Chapter 13 - Voltaire Island
In the opulent solitude of her palace, the Kuja Empress, Boa Hancock, reclined upon her throne, an emblem of her irresistible allure. The air in the chamber hung heavy with an intoxicating blend of floral fragrances and the subtle anticipation of the empress's thoughts.
Draped in a dress that seemed to have been woven from the very essence of desire, Hancock's attire hugged her every curve with a tantalizing tightness. The fabric, a sinuous dance of deep crimson, clung seductively to her silhouette, tracing the contours of her body like a lover's lingering touch. The neckline plunged daringly, a teasing revelation that hinted at the treasures concealed beneath.
Her raven-black tresses, a cascade of midnight silk, spilled down her back in luxurious waves, each strand conspiring to enhance the allure of this sovereign enchantress. A few rebellious locks, strategically placed, framed her face, serving as an accent to the regal features that exuded both power and sensuality.
Boa Hancock's face, a symphony of ethereal beauty, bore an expression of contemplative seduction. Dark brown eyes, pools of mystery and desire, held a gaze that could enthrall even the most resolute souls. Long, voluminous lashes brushed against her skin with each deliberate blink, casting shadows that whispered of forbidden secrets. Her high forehead, a canvas of unblemished skin, radiated an aristocratic elegance that heightened the mystique of her presence.
As she reclined on her throne, the empress wielded her allure like a potent weapon. The languid grace with which she moved, the suggestive subtleties of her every gesture, painted a portrait of irresistible temptation. In this private sanctuary, Boa Hancock ruled not just as a monarch but as an embodiment of unabashed sexiness, a living, breathing siren who left a trail of smoldering desires in her wake.
Suddenly, the solemn atmosphere was shattered by the infectious beats of disco music that infiltrated the regal chambers.
Boa Hancock's eyes narrowed imperiously as she demanded, "Who goes there? Show yourself!"
As the music swirled around the room, a strange figure emerged. Tall and clad in a silver discount outfit, his face concealed by an orange domino mask, and, to add to the absurdity, he had a mummy with a fedora attached as a backpack. Boa Hancock's expression shifted from stern to utterly bewildered.
"State your business, intruder," she demanded, a mix of annoyance and amusement in her tone.
With a grandiose flourish, the mysterious figure revealed himself, dramatically introducing his presence with a series of funny invented titles. "Behold, fair Empress! I am the Disco Dynamo, the Funky Freedom Fighter, the Sultan of Saturday Night Fever! They call me... the GOAT!"
Boa Hancock's eyebrow arched in disbelief, her eyes involuntarily glancing at the mummy backpack. The Goat, however, continued his flamboyant introduction. "I bring the gift of rhythm and the mandate of grooviness to your esteemed palace, where the beat of liberation knows no bounds!"
The empress, to mask her sheer confusion, couldn't resist a smirk. "What on earth are you talking about?"
The Goat responded with a dramatic twirl, showcasing his questionable disco outfit and the mummy backpack with a fedora. "I am the envoy of disco, the harbinger of dance, and the keeper of funky fresh vibes! Behold, my trusty sidekick, the Mummystro, ensuring that the groove is never buried!"
The mummy whined. "I am not a Mummy ! I am The Godfather of the…".
The mummy was hit by the GOAT.
Boa Hancock stood poised for battle, ready to unleash the full force of her regal power upon the audacious Goat. Yet, as her attack loomed, the enigmatic stranger raised a hand, asking for a momentary reprieve.
"I know your story, fair empress," the Goat declared, his tone shifting from flamboyance to a solemn whisper. "I know the chains that once bound you, the shackles of slavery that sought to confine your spirit."
Boa Hancock, usually unyielding in her composure, felt a ripple of vulnerability coursing through her. The Goat, however, surprised her by refraining from judgment. Instead, he embarked on a profound discourse about freedom, compassion, and the heinous deeds committed by the Celestial Dragons. And Disco.
"In the grand tapestry of existence, we are all entwined in the melodies of fate. But, my dear empress, the true beauty lies in the rhythm of redemption, the dance of liberation. The chains that once imprisoned us need not define us; they are but echoes of a time that no longer holds sway," the Goat proclaimed, his words weaving through the air like a symphony of liberation.
As the sermon unfolded, the Goat delved into the complexities of compassion, unraveling the atrocities perpetrated by the Celestial Dragons. His voice carried the weight of empathy, seeking to untangle the intricacies of pain and suffering inflicted upon those deemed lesser by the celestial rulers.
"Compassion is the compass that guides us through the tumultuous seas of existence. The evils of the Celestial Dragons stand as a testament to the depths humanity can plunge when blinded by power and privilege. Yet, in acknowledging our shared struggles, we find the strength to rise above the tides of injustice," the Goat continued, his words resonating with a profound resonance.
Boa Hancock, initially poised for battle, found herself captivated by the stranger's unexpected sermon. The Goat wasn't merely a provocateur; he was a philosopher of liberation, advocating for the emancipation of hearts burdened by the chains of the past.
As the enigmatic Goat continued his unexpected sermon on freedom and compassion, he dropped another bombshell that left Boa Hancock utterly flabbergasted. With an air of nonchalance, he revealed that he had singlehandedly infiltrated Marigeois, the sanctum of the Celestial Dragons, clandestinely freeing numerous slaves.
"I ventured alone into the heart of Marigeois," the Goat confessed, a glint of audacity in his eyes. "I sought refuge for some, delivered others to the Revolutionary Army, but for many young women... I found myself at a crossroads. Their safety hung in the balance, and I couldn't guarantee their freedom."
As the suspense thickened, the mummy backpack worn by the Goat ominously began to stir. With a theatrical flourish, the mummy opened, unveiling about ten young girls marked with the telltale signs of slavery – the celestial dragon insignia tattooed on their fragile backs, just like the emblem that branded Boa Hancock.
As the revelation unfolded, the Goat, having completed his mission, vanished into the ephemeral tapestry of mystery, leaving Boa Hancock with an unexplainable sensation tugging at her heart. In the echoes of his departure, Disco Music filled the air, marking the enigmatic stranger's exit with a whimsical rhythm that lingered in the regal surroundings.
Boa Hancock, usually poised and unyielding, stood in the now-silent throne room, uncertain. She felt something, something strong, in her heart…But she did not know what it was.
The only thing she knew ?
He was not a man…He was a Man. He was The Man. He was the GOAT.
Garp ambled into the room, his trademark grin etched across his face as he noticed Kizaru sitting there, a pensive expression marring his usually carefree features. The admiral was nursing a glass of whisky, staring into the amber liquid as if it held the secrets of the universe.
"Hey, Kizaru, what's got you looking all serious?" Garp inquired, pulling up a chair and settling in.
Kizaru sighed, taking a sip of his drink before responding, "It's a woman, Garp, a stunning one. So beautiful that every time I close my eyes, I see her face."
Garp's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Well, well, the mighty Kizaru struck by the arrow of love! Who's the lucky lady?"
Kizaru leaned back, a wistful look on his face. "Ah, Garp, she's beyond compare. But duty calls, and I must serve justice. Can't let myself get too distracted."
Garp, always the master of jest, chuckled. "Ah, love and justice, the eternal struggle. But remember, even heroes need a break. Why don't you take a day off and chase after this mysterious beauty?"
Kizaru pondered for a moment, a twinkle in his eye. "Maybe you're right, Garp. A day off wouldn't hurt. I'll think about it – after I've saved the world again, of course."
And with that, Garp left Kizaru to his whisky and musings.
In the dimly lit chamber, Nico Robin stood before the Poneglyph, her heart heavy with the decision to part ways with Crocodile. As she reached out to touch the ancient stone, it began to shimmer and fragment into beams of light, dissolving before her eyes.
"I have decided to put the real Poneglyphs I found in...another place."
Startled, Robin turned around to face the source of the voice, only to be met with a sight that sent shivers down her spine. There, casually munching on what appeared to be a raw onion, stood Admiral Kizaru. The mere presence of the Admiral left Robin terrified. She stumbled backward and fell to the ground, the revelation of his unexpected appearance causing her heart to race.
Admiral Kizaru, seemingly unperturbed by the chaos he had introduced, continued munching on the onion, his expression a curious mix of nonchalance and amusement.
As Robin tried to make sense of the illusion and Kizaru's cryptic words, she noticed another peculiar presence near the admiral. To her astonishment, it was none other than Mr. 2, Bon Clay, standing beside Kizaru. However, something was amiss.
Mr. 2 had a distinctive mark of a foot on his face, an unusual and inexplicable addition to his appearance. Even more perplexing, he was carrying the unconscious body of Miss Doublefinger.
"Ah, Nico Robin! You wouldn't believe the journey I've had since that fateful day a year ago when Kizaru here taught me the ways of Disco! Disco, my dear! It's been nothing short of a revelation!"
Robin, still on the ground and trying to absorb the absurdity of the situation, raised an incredulous eyebrow.
"You've been following Admiral Kizaru because of … Disco?"
Mr. 2 nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed! It turns out, Kizaru is not just a master of light-speed moves; he's got some slick dance moves too! And not only did he teach me the art of Disco, but he even helped me fine-tune my Devil Fruit powers! I've been his student for a year, and my power is beyond comparison ! I was such a fool to only think of changing my own face…Fruits are based on imaginations ! A true gentleman, this admiral !"
Then, to Robin's horror, the Admiral decided it was probably the good time to show her some dance moves. He started doing disco, but without music, while smiling and winking at an invisible audience. But a few minutes later, as Kizaru continued his peculiar snack-and-dance routine, a sudden shift in his demeanor caught everyone off guard. The admiral, with an abrupt seriousness, turned to Mr. 2 and simply uttered, "Do it."
Before Robin could fully comprehend the situation, Mr. 2 moved with an astonishing speed, a speed that seemed to surpass what she remembered he was capable of. Had Kizaru been training him in more than just Disco?
"Disco is fighting, Nico Robin"
In the blink of an eye, Mr. 2 touched Robin, and a strange sensation coursed through her. Before she could react, he swiftly moved to Miss Doublefinger and repeated the process. To Robin's horror, Miss Doublefinger's features transformed into a perfect replica of her own face.
"What... what did you do?" Robin stammered, her mind racing to comprehend the bizarre turn of events.
Mr. 2, now standing beside Miss Doublefinger with the same foot-shaped mark on his face, grinned widely.
"It's the magic of my Clone-Clone Fruit! With a touch, I can create perfect copies of anyone! Kizaru here thought it would be a fun trick. Now, meet the new and improved Miss Doublefinger-Robin!"
Then, in a swift and horrifying movement, the Admiral beheaded…her clone.
"Uh ?"
Kizaru grabbed her by the shirt, and they disappeared in a flash of light.
"Admiral Kizaru ?!"
Yep, he had forgotten Bon Clay. In another flash of light, he came back, grabbed the Okama, and disappeared again.
As Robin regained consciousness, the memories of the admiral's presence and the mysterious void lingered in her mind. Wary but alert, she rose from the unfamiliar bed and approached the window, hoping to gain some understanding of her surroundings.
To her surprise, she was met with a surreal panorama beyond the glass. A city unfolded before her, bursting with an explosion of vivid colors. Half-mechanical houses and peculiar defense machines adorned the landscape, creating a striking contrast to the world she had known.
Just beneath her window, a strange reindeer, or something that resembled a cartoonish version of one, conducted an open-air class for a group of teenagers. Laughter and cheers echoed as carefree children played in the vicinity. The streets were alive with people, strolling leisurely as if this vibrant and peculiar city was an everyday occurrence.
Amidst the spectacle, a peculiar man in blue briefs stood on a rooftop, bellowing a resounding "Supeeeeer."
"Surprising, isn't it?" a voice remarked behind her. Startled, Robin turned to find Admiral Kizaru standing there, clad in the most eye-catching and garish yellow shirt she had ever laid eyes on. The shirt was a cacophony of mismatched patterns – stripes, polka dots, and abstract shapes clashed in a display of sartorial chaos. It was as if someone had taken every imaginable yellow fabric and sewn them together with little regard for coherence.
Frightened - but more shocked by the shirt than anything else, Robin nodded hesitantly as Kizaru motioned for her to walk with him. Still processing the bizarre scenery and the enigma of Kizaru's presence, she followed the admiral, each step carrying her deeper into this strange, colorful world where reality seemed to be painted with strokes of the absurd.
"We're invisible; I'm bending the light around us," Kizaru nonchalantly declared as they strolled through the vibrant streets, his tone betraying a sense of detachment from the laws of reality.
As Robin grappled with the strangeness of their supposed invisibility, Kizaru continued with his revelations. "Most of the inhabitants here are ex-slaves of the celestial dragons," he disclosed, his words landing like weighty stones in the pit of Robin's stomach. The colorful and seemingly carefree denizens of this peculiar city were survivors of a dark and oppressive past.
As Kizaru and Robin continued their invisible stroll through the vibrant streets, the admiral's monologue delved into the intricate web of corruption within the celestial dragons and the world government.
"You see, Nico Robin," Kizaru began, his tone measured yet laden with conviction, "the celestial dragons, the supposed paragons of privilege and power, are nothing more than architects of oppression. They revel in a decadent existence built upon the suffering of others."
Robin, though well-acquainted with the pervasive oppression within the world, found herself shocked and surprised by Kizaru's audacity. As a high-ranking member of the World Government, his words amounted to treason, a damning revelation that transcended the depths of corruption she had known.
"The world government, the very entity I serve as an admiral, has succumbed to a cancerous rot," Kizaru continued. "Its roots run deep, infiltrating the very foundations of justice and equality it claims to uphold. The celestial dragons are puppeteers, and the world government dances to their twisted tune. The empty throne is not empty, and a Monster sits in it"
"So…You are a revolutionary ?", asked Robin.
"I am a volutionary : I don't want, etymologically, to return somewhere. I want to create something knew. Democracy. Humanism…". Then, the admiral critiqued the revolutionary army, emphasizing that a mere show of brute force would not lead to the downfall of the world government. "You cannot beat the world government by force," he proclaimed with a tone of certainty. "Dragon and gang don't understand it is a war of ideas."
The admiral continued his monologue, extending his arms to showcase the vibrant surroundings. "This is why I built this place," he declared, "not just as a refuge but as a haven for a new age. The starting place". As he spoke, the air around them seemed charged with the potential for change.
With a grand gesture, Kizaru opened a door, revealing a sight that left Robin in awe – a vast library. While not as expansive as the one on her native island, its significance resonated deeply. The shelves were filled with knowledge and ideas, a testament to the diverse expertise pooled together to challenge the oppressive ideologies of the world government.
"I have a plan," he revealed, a glint of determination in his eyes. "Funds are in place, and I intend to send teachers – make it seem like an initiative from the World Government – to every island in the blues."
His plan unfolded as he spoke, outlining a mission to educate children and engage with the people about political science. The aim was not to force adherence to new ideas but to stimulate critical thinking, to plant the seeds of curiosity and introspection.
"We're not imposing our beliefs," Kizaru clarified, "but rather, we're offering the opportunity for minds to blossom. To question, to challenge, and to forge their own path. It's a subtle rebellion against the indoctrination that has held the world captive for far too long."
"It would never work !" exclaimed Robin.
"It will. You cannot beat the World Government that way. I have another project for that. But you can make people more critical - and thus less likely to join the Marine, or to join the Cipher Pol. All of these organisations needs small hands, paper pusher and grunts, to work. There is hundreds of way it'll make them a bit more vulnerable, a bit less successful".
"Here," Kizaru explained, "we gather not just to seek refuge but to propagate ideas that challenge the status quo. A space where knowledge becomes a weapon against the chains that bind us."
"But before diffusing the information, we must create it ! Compile it".
He went on to explain that he had enlisted the expertise of various individuals in this endeavor. Chopper, the anthropomorphic reindeer, had compiled notebooks on medicine, biology, and chemistry. Franky, the cyborg with a penchant for engineering, contributed insights into mechanics and technology.
"But for social sciences, History, Philosophy…This is why I faked your death and brought you here".
He gave Robin a copy of the Little Yellow Book, and more of his personal notes from his Political Science course.
"Here are some of my ideas. Read them, think a bit, think of my proposition. I'll be back in a few days, take your time".
As he added not to talk to anyone about him - only Franky, Bon Clay and Chopper knew of his true identity. The other only knew him as a blonde man in a domino mask and a disco outfit.
They knew him as the GOAT.
But they also knew him as a dancing, laughing, God-like fighter of freedom that produced Light like he was the Sun.
Index