Chapter 27
30th of February 1522
New World
Luffy had been forced to follow the old woman, called Tsuru. She did not talk much, but she had a right hook meaner than his grandpa, so he listened to her. Today, she had brought him along on a mission, without evoking why.
As the ship approached the shore, Luffy's eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon. He could see the faint outline of a village, and as they drew closer, the sight that unfolded before him made his heart clench with a rare intensity. The village was a scene of utter devastation. Burnt corpses lay strewn across the ground, their forms twisted in the grotesque finality of death. The acrid smell of charred flesh and smoldering wood assaulted his senses, a stark contrast to the salty sea breeze. Survivors moved among the wreckage, their eyes vacant, haunted by the horrors they had witnessed. Luffy's gaze fell on a woman, her clothes torn and stained, cradling a child with a hollow stare. Another woman, barely able to stand, clung to the remnants of what had once been her home.
Luffy's fists clenched at his sides. This was sheer brutality, an atrocity that left him with a deep, simmering anger.
"Who…Who did that?", he asked Tsuru.
The Vice-Admiral smiled. "Pirates", she answered. "Because they are free, and don't care about Justice".
30th of February 1522
Paradise
The air was crisp with the scent of salt and adventure, the kind of day that promised the unexpected.
"Captain," Bepo began, "I've heard rumors that Thriller Bark is drifting closer to our waters. They say it's brimming with treasures beyond imagination, but it's also under the command of Gecko Moria, one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea."
Law's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, his fingers absently tracing the tattoos on his knuckles as he considered the proposition. The thought of facing a Warlord was a tantalizing prospect, not just for the wealth it promised but for the prestige and the test of his abilities. "Thriller Bark, huh?". It would make a training before he took on Doflamingo.
31st of February 1522
Thriller Bark
Absalom's eyes narrowed as he concentrated all his energy into his index finger. With a growl of focus, he thrust his finger forward, feeling the bark give way. His fingertip pierced through, splintering the wood and embedding into the heart of the tree. He had mastered Shigan, the deadly finger pistol technique. At last! His efforts had paid! However, Absalom did not celebrate. His breath came in controlled intervals, his mind already on the next strike. He withdrew his finger, examining the hole briefly before resuming his stance. Satisfaction eluded him; there was always more to achieve. He needed to become stronger, for his master and for himself. Again and again, his finger drove through the tree. He would not rest, he would not falter. He could not, or else he would be let in the dust.
Around him, the sounds of intense training filled the air. His two crewmates and 'rivals', whom he deeply respected for their dedication and loyalty to Moria, were also hard at work. To his left, Zoro sparred against Ryuma. Zoro was astonishing—his speed and skill after only a few weeks of training were incredible. He moved with a fluidity and precision that outmatched many veterans of Paradise. Ryuma, pushed him to his limits, but Zoro met each challenge head-on. Nearby, Selena was training under the relentless strikes of Rob Lucci's shadow who hit her repeatedly, testing her Tekkai. Selena grunted of pain, but stood firm, her hands clasped behind her head, bracing for each impact. Her red hair framed her face, slick with sweat. Each blow from Lucci's shadow sent ripples through her muscles, but her stance remained unbroken.
Rob Lucci's shadow made a swift, decisive gesture, signaling the end of the training session. Though the shadow could not speak, Absalom knew that Moria had mentioned it might one day gain the ability to talk as it grew stronger. Absalom let out a deep breath, feeling the strain of the intense workout in his muscles. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a napkin, the cloth quickly becoming damp with the evidence of his exertion. Satisfied, he tucked the napkin away and began to make his way towards the gothic castle that served as the crew's headquarters. The path to the castle was well-trodden, flanked by twisted trees and eerie, shadowy figures that seemed to watch his every move.
As he approached the grand entrance of the castle, he noticed little Lyra, Selena's protégé - pet, almost, working diligently. Lyra was a petite girl with bright, inquisitive eyes, her hands covered in clay as she sculpted two enormous statues. The sculptures towered ten meters high, their forms already taking shape under her skilled hands. Absalom whistled in appreciation, genuinely impressed by her talent.
"Great job, Lyra," he called out, his voice carrying over the sound of her tools at work. "These are going to be incredible."
Lyra blushed deeply, her cheeks turning a shade of crimson that matched the fiery intensity of her efforts. She looked up at him, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Ab…Absalom… I'm - I'm doing my best."
"You're doing more than that," he replied with a grin. "Once these Ushabtis are finished and animated, they'll be a force to be reckoned with."
The statues she was creating were magnificent. One had the head of a lion, the other had the head of a jackal. Both figures held enormous, heavy staves, intricately crafted and engraved with hieroglyphs and patterns that seemed to pulse with latent power. Lyra stammered a shy thank you before turning back to her work, her fingers deftly continuing to shape the clay. Absalom watched for a moment longer, appreciating the dedication she poured into her craft, before heading into the castle to attend to his duties.
Absalom continued his walk. Each step took him closer to one of the smaller towers of the castle, a place Moria had designated for Nami. The Warlord had high hopes for her, given the versatile nature of her Devil Fruit powers. Moria had granted her every luxury: full-time maids, servants, builders, and even a half dozen shadow soldiers constantly at her service or lurking in her shadow for protection. Absalom couldn't help but snort at the memory of Isabella's expression upon seeing how favored Nami was by their boss. It was a mix of jealousy and incredulity that had amused him to no end. Reaching the door, Absalom knocked and waited for it to open. It creaked ajar.
The room was lit by flickering candles, their guttering flames casting grotesque, undulating shadows on the stone walls. Shelves lined the room, crammed with jars containing unidentifiable substances—severed animal parts, strange herbs that seemed to writhe as if alive, and dark, viscous liquids that bubbled ominously. The air was thick with the cloying scent of incense mingled with a sharp metallic tang that hinted at recent bloodshed. Strange symbols and arcane runes were scrawled in crimson across the stone floor, forming a large, intricate circle at the room's center. Scattered around the room were bloodstained rags and rusty tools that looked like they had been recently used. The flickering light revealed flayed animal skins tacked to the walls, their vacant eyes staring out in eternal agony. Pools of congealed blood collected in the uneven cracks of the floor.
In the heart of this room stood Nami. She was an unsettling beauty. She wore a sultry outfit—a black corset that cinched her waist and pushed up her ample bosom, paired with a short, tattered skirt that barely covered her thighs. Fishnet stockings climbed her legs, ending in stiletto heels that seemed to defy logic. Her long - it had been short a few days ago, how did she do it? -, orange hair flowed freely, a wild mane that framed her pale face. Yet, it was her smile that sent chills down Absalom's spine—a grin that stretched too wide, revealing sharp, gleaming teeth. Her eyes, once a warm brown, now glowed with a strange cold green light.
Absalom, a notorious pervert, felt a rare pang of caution as he looked at her. Despite her alluring appearance, he had learned the hard way never to get involved with someone who exuded such palpable insanity. In other words : don't put your dick in crazy. He cleared his throat.
"Nami, how are your preparations coming along?"
Nami's eyes flickered as she noticed Absalom's attention shift to the table behind her.
"Ullo, Absalom," she purred, her voice dripping with a sultry undertone. She gestured elegantly towards the table, her hands moving with a fluid grace that belied the madness in her eyes. Absalom's gaze followed her movement, landing on the table cluttered with an array of macabre items. Among the jars of dark liquids and preserved animal parts, there were tufts of hair carefully laid out. He recognized the distinctive pink strands of Perona, the blue locks of Vivi, the graying hair of King Cobra, and the unmistakable curls of Igaram. Moria had given these to her to experiment with, to harness the potential of her Devil Fruit powers in ways that were yet to be fully realized.
Nami's smile widened as she saw his recognition. "I'm close," she said, her voice a haunting whisper. "But not yet. Each strand holds a unique essence, a piece of their souls. It's fascinating, really," she added, her fingers lightly brushing over the hairs. "I can feel their power, their fears, their memories. But unlocking their full potential requires... more."
Absalom suppressed a remark, his eyes moving from the hairs to Nami's unsettling grin. "More?" he echoed.
"Yes," Nami replied "More time, more trials. But I will succeed. And when I do, our enemies won't know what hit them."
Absalom nodded. "Keep at it, then. Moria is counting on you."
Nami's smile never wavered, but there was a hint of something darker in her eyes as she responded, "Oh, I will. Trust me, Absalom. I will."
1st of March 1522
Alabasta
Crocodile stood in his office. From the wide window behind him, he could oversee the pulsing heart of his casino. He was a striking figure, a tall man with a wide chest and broad shoulders. Pale skin bore the marks of these battles, with scars like medals of valor, the most prominent being the long-stitched scar that bisected the bridge of his nose and stretched across his face. His nape-length black hair, usually slicked back with precision, had a few rebellious strands that fell into his heavy-lidded black eyes. The thick gold alloy hook in place of his left hand gleamed, while his right hand held a thick cigar, smoldering between his fingers.
The door to his office swung open, and Nico Robin entered with a grace that seemed almost choreographed. Her short cocktail robe clung to her form, accentuating her curves with a boldness that demanded attention. The fabric, a deep shade of emerald, shimmered as she moved, reflecting the light in a way that highlighted her statuesque figure. Her dark hair framed her face, which bore an expression of calm intelligence.
Crocodile's eyes roamed over her, a fleeting moment of appreciation for the vision before him, before they returned to the casino below.
"Sir," Robin's voice broke the silence, carrying a weight that immediately drew his full attention. Was there a problem?
"There's a problem. Koza, the rebellion leader, has been found dead, assassinated in his tent, despite being surrounded by his guards."
His eyes narrowed as he processed the information. "What?" The word was a low growl, his calm facade barely masking the undercurrent of irritation. This would delay his plans for weeks. Who could have done it? Who was strong enough? He had heard Ace, the Whitebeard commander, had passed through the town but,…No. Why would he do that? It had to be someone else.
"Find out who did it," he commanded, his voice cold and measured. "And make sure they understand the consequences of interfering with my plans."
Robin nodded, her face a mask of professional detachment, and left the room as silently as she had entered. Crocodile turned back to the window, his gaze once again sweeping over his casino. The game was far from over, but now, a new player had entered the field, and Crocodile intended to ensure they regretted their move.
