Chapter 31
15th of March 1522
Alabasta
Capone Bege stood at the edge of the grand courtyard of Alabasta Palace. His keen eyes, honed by years of strategic maneuvering, surveyed the flurry of activity before him. Shadow Servants worked alongside the palace workers, who were slowly getting used to their presence. They had started orchestrating the setup of massive pavilions, ornate tables, and lush floral arrangements. The preparations for the banquet were already taking shape.
The upcoming marriage that would unfold in two weeks was to be the most opulent event Alabasta had ever witnessed, and Bege's official duty was to oversee its security. His mafia men—tough, weathered individuals with douriki scores around one hundred—were strategically placed, projecting an image of unyielding vigilance alongside the palace guards. However, the true guardians were the Shadow Soldiers, patrolling the palace in silence, lurking in the shadows of key figures. As Bege continued his inspection, his gaze fell upon Lyra, diligently adding Ushabtis to the palace's defenses.
Bege couldn't help but be impressed by his Lord Moria's masterful strategy. While he didn't fully understand Moria's obsession with Alabasta, he couldn't deny the brilliance behind it. Moria had expertly combined his charm and political acumen with Isabella's hypnotic suggestions and the eerie sorcery of this creepy bitch Nami, who had used strands of hair from Vivi, King Cobra, Igaram, Pell, and other influential figures to exert control. As a result, these key players now regarded Moria with a near-religious reverence, seeing him as almost divine.
Bege himself had been pivotal in starting to reorganize the country's administration, bringing order to the chaos. Meanwhile, Isabella had reformed the royal court, ensuring every detail was perfect for Moria's impending ascension. Moria's unique abilities to transport items within his body and teleport had facilitated astonishing feats, such as distributing rare goods and water to the populace. These acts of generosity had endeared him to the people, elevating him to a level of adoration that even surpassed Crocodile. Moria's web of manipulation, charisma, and strategic benevolence had transformed him into a near-messianic figure. The forthcoming marriage would cement his dominance, securing his power in the kingdom.
He was eager to see how his boss was going to deal with the other Warlord of the country. Alabasta was too small for two of them.
16th of March 1522
Alabasta
Dourikis estimated combat power quite well, but it's not an exact science: someone with lower douriki can very well triumph over a stronger opponent under certain circumstances. For example, Crocodile had a certain douriki level, but if he were in a desert or on the sea, he would be a completely different adversary. No, dourikis could only predict the victor in a fair duel, in the middle of a city, without any elemental or geographical advantages, and without the possibility of surprise or ambush.
Thus, Moria could have decided to have a duel against Crocodile in the middle of Alabasta, fairly. But Moria was a pirate. He took advantage of every possible edge and left no room for honor-bound mistakes.
That's why he stood with Capone Bege, both of them wearing diving masks, two gigantic harpoons, and oxygen tanks at four o'clock in the morning. Moria adjusted his diving mask and glanced at Bege. The man, rugged and stoic, nodded back, his eyes hidden behind the mask but his determination palpable. Moria, however could feel his fear. Moria reached out and placed a hand on Bege's shoulder, his fingers curling with dark energy. With a whispered incantation, he activated his Shadow Exchange, swapping places with a Shadow Soldier that had stealthily moved from Robin's shadow to Crocodile's during one of their meetings.
In an instant, the world shifted around them, the cool night air replaced by the stifling, oppressive atmosphere of Crocodile's heavily secured bedroom. The room was cloaked in darkness, the only light coming from the faint moonbeams filtering through the curtains. Crocodile, paranoid as ever, had reinforced the room with locks and barriers, but it would be detrimental for him tonight. Moria and Bege appeared in the center of the room.
[Croco D. Ile]
Class : Fullalead Brothel daughter, Cabin boy of Xebec
Job : Warlord of the Seas
Fruit : Suna Suna no Mi
Dourikis : 4 794
Potential : SS
Fate : A
Crocodile's eyes widened in shock and pain, his body pinned to the wall by the force of the harpoon. Logia users without Haki were useless in situations like this. Not very climatic - but it did not matter. Only victory mattered.
"Absorb".
Fucking noob. "Evil mastermind" his soon-to-be royal, pale ass.
16th of March 1522
Alabasta
Nico Robin descended the grand staircase with a practiced grace, every step a testament to her control. To any observer, she was the epitome of calm, her face a serene mask that betrayed nothing of the turmoil beneath. She was on her way to the meeting room, where Crocodile was set to reveal his identity as the mastermind behind their operations and introduce himself to the assembled officer agents. Yet, beneath her composed exterior, Robin's thoughts churned with uncertainty and paranoia.
Her attire was striking was a leather ensemble that clung to her figure. Straps crisscrossed her chest and midriff, leaving tantalizing glimpses of her smooth skin exposed. The fitted leather accentuated her curves, highlighting her slender waist and the elegant lines of her body. High boots hugged her legs, each step accompanied by the soft creak of leather. Her long, raven hair flowed freely, framing her face and adding to her mysterious allure. She knew the effect she had on people, and she wielded it like a weapon.
As she walked, her mind raced with questions and doubts. Should she betray Crocodile? The thought gnawed at her, but so did the potential consequences. If Crocodile was stronger than Moria, could he hunt her down? Would he? No, Moria had assured her he was safely hidden in the Florian Triangle. And yet, what if he had lied? The conflicting thoughts created a storm within her, one she struggled to quiet.
Robin passed through the first of three bulletproof doors, the heavy metal sealing behind her with a resonant thud. She continued down the corridor, her footsteps steady despite the chaos within. The second door loomed ahead, and she pushed through it, each step taking her closer to a decision she wasn't ready to make. Finally, she reached the third door, the last barrier between her and the hidden meeting room.
Pushing it open, Robin stepped inside to find the officer agents already gathered and bickering. Mr. 2, flamboyant and expressive, argued with Mr. 3, whose composed demeanor barely hid his irritation. Mr. 4, silent and imposing, stood next to Miss Merry Christmas, who was talking with Miss Goldenweek. Off to the side, the stoic and muscular Mr. 1, exchanged words with his partner, the sultry and dangerous Miss Doublefinger.
Robin cleared her throat, and the room fell silent. She stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over the assembled agents. She projected an air of confidence and authority, drawing their undivided attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen, you have all served diligently under the banner of Baroque Works. Your dedication and skill have brought us to this pivotal moment. For some time now, I have acted as the liaison between you and our enigmatic leader. Each of you has demonstrated unwavering loyalty, and today, that loyalty is rewarded. It is time for you to meet the mind behind our grand design."
She paused, her eyes meeting each of theirs, ensuring they felt the weight of the moment. "Our boss has orchestrated a masterful plan, steering us towards unparalleled power and influence. We have navigated treacherous waters and emerged stronger for it. And now, the time has come to reveal the true identity of the one who has guided us through it all, Mister 0."
The large chair at the head of the table slowly pivoted. To her shock, it was not Crocodile. The others, while surprised, did not share her sense of panic—none of them knew Crocodile's true identity. But she did. How had this happened?
"What? It's Moria?" Mr. 2 exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Moria? The Warlord?" Miss Doublefinger echoed, her voice laced with astonishment.
The officers gasped in recognition as the figure in the chair came into full view. It was Moria, the soon-to-be Crown Prince of Alabasta and a Warlord of the Sea. He sat there with a smug grin, growing back to his seven-meter frame.
"Good evening, everyone," Moria greeted, his voice dripping with confidence. "I believe it's time we had a little chat."
Robin stood there, her mind reeling. Her carefully constructed world had just been turned upside down, and she had to decide, quickly. She forced herself to remain impassive, though inside, her thoughts were a whirlwind. Her gaze remained steady, her posture unyielding, as she faced the new reality before her.
"Welcome, Lord Moria," she said, her voice smooth and controlled, masking the shock and fear that threatened to overwhelm her. "We look forward to hearing your vision for our future."
Robin zoned out as Moria, with the ease of someone who had always been Mister 0, laid out his plans, ideas for new business avenues, and the restructuring of their operations. His confidence was unsettling. How was he so well-informed? It was as if he had overheard every conversation Crocodile had participated in over the last month. Had he somehow accessed confidential documents? Each precise detail he revealed only deepened her unease.
Robin shifted slightly. After what felt like an eternity, Moria concluded his presentation. The officers, now thoroughly impressed and suitably cowed, nodded in agreement, their loyalty seemingly secured. With a dismissive wave, Moria sent them away, the room gradually emptying until only he and Robin remained. The air grew heavier, the silence charged with tension. Moria turned towards Robin, his eyes gleaming with a amusement. He stepped closer, invading her personal space, his presence oppressive and overwhelming. From the shadow at his feet, he drew forth a gruesome trophy: Crocodile's decapitated head. He tossed it casually at her feet, the lifeless eyes staring up blankly. Robin's heart pounded, but she forced herself to maintain her composure, her face an impassive mask.
"I had to accelerate my plan a bit," Moria said, his tone almost conversational, as if discussing the weather. "The opportunity to kill the cockroach presented itself earlier than expected. And you don't let a cockroach live in your house - and Alabasta is mine."
Robin's mind raced, struggling to process the swift turn of events. The room seemed to close in on her, the walls pressing with the weight of this new reality. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear, making her shiver despite herself.
"You have two options, Nico Robin," Moria continued, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "Serve me, and together we will uncover the history of the Lost Century. Or you can leave."
"Leave?" Robin echoed in disbelief, her full lips parting slightly in shock.
Moria nodded, his expression unreadable. "Yes, just like that. I don't coerce people into my service," he said, the lie smooth and effortless. "But know this: staying means committing to my cause fully. You will be my ally, my confidante, and together we will achieve greatness. Or, you can walk away now and be free of this. The choice is yours."
Robin stood there, the weight of his words pressing down on her. The allure of uncovering the secrets of the Lost Century was almost irresistible, yet she knew that serving Moria came with its own set of dangers and sacrifices. She glanced down at Crocodile's severed head, a grim reminder of the stakes involved.
As the seconds stretched into an agonizing eternity, Robin knew she had to decide. This moment, this choice, would define her path from here on out. Would she risk everything for the chance to uncover the world's deepest secrets, or would she take the uncertain path of freedom, leaving behind the power and knowledge Moria dangled before her? But, without the powerful umbrella of a Warlord, she would also be in a greater danger…Her heart pounded in her chest. As she shifted from the tension, the tight straps of her outfit strained, almost letting one of her breasts pop free. Finally, she looked up, meeting Moria's gaze with unwavering resolve.
"I will serve you," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. What was a new master, after all? She had survived under Crocodile, and she would adapt again. The promise of uncovering the world's deepest secrets was a temptation she could not resist.
Moria's smile widened, satisfied. "Excellent choice, Nico Robin. Together, we will achieve greatness."
16th of March 1522
Alabasta
Daz Bones, the stoic and terrifying man whose very name struck fear into the hearts of many, found himself gripped by an unfamiliar sensation—terror. Gecko Moria, the Warlord himself, had summoned him. Alone. The very idea was enough to send shivers down his spine. Daz Bones was not stupid : he knew Moria could not be the original mastermind between an organisation based in another Warlord's territory. And the meeting room was crocodile-themed and had reeked of cigar smoke. It meant that Moria was the monster that had consumed the original monster, Crocodile, making him an even more terrifying force to reckon with. The implications were clear: Moria was no ordinary foe; he was a predator among predators.
Daz Bones stood outside the imposing door of Moria's chamber, his fist poised to knock. He took a deep breath, his mind racing with thoughts of what lay beyond. Summoning his courage, he knocked.
"Enter," a voice rasped from within, deep and resonant, sending a chill through Daz Bones.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was vast, a cavernous space filled with an eerie, eldritch light. Seated on a massive chair, behind a mahogany desk too small for him, was Gecko Moria. His form was colossal, towering at nearly four meters, and his face was a nightmare brought to life. His sharp, jagged teeth glinted in the dim light, and his eyes, cold and calculating, bore into Daz Bones with an intensity that felt almost physical. The Warlord's skin was a ghostly white, contrasting starkly with the dark, gothic attire he wore.
"Ah, my most…trusted Agent. Tell me. What do you want in life, Daz Bones?"
Daz Bones, deciding that honesty was his best course of action, replied with a grunt, "I joined Baroque Works to become stronger and to earn a lot of money."
Moria leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scrutinized Daz Bones. "Is that so? Strength and wealth. Admirable goals - Pirate's goals, even. But tell me, Daz Bones, do you truly understand what it means to be strong? To wield power that makes the world tremble?"
Daz Bones swallowed, his throat dry. "I believe I do. I've fought many battles, survived countless encounters. I know what it takes to be strong."
He did not know why he said that to a person who was hundredfolds stronger than him. Moria's smile widened, revealing more of his jagged teeth. "You know, Daz, I've seen countless men like you. Hungry for power, driven by the promise of riches. But true strength... true power is something far deeper. It's about domination, control, the ability to reshape the very fabric of reality to your will."
He leaned back, his gaze still fixed on Daz Bones. "You are a weakling, barely scraping 800 Douriki. But I see potential in you. Pledge your loyalty to me once more, and I will give you the means to surpass your limitations. Wealth beyond your wildest dreams, and strength that will make even the strongest warriors bow before you."
Daz Bones' mind raced. Refusal was not an option; the consequences were unthinkable. The thought of what Moria, this monstrous being, could do to him if he declined was enough to make his decision. He nodded, ready to pledge his loyalty once more.
"Good," Moria said, his voice a low growl. He produced a contract and handed it to Daz Bones. "Sign this."
Daz Bones reached for the pen, but Moria stopped him with a wave of his hand. "No, not with that. Use this." He handed Daz Bones a peculiar quill, its tip sharp and menacing.
Daz Bones hesitated, understanding what was required. With a resolute expression, he pricked his finger, allowing a drop of blood to well up. He used the quill to sign the contract, his own blood sealing his fate.
As he finished, Moria's laughter echoed through the chamber, a sound that sent a fresh wave of chills down Daz Bones' spine. The deal was made, and the path ahead was clear. He had chosen power and survival, but at what cost? Only time would tell.
Moria stood up, his towering form casting an imposing shadow over Daz Bones. The Warlord reached out, his massive hand touching Daz Bones' head. A swirl of shadows enveloped them both, and in an instant, they were gone. Daz Bones felt a disorienting sensation, as if his very essence was being pulled through a vortex. When the shadows dissipated, he found himself standing in a dense forest, the air thick with the scent of pine and earth. The trees towered above them, their branches intertwining to create a canopy that blocked out the sky.
He blinked, trying to steady himself. "Where are we?" he muttered, more to himself than to Moria.
Moria's voice, calm and authoritative, answered him. "Welcome to your new home, Bones. Thriller Bark will be your crucible, where you will be forged anew. Here, you will grow stronger, faster, deadlier. And I will be watching."
With those words, Moria melted into the shadows, leaving Daz Bones alone—or so he thought. He turned back and saw a man with green hair and three swords sleeping against a tree. Sensing someone was watching him, the green-haired swordsman opened his eyes.
"Uh? You must be that guy Moria says I could make into a fine swordsman...But I don't see a sword, only a weakling."
Daz Bones grunted. Fucker. He would let Moria walk over him, but not some unknown fucker. He transformed his arms into blades, the metallic sheen glinting in the dim forest light.
The man wasn't surprised; he grinned even further and began to unsheathe one of his swords. Daz Bones smiled, relishing the opportunity to cut down this arrogant swordsman and perhaps gain more attention and resources from Moria. However, as the man drew his blade, Daz Bones felt an absurd pressure emanate from him. The air grew thick with an oppressive force, making it hard to breathe. His confidence wavered for a moment.
"Who the hell are you?" Daz Bones growled, trying to maintain his composure.