The chapel was built from the bones of a forgotten kingdom. Its towering walls, once carved with the sigils of noble houses long since erased, had been defiled with curses—blackened vines of ink creeping across the stone, writhing sigils pulsing like something alive. The grand ceiling arches stretched into oblivion, shrouded in mist as if the very castle refused to show its highest reaches. Rows of rusted candelabras lined the room, their ghostly blue flames flickering against the rows of assembled ghostly figures—Absalom's Zombies. Silent. Waiting.

At the far end, beneath an ornate, rotting archway, stood Absalom. Dressed as a groom. The robes draped from his monstrous frame were a mockery of finery. Thick crimson silk was embroidered with golden filigree that curled like veins of corruption across his broad chest. The heavy mantle at his shoulders swept the floor in regal folds, and his lion-stitched jaw twisted into a smug, predatory grin. On his head sat a crown. Not gold, not silver. Rusted iron, warped and jagged, as if it had been pried from someone else's grave. And before him, the altar stood empty. The bride had yet to arrive. But soon—soon, she would be ready.

An undead musician played. Bound to a cursed violin, his bony fingers danced across the strings in a sorrowful waltz, a melody that whispered through the grand, decaying chapel. His coat, once pristine, was now tattered and worn, the remnants of an elegance long lost to time. His hollow skeletal eyes gleamed from beneath his tricorn hat, its depths reflecting the tragedy of those who could not escape. His bony mouth did not move, but his energy hummed through the space. A presence. A will, despite his bindings. A puppet forced to play a symphony of mourning.

Abaslom was about to call his bridal party to order his next bride and meal, coming down the elegant but broken staircase from the tower where he kept her hidden. Or so he thought. A thunderous clank came from the grand iron doors. He felt the energy in an instant, as if a cannon had exploded outside his palace walls. But he recognized it from before when it snuck in to steal some measly clothes—and then had led him to the prize he planned to devour tonight.

The banging went once, twice. Imprints of clawed fists appeared on the metal. And then, there was one quick slash, and the guest of wind that broke into the chapel sent his bone army flying. Rain poured from the storm outside, and the icy wind roared through the ruined doorway. The air shifted—charged, electric, and seething. And then he stepped in—the demon who stole from him.

Absalom's stomach dropped. At first, he thought it was a trick of the storm. He stood just beyond the threshold, a figure bathed in unnatural darkness, rain steaming off his molten gold skin. His torso, battle-worn and scarred, gleamed with raw, untamed power, each muscle coiled like a predator ready to pounce. Ink wound up his arms, marks, and symbols that felt older than time itself, moving on their own.

And then, there were the wings. Golden, jagged, black-veined, and taloned in the moonless void, massive and terrible, they remained unfurled at his back like the claws of a god come to claim his due. The edges curled like the talons of a beast, stretching impossibly wide and casting monstrous, shifting shadows over the room. They beat once—just once—and the force alone sent a ripple through the castle's foundations.

His horns gleamed like gems, wicked and sharp, curling from his temples in cruel, jagged arcs, catching the flickering candlelight as if they, too, had been dipped in blood. And his face—

Absalom had faced monsters before. He had stitched beasts into himself and had worn their power like a second skin. He had stolen the flesh of kings and made himself into something more. But this was no mere mortal playing at divinity. This was something else. Something wrong. Something terrifying.

The demon's face was half-cast in shadow, but his gleaming bloodshot eyes burned with something not meant for this world. His pupils were slitted, sharp as a predator's, unblinking, unmoved. His lips curled, not in a snarl but something worse: amusement.

The demon tilted his head, cracking his neck, the sound splitting through the air like a death knell. His voice, when it came, was a low growl—like a blade being unsheathed.

"…The hell do you think you're doing?" It was not a question. It was a warning.

Absalom swallowed, masking his unease with arrogance. "Ah," he drawled. "You're still causing trouble?"

Zoro stepped further into the room, his wings folding slightly, but his presence only grew heavier. It suffocated the space like a storm pressing against a fragile glass window. Absalom inhaled slowly, steadying himself. He would not be intimidated.

"I assume you're here to claim the woman," he mused, waving a clawed hand toward the stairs. "Rather bold, considering she's already spoken for."

Zoro didn't look away. He didn't have to. His gaze never left Absalom. Absalom's eyes narrowed. Something felt…off. Most men—most creatures—when they stormed into a chamber like this, when they came for something they loved, something they cherished, their rage was sharp, desperate, messy. But this man…this thing… His rage was cold. Steady. Calculated.

"You're not here for her, are you?" Absalom leaned forward slightly, studying the demon's face, trying to read him. "You don't love her. You don't even care for her."

Zoro's eyes twitched, refusing to respond as he was busying himself trying to sense her. But the entire place reeked of death and felt like ice.

Absalom smirked. "You've taken from me, demon. My clothes from my halls, and now you dare step into my domain and demand my bride?"

Zoro's hands flexed at his sides.

"Tell me," Absalom murmured, voice dripping with mockery. "If she truly means nothing to you, then why are you here? Why are you so…" He grinned, flashing too-human teeth beneath the lion's muzzle. "Frustrated?"

Zoro's wings flared. The ground beneath his feet cracked. Absalom's smirk flickered.

Then he smiled more expansive, a wicked glint in his eye. "Stay," he purred, spreading his arms. "Bear witness. After all, it would be cruel to deny you the privilege of seeing what a real prince—"

Zoro moved—no, he didn't move—he disappeared. The air split apart, a rush of displaced wind howling through the chamber. Then Absalom was airborne. His body hurtled through the air, his spine slamming against the far wall with a sickening crack. The force rattled the entire castle, and dust rained from the ceiling.

Zoro stood where Absalom had been, his clawed fist still outstretched, steam rising from his skin. His head tilted slightly, rolling his shoulders. "Enough."

Absalom coughed, spitting out blood. He growled, pushing himself upright, his invisible claws flexing. Then he grinned, his sharp teeth gleaming beneath the lion's muzzle.

"Oh, demon…" He straightened, cracking his neck. "You should've killed me when you had the chance."

Then, with a snap of his fingers, the room twisted. The dead zombies moved while his dead wives fell down the darkness above like spiders, twitching and twisting with inhumane magic.

A violin played from the shadows. Zoro's gaze snapped toward the sound. A skeletal figure stood bound in silver chains. A grinning skull tilted toward him, and hollow eyes filled with something…unreadable. The violin in his bony hands hummed with unnatural energy. Zoro's eyes narrowed. For the first time, he hesitated. Absalom laughed.

"You'll never find her," he whispered.

And Zoro scowled. Because for the first time since he had set foot in this wretched castle, he knew he couldn't afford to destroy everything in his path simply. Because somewhere, hidden beneath hexes and illusions, was the only thing that mattered. And he wasn't leaving without her.

However, every swipe Zoro made at the zombies or the brides was useless. They came back, dismembered parts re-joining. Zoro tried to take care, to rip veils off the women before slashing, but every time, he ground his teeth in frustration. What this beast was doing to these women was genuinely unholy, and he did not want to imagine what he had managed to do to Nami.

Absalom had not survived this long in a castle of monsters by being weak. His modifications had made him a monster himself. He also watched the demon but peered at the swords he rarely unsheathed that were bound to his side. He could feel their power, their becoming. It was dangerous and delicious. Zoro took note of the glare, as his swords were often the envy of powerful creatures. But he had to focus. He could feel his energy being depleted, and he could not keep slashing away. At least something happened to Nami in the meantime. He gathered his energy and crouched down, inhaling deeply as his wings kept the creatures at bay. Taking out his swords, Shusui and Sandai Kitetsu, he focused his aura and expelled a burst of energy. It blasted the zombies and brides away, and even Absalom clawed at the floor to keep himself steady.

As the dust settled and the rain continued, Zoro rose and sheathed his blades. "Give her to me. Now."

Zoro watched as Absalom stretched his stitched, grotesque muscles, the sheer mass of his stolen flesh rippling beneath his ceremonial robes. He shrugged them off as he growled.

"I told you...you have no claim on our bride."

Zoro's lips parted, not in hesitation. But because his patience was running thin. "I will wipe you off the face of the earth."

Absalom stilled. The hall went silent. The weight of Zoro's words carried something different—something that made the air crackle, made the candles flicker.

Absalom exhaled through his lion-stiched fangs. "This is your doing, demon," he said softly. "Someone has to pay the price for your theft."

Zoro's entire body went rigid. For a brief, dangerous moment—he didn't breathe. And then—his jaw clenched. He balled his clawed hands into fists. And his fury turned sharp.

Absalom noticed. He laughed. "Ah… so you do care."

Zoro's teeth ground together. "She's mine."

Absalom purred as he walked around his destroyed chapel. "Unbound, no markings of a union...and believe me," he licked his lips, "We did a thorough search of her body."

The fury rose in Zoro as Absalom continued. "Pure, untouched...well, until tonight."

"I'll pay the debt." His voice was clear and firm, and his eyes trained on the beast before him. He was not going to be able to find Nami through magic, so he needed Absalom to at least show her to him.

The beast-man chuckled, "You couldn't afford it."

"My swords. I see you eyeing them..."

"You would pay with your swords, demon?" Absalom asked incredulously.

"No..." Zoro began until he smirked, "But I will bet on them."

"A bet?"

"Yes...you say I will never find her...but I know I can. Bring her forward, and I shall know her without even seeing her. That is my bet."

"How do I know you have no tricks?" As much as Absalom was eager to amass more power in one night than he had in years, he needed to be cautious.

"That is the point of the bet, beast...or are you too afraid?"

As the brides crawled back to life, the zombies encircling them, Absalom chuckled. "Fine, demon. If you are able to find her among my dead wives...then you can leave here with her...and your swords."

Absalom snapped his fingers, and the room seemed to shift again as the illusions took form, "But if you fail...we will dine on your swords and her tonight."

He wagged his tongue like a hungry animal, drool pooling at the sheer imagination of it all.

Zoro sneered as he sat down, placing his swords in front of him. "Keep your tongue inside...or else I'll cut it off."

Absalom did not believe him, and yet, he rolled his tongue back in and barked at his hexed creatures to bring her forward. At once, the room grew darker and colder as the veiled brides floated down by magic. All in white, their skin and features covered both by material and magic. But Zoro was not even trying to look. He was listening with his eyes closed...for her heartbeat. The one he heard over a quiet fire as they slept. The one that beat wildly in fear as she fell from the heavens. The one that seemed to reverberate into his very soul. If he had one.

But Absalom smirked, watching the demon attempt to point his monstrous ears every which way, seeking the lifeline he thought he had. Zoro snapped his eyes open as Absalom bellowed, "I knew you couldn't find her!" He walked to the nearest hexed bride and snatched the veil off, and Zoro saw the tinge of blue on the faceless and nameless captive—frozen lips, deadness in her eyes. "I'd rather she die than leave us..."

Zoro was about to charge until he heard it: a single drop of a tear in the massive palace. He smelled it, the faint scent of mikan and sea salt rising from beneath the decay. He inhaled deeper as he walked forward.

Absalom watched him, wondering what he could be doing. He even left his swords behind. There was no way he could see through the hexes...the magic was too powerful for a mere demon to overcome. Unless...she was calling to him, somehow. But how, he wondered. Absalom had sealed her energy and her voice and stopped her very heartbeat.

Zoro's steps were confident. His clawed feet pressed against the cold stone as he bypassed the veiled creatures floating around him, lost in the evil magic. He extended his clawed hand, his own curse evident alongside the cursed women. Yet, his head was filled with nothing but a sensation that urged him forward. He gripped a frozen wrist, still wearing the gloves that covered her skin. But Zoro knew.

He knew because the moment he touched her, she fell out of the hex as if a fire burst from within her. Her body was warm again, her skin soft and freckled. He pulled her closer, encircling her in his arms as her heartbeat came back, matching his own. He whispered as he gently removed her veil, "I found you...witch."

As soon as the veil fell off, her warm brown eyes found his as they brimmed with tears. "Zoro...I was so scared."

She buried her head into his chest, and Zoro held his own breath. For a moment, the world was still as all he could do was stare at her and bring her ever closer, tighter - lest he release all his fury at the beast that caused her to cry.

But before he could say anything, Absalom shouted for his creatures to take hold of them as he charged for Zoro's swords. He grimaced at leaving his precious blades unprotected, but he stood fast as his large wings expanded again and surrounded himself and Nami to wade off the oncoming attacks. Zoro was about to slash with a free hand when Nami pressed a trembling hand to his chest, pushing him back.

She stepped forward, out of his protective wings, and aimed her gaze at the running beast-man. She raised her arm and, with a ferocity that was unbecoming of her, whispered, "Gust Sword."

Zoro could barely see it as a bubble formed from her fingertips and flew towards Absalom, who did not even register it until it popped right before his eyes. The last sight he saw was the woman who came for his life, as promised. A fierce wind slashed at him, throwing his body through the building and clear into the darkness and storm beyond.

All Zoro could do was watch as he felt the energy pulse off her. She was certainly more than what she appeared, and he was about to applaud her for her skills when she staggered back, clutching her head in pain.

"Nami!" he cried as she fell into his open arms. He should have known that Nami was fighting since she had been taken, not with her physical body but with her energy - a massive mental drain for even the most trained of shamans. She had reached out to him through her mind and soul, even as Absalom had hexed her into that frozen state. He scooped her into his arms, flew to his swords, and was about to exit when Nami pulled at his long green locks for his attention. His red eyes glanced at her flushed face as she managed to speak.

"We can't leave them..." He was about to protest when she continued, "They will never be free unless I release them from his hex."

Zoro noted that the zombies and brides were coming back to life, still tied to their ruler's demands. He looked around and then at her, trying to explain practically, "You don't have the energy."

"But we do..." she spoke, gathering her strength inside her. She looked up at him again, adamant. "I'll be borrowing some of yours."

Before Zoro could question how she could do that, she looped a hand around his neck and pulled him down, her lips grazing his before the energy radiated out of her. With a flash of light, the bones and bodies fell, iridescent flames and flickers rising from the graveyards and chaos and floating to the heavens.

Zoro could not understand it until the ghostly faces appeared, smiling at her and echoing silent thanks as Nami drifted into sleep in his arms. He blinked, trying to comprehend what had just happened. He has heard of borrowed magic, but it often meant the one giving would undoubtedly lose their life. Magic, even in this world, was finite. And yet...he looked down at the woman gently snoring against his chest, the dried trail of a single tear left on her sleeping face; she pulled it out of him and into herself and then into every creature in this place. He could feel it as the moonlight shone brighter, and the rain now seemed to cleanse the palace and all its inhabitants of the evil that impressed them.

Not sensing Absalom's energy anymore, he beat his wings, and in one swift movement, they soared into the night sky. Zoro peered down at the power he held in his arms, quiet and unaware of the effect she was having on him.