Glug...
The slave trader’s eyes bulged as he clutched his throat, crimson bubbling between his fingers. He staggered back, the light draining from his pupils, and hit the deck with a dull thud. A few violent spasms—and stillness. He had never imagined a few drops of water could kill him.
"Boss?!"
"Damn it! Enemy attack!"
"Open fire!"
"Take him down!"
Gunfire cracked. Bullets stitched geysers across the surface, but nothing touched the shadow flickering beneath the waves.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
Water arrows hissed up from the sea, punching through throats and hearts with clinical precision. In monts a dozen bodies lay scattered across the planks, blood pooling in slick, dark sheets.
"What... what is that?"
"A Fish-Man..."
"How can he be that strong?"
The survivors stumbled back, ashen and shaking.
Drip... drip... drip...
The sound ca from behind them. A vast shadow rose and swallowed their world.
They turned, trembling.
A massive red hand filled their widening eyes.
---
A minute later—
Crack!
Panting, Fisher Tiger crushed the cage lock in one hand. "You’re free."
One by one, the captives crept out, bruised and shaking. Their gazes skittered over the corpses strewn across the deck and settled, as if by instinct, on the crimson-skinned Fish-Man.
"I’m Fisher Tiger."
He took in their numb faces and exhaled. Pointing to the crimson brand on his chest, he gave a faint smile. "I used to be a slave, too."
The brand stirred a small, wavering hope in the dark of their eyes.
"T-Tiger-san," a scrawny youth ventured, voice thin, "w-what do you want us to do?"
Tiger shook his head. "Ask yourselves. You’re free now. No one gives you orders anymore."
Blank stares t his words; unease hung in the air.
Poor souls, he thought. He had seen that hollow look too many tis.
When people are imprisoned long enough, their will erodes. Even once the shackles co off, the chains around the heart remain.
He softened his voice. "If you want, sail with awhile and roam the seas. If you don’t, you’re free to go ho and live as you wish. This ship will sail for three days. Use them to decide."
"No—I’ve decided already!"
The gaunt youth stared up at the towering sea bream Fish-Man, teeth set as if crossing a line he could never uncross. "I’ll follow you, Tiger-san!"
Resolve sparked and spread.
" too!"
"I’ll go with you!"
"Exactly, Mr. Tiger! Without you, we’re nothing but husks!"
"Please—let us sail free with you!"
They were still trembling, rags hanging from their fras, but courage had begun to seep back into their eyes like dawn light.
---
Days blurred into nights; a month slipped past.
Marineford, Marine Headquarters.
Inside the Marine Academy’s toxic-gas isolation zone lay the sa sealed chamber, bolts locked tight.
Purple miasma filled the room so thick a man could not see his own hand. The fus had etched the stone, leaving scorched, acid-pitted scars.
From the densest bank of gas ca a thin groan.
"Instructor Darren... I... I can’t hold on..."
Sitting cross-legged within the poison fog, Darren frowned. "No. Endure, Magellan. You only break through by persevering. Or would you rather rot in this box forever, cut off from the world?"
"I wouldn’t!" the voice rasped, raw with effort. "I won’t!"
The toxin roiled—and then stilled.
Darren sighed. He opened his mouth and drew a single, cavernous breath.
The purple cloud spun into a visible vortex, funneled down his throat and nose as if a whale had gulped the sea. His face blanched, then tinged cyan. After a few ragged heartbeats he suppressed the agony raging through his body and opened his eyes again.
For an instant, a cold light flickered in his pupils—and went out.
"That all you’ve got, Magellan?" Disappointnt edged his tone as he looked at the gasping figure on the floor.
Magellan’s eyes wobbled, unfocused, his limbs twitching. He lay limp as discarded cloth, mumbling, "Sothing... feels broken..."
Darren rubbed at his temples. What a line.
"Rest. I’ll check on you later." He stood and walked out without a backward glance, as casual as a scoundrel wiping his mouth after a quick tryst.
The door swung open onto a hulking figure in a hazmat suit, arms folded, gaze both baffled and disdainful.
"Young Darren... you don’t have so kind of strange fetish, do you?" Zephyr asked at length, voice low and skeptical.
Darren: ...
That chuunibyou Magellan and his nonsense. What am I supposed to do about it?
"I’m training him, Zephyr-sensei," he snapped. "You’ve seen it yourself—Magellan’s poison is at least twice as lethal and corrosive as when he entered the Training Camp."
Zephyr eyed him. "I’d like to believe that. But you’ve been spending a suspicious amount of ti with him."
Darren: ...
"Anything else?" he asked with a strained smile.
A prickle ran down Zephyr’s spine under the younger man’s stare. He cleared his throat and grunted, "Fleet Admiral Kong has called a high-level eting to discuss candidates for the Shichibukai."
To be continued...
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