sleeping gas?" she asks.
"It's a new power to him," he confirms. "He hasn't figured out how to do much else yet. Something spooked the people higher up the chain and the Captain took it upon himself to fortify the ship."
"A wise move, no matter how futile it'll turn out to be," Karmen states. "Inevitably it may be my fault, but it will make no difference in the fact that you'll be free after sunset."
He laughs softly. "No offense, lady, but I'm having a hard time getting a read on you. You claim to be some sort of spirit, but you were able to put the Captain out of commission. What even are you?"
She gives a cocky grin. "Hope."
She fades and gets back to work. She spends the next two hours disabling gas masks- removing glass panes from viewing panels, filters, and oxygen hoses. She throws these overboard where the rays collect them. She keeps her ear peeled for the voice she'd heard, but there is no whisper in her head no matter what she tries.
The tension of the crew rises as the day draws to a close and the slaves prepare themselves for the worst. The crew is relieved as the Captain stirs. The first mate fills him in on the occasional sighting and how every time they tried to approach the slaves something eerie happened. "What do you want to do?" he asks, glad that the decision isn't on him.
"We do what we're paid to do," the Captain growls. "Draw your swords, men. We're scouring the ship."
They move to the lowest point of the ship, weapons drawn. "What we saw was just a show," the first mate bellows, repeating the Captain's declarations to the crew. "Stab every square inch of open space. She'll have to show herself eventually."
The crew doesn't look entirely encouraged, but they work themselves up with hoots and hollers and they begin stabbing the air, under boxes, in empty barrels, and anywhere else a person might hide. Others block the doorway with drawn swords, leaving no space to pass. Already Karmen sees a problem. She can't get past them without alerting them to her presence and Pierce doesn't have room to maneuver for effective combat.
"The mast," Karmen whispers urgently. Pierce instantly reacts, climbing as close to the ceiling as he can and cocooning them inside his wings. He presses as closely to the wood as he can without hurting her, wrapping his wings tightly around them.
"I'll protect you, Karmen," he whispers back. "I promise." There's more in his voice than the urgency of this situation, but there isn't time to analyze the memories afflicting his mind and adding tension to his muscles.
"Us," she says. "Protect us. We'll get through this together." She feels his tight nod against her shoulder and he presses his face tighter against her back.
The flurry of weapons edges closer. Pierce uses his armament haki when they reach the mast. Blades scrape off his wings and back once. Twice. Three times. Karmen's haki makes it seem like they're stabbing air, scraping wood and metal, but she can feel the strain Pierce is under. Just as he reaches his limit, the blades move away.
His skin boils against her back. She leans her head against his to calm him. I'm here, the motion says. I won't let them hurt you ever again. After a few deep breaths, his body stabilizes and his grip on her softens to an embrace.
The slaves sit deathly still as the crew approaches. Some of the slavers aim at the slaves themselves, passing off near grazes as "accidents." The lungfish Fishman turns his face swiftly toward an approaching blade and crushes it between his teeth as if it were hardtack. This earns him a kick to the gut so harsh that it leaves him coughing slightly, but he grins as the crew moves on, avoiding getting close to the other slaves.
Pierce climbs down the mast and Karmen follows the Captain closely as he approaches the stairs. They might not get another chance to follow them to other parts of the ship otherwise. When their sweep turns up nothing in this room, the crew begins climbing the stairs to check other parts of the ship.
She thinks they're in the clear as the crew vacates the area, but at the last second the Captain spins around and stabs at the space behind him. Karmen is able to spin out of the way, but his sword catches the gas mask at her hip. The force of her spin tears the sword out of his hand and it's flung across the room. The ship lurches at the last second, causing the crew to be knocked off-balance and the sword to become stuck in the mast. The Captain and the slaves stare at the imbedded sword in surprise.
Karmen moves past the floored crew quickly, making sure she gives a haunting laugh as she quick-stepping past them and up onto the deck. Her hands find the gas mask and she lifts it into view. It's been skewered and effectively rendered useless. Her hands tighten on it as a wave of anger floods her. This is the mask she'd stolen from Crieg's crew, the one she'd used through all her adventures with the Strawhats and through all her experiments while she developed her poisons and immunities. Her haki spikes with her emotions and the air crackles with it.
He's coming.
The voice stirs her out of her thoughts. She'd deal with the mask later. Right now there are lives at stake. Pierce is barely functioning. His breath comes out in heavy pants and sweat drenches his fur. There's no way he can help in a fight as he is now.
She reaches back until she feels Pierce's neck and her hand slides up his furry cheek to his visor. She reaches inside and slides his gas mask down over his snout. "I'm going to figure this out."
Blue clouds rise from below deck. The crew that is able to follow her quickly drop to the deck in slumber, their useless gas masks affixed to their faces. The Captain steps over their snoring forms carrying the first mate's sword. "There's not much further you can run," he says, stepping in a slow circle as he tries to catch sight of her. Two blue orbs circle around him, trailing clouds of gas behind them. "Let's see how you handle One Hundred Years of Sleep."
The smoke reaches them and she breathes some in. Not good. While she can instantly tell that she's resistant, she recognizes that she's not completely immune. It makes her arms and legs feel heavy. It would be so easy to just lie down on the deck and go to sleep. She has to focus hard on keeping her haki from slipping.
Karmen runs for the ratlines, climbing swiftly as the blue orbs overtake the deck. Pierce tries to help, but using his armament haki earlier has left his muscles spent and he struggles to even grasp the lines to help support her ascent. She fills her lungs again and again with fresh, clean air, trying to negate the smoke's effect on her. The orbs arc higher and she's not sure how she's going to decommission them before they catch up to her. She can't focus on the Captain until they're dealt with, else she'll be overtaken. One gets close and Pierce bats it away with his wing, causing it to veer off course momentarily.
The Captain sees this and draws his focus to that side of the ship. He steps closer to the mast, trying to sight them. Karmen reaches the crow's nest as the orbs circle higher and higher, pinning them in and engulfing the ship beneath them completely.
When she thinks she'll have to test her immunities against this new brand of poison, something strange happens. The yardarms of the sail she had been sitting on earlier detach from the mast and the sails drop, landing on top of the Captain. The orbs disintegrate almost immediately. Karmen checks his vitals with her haki and find that he's just been knocked out and pinned beneath it all.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she puts her hand to the mast. "Thank you," she tells the ship. "Is there anything I can do to repay you?"
Stop them. Help them, the ship pleads in her head. Make sure they can't use me like this again. Please. Scuttle me.
Her last request cuts Karmen deeply. She presses her hand firmly to the wood. "There has to be another way, dear. We can repurpose you, find a good crew to pilot you," she responds, almost begging.
No matter where I go, I'll always bear the marks of how they used me. This is the choice I've made. Do not weep for me.
"Please," Karmen pleads. "It doesn't have to be like this. Let me help you."
You're a strange one, aiding the lost from the afterlife on the day I had chosen. You were able to hear my voice. I did not expect that. Go. Help those below, and give my voyage meaning. They're the ones who need you now.
Karmen looks down. At some point during the night, the ship had changed course toward land. Now she's on a crash course toward the shallows. If she doesn't move, she may be injured in the crash. "I won't forget you."
She leaps from the crow's nest just as the ship rams into rocks. Every time she veered course, she had been preparing herself for this. The sides of the lower deck peel off and land in the ocean, forming a raft for all the unconscious slaves chained to it. In the keyhole of the shackles securing the lungfish Fishman, there is a sliver of steel jutting from the lock as if he'd been picking it before the gas overtook him.
Karmen gathers food and water for the crew and drags them all off the ship and onto a nearby sandbar with enough materials to build themselves a raft. When she's sure no one is left onboard, she finds a smooth rock and throws it. It skips off the latch holding up a lantern, knocking it to the deck and spreading flaming oil over the planks. The glowing flames light up the darkness with melancholy and haunting beauty.
Will you remember my name, Ghost?
"I will if you tell it to me," she responds, trying to keep the tears in her eyes from showing.
A plank falls from the side of the ship, landing at her feet. Karmen picks it up and reads the script painted there. The Heralder.
Keep listening, Ghost, and you may hear the voice of another when the time is right. Goodbye, and thank you.
"Thank you for carrying these ones safely to me, Heralder."
"Karmen?" Pierce asks, voice heavy with concern. "Who are you talking to?"