The bone-littered cavern swallowed sound like a hungry beast. Bianca stumbled after Ember's fading giggles, her boots crunching sickeningly on ribs and skulls, the cloying stench of ancient decay coating her throat. Her overalls were a grim parody of cheer against the grey-white desolation. "Like, Ember! Stop! This isn't funny!" Her voice echoed uselessly in the vast gloom, swallowed by the sheer, oppressive weight of forgotten death.
She skidded to a halt at the edge of a deeper darkness. Rough-hewn stone steps, slick with condensed moisture and something unnervingly slick, descended into an even blacker abyss. Ember's cackle drifted up, already moving away down below. "Bet you can't find me, slowpoke!" the sing-song taunt echoed.
Bianca planted her hands on her hips, breathing hard. "Like, Ember, listen! It's not a game down here! It's gross, and scary, and Aurélie is gonna—"
"Ready or not, here I come!" Ember's voice interrupted, shrill and playful, drifting up the steps. "You can't make me stop! La-la-la!" The sound faded as she skipped deeper.
Bianca gritted her teeth, staring down the treacherous steps. "Seas damn it," she muttered, wiping bone dust from her goggles. Taking a deep breath that tasted of rot, she started down, each step treacherous on the wet stone.
Below...
Ember twirled, Mr. Cinders flopping, her steel-toed boots kicking up little puffs of bone dust. The oppressive silence of the pit was broken only by her humming – a twisted rendition of a nursery rhyme. Then, she stopped. Something lay half-buried near the base of the steps: a small, waterlogged book, its cover bloated and stained, pages fused together by time and damp. Utterly unremarkable in this ossuary.
But Ember froze. Her playful grin vanished, replaced by a slack-jawed stare. Her mismatched eyes – the icy blue and Syndicate-gold – fixed on the ruined book.
"That was your sister's favorite." Josiah's voice, sharp as a shard of glass, sliced through her mind, colder than the cavern air. "Remember? She read it every night. 'The Brave Little Tailor'. Always laughing at the giant. Pathetic. Just like her."
Ember flinched violently, clutching her head. "No!" she whimpered, backing away from the book as if it were venomous. "Shut up! Stop it!"
"It was YOUR fault she died," Josiah hissed, the voice relentless, filling her skull. "Your weakness. Your noise. They came because of YOU. And it'll happen again. Right here. Right now. Can you smell the burning?"
"NO! STOP IT!" Ember screamed, the sound raw and primal, tearing through the cavern. She stumbled, clawing at her temples, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I'm good! I'm a good girl! STOP!"
Bianca, halfway down the steps, heard the scream. It wasn't playful mischief; it was pure, unadulterated terror. "Ember!" she yelled, abandoning caution and half-sliding, half-falling down the remaining steps. She hit the lower level, lantern beam swinging wildly. "Ember! Where are you?"
But the lower cavern was a maze of towering bone piles and jagged rock formations. The beam revealed only shifting shadows and grinning skulls. Ember was gone.
Somewhere Deeper...
Ember ran blindly, Josiah's voice a constant, cruel whip in her mind. "Weak! Useless! Just like always! They'll die! All of them! Like Mom and Dad! BURNING!" She tripped over a femur, crashing to her knees amidst a pile of vertebrae that scattered like morbid marbles. She curled in on herself, shoulders heaving with silent, hysterical sobs that abruptly twisted into a low, guttural cackle.
"Burn it," Josiah whispered, a sinister edge to the thought. "Burn it all. Make the screaming stop. Make it all go BOOM!"
The cackle rose, gaining strength, echoing off the bone walls – a sound of pure, fractured madness. "Burn it..." she echoed, the words slurred. "All go boom..."
Bianca followed the chilling sound, her heart hammering against her ribs. She rounded a massive pile of interlocked pelvises and found her. Ember was hunched over, her back to Bianca, shoulders still quivering, the manic cackle subsiding into unsettling silence. The charred rabbit lay forgotten beside her.
"Ember?" Bianca called softly, taking a cautious step forward. "Hey... it's me. Like, just Bianca. It's okay. Josiah's not real, remember? He's just... in your head." She kept her voice low and steady, like calming a spooked seagull. "Let's go back up. Maybe Aurélie found cookies? Or... or I've got some nut butter?" She fumbled in a pocket of her overalls, offering a smeared, half-crushed packet as a pathetic olive branch.
Ember slowly turned her head. The look she leveled at Bianca wasn't recognition. It was the feral, wide-eyed stare of cornered prey mixed with terrifying intent. Insanity glazed her eyes, erasing any trace of the child Bianca knew.
"Make it all go boom," Ember whispered, her voice chillingly flat. Then, a malicious grin split her face. "Deeper," Josiah's voice seemed to hiss from her own lips. "The boom is deeper. Go!"
With a sudden, unnatural burst of speed, Ember scrambled to her feet. "Boom time!" she shrieked, the manic energy flooding back, but now twisted, dark. She didn't run away from Bianca; she ran past her, a pink-and-black streak vanishing into a narrow fissure Bianca hadn't even noticed in the cavern wall, leading deeper into the bedrock beneath the bridge.
"NO! Ember, wait!" Bianca yelled, lunging after her. But the fissure was tight, dark, and Ember was already gone, swallowed by the earth, her cackling echoing back like a promise of destruction. Bianca skidded to a halt at the jagged opening, staring into the pitch-black maw. The smell of damp stone and ancient death wafted out, carrying with it the fading, mad sound of Ember's laughter and the phantom command: "Deeper."
Bianca looked back at the sea of bones, then at the terrifying crack in the world. With a groan that was equal parts frustration and fear, she adjusted her goggles, pulled a small, dessert-themed glow-stick from her belt ("Lemon Drop Light"), cracked it, and plunged into the fissure after the unstable pyromaniac. The bone pit, a monument to past suffering, was momentarily abandoned, holding its silent, grisly vigil as the living pursued their tangled fates deeper into the darkness.
*****
The air in Sentomaru's makeshift command post still tasted faintly of seawater, scorched metal, and the sharp tang of industrial-grade antiseptic. Banks of flickering monitors cast a sickly glow, showing scenes of ongoing cleanup across Sabaody's scarred groves: Marines hosing down streets, medics treating civilians wrapped in thermal blankets, Pacifistas standing sentinel near the massive, bandaged wounds where tainted mangroves had been severed.
Sentomaru leaned heavily on the central console, the lines on his broad face etched deeper by exhaustion. His massive arms were crossed, knuckles white where they gripped his biceps. Across from him, Vice Admiral Venus Harlow stood rigid, her immaculate white trench coat replaced by a practical, grease-stained mechanic's jumpsuit unzipped to the waist, revealing her damp, collared shirt beneath. Her customized prosthetic leg gleamed under the fluorescent lights, a fresh smear of engine oil near the ankle joint. She chain-smoked a cigarillo, the smoke curling around her face in agitated spirals. Dr. Lysandra paced a tight circle nearby, her indigo-and-gold lab coat sleeves rolled up, her brass monocle reflecting the monitor light as she nervously polished it with a corner of her coat. The rhythmic tick-tick-tick of a cracked cooling fan was the only sound besides Lysandra's restless footsteps and Harlow's sharp inhalations.
"Damage assessment confirms structural integrity of the primary root network remains," Lysandra reported, her voice tight. "The resin purge was... messier than projected, but the seawater neutralization protocol proved fundamentally sound. Residual cellular degradation in recovered subjects has ceased entirely. Initial projections suggest full environmental recovery within—"
BRRRR-ZZT! BRRRR-ZZT!
The shrill, insistent warble of the priority transponder snail shattered the tense calm. The snail itself, mounted on a dedicated console, had morphed – its shell now gleaming yellow, its eyestalks drooping with an air of languid, unnerving authority. It wore a tiny, stylized pair of round sunglasses.
Sentomaru's jaw tightened. He exchanged a single, loaded glance with Harlow, whose cigarillo froze halfway to her lips. Lysandra stopped pacing, her hand closing protectively around her monocle. Sentomaru slammed a meaty fist on the console's answer button. "Sentomaru here."
"Oooohhhh, Sentomaru-kun…" The voice that emanated from the snail was slow, drawling, yet carried an undercurrent of immense, lazy power that vibrated in the metal floor plates. "Busy day, ne?"
"Admiral Kizaru," Sentomaru acknowledged, his voice deliberately flat, betraying none of the weariness visible on his face. "We've been managing a Level Five Bio-Containment Breach and Archipelago-Wide Environmental Collapse Scenario. Situation is stabilized. Casualty reports are still—"
"The Celestial Dragons," Kizaru's voice cut through the report like a heated knife through butter, "are making… quite the fuss. Seems one of their precious kin got a rather shocking welcome to Sabaody. They want the perpetrator. They want her… contained. Now." The snail's expression remained impassive, but the drawl hardened infinitesimally. "Update me. Where is the Dracule girl?"
Sentomaru's knuckles turned whiter. "Uncle, we have been dealing with—"
"Is she still on the archipelago?" Kizaru interrupted, the question hanging in the suddenly frigid air of the command post. Lysandra flinched. Harlow slowly lowered her cigarillo, her eyes fixed on the yellow snail.
Sentomaru took a slow breath, the sound harsh in the silence. "...Yes. Last confirmed sighting near the Shakky establishment in Grove 13. But Admiral, the context—"
"Good." Kizaru's voice was devoid of warmth. "I'm on my way. Shouldn't take long… even from Marineford." The casual mention of crossing such a vast distance in moments sent a shiver down Lysandra's spine. "Vice Admiral Harlow. Are you present?"
Harlow stepped forward smoothly, her posture snapping back to rigid attention despite the grime on her jumpsuit. Her voice, when it came, was crisp, professional, devoid of any hesitation, though the muscle in her jaw twitched faintly. "Present, Admiral."
"You have your orders. Secure the target. Ensure she is ready for transfer upon my arrival. The Dragons require… satisfaction." The snail's languid tone made the word 'satisfaction' sound deeply ominous.
Harlow's gaze didn't waver from the yellow shell. Her prosthetic leg shifted almost imperceptibly, a minute adjustment of weight. "Understood, Admiral," she stated, her voice cutting through the tension like steel. "Target will be in custody before you arrive."
"See that she is…" Kizaru's drawl stretched the words. "Wouldn't want to keep the good nobles waiting…" There was a faint click, a finality to the sound, and the yellow glow faded from the transponder snail, leaving it looking like an ordinary, slightly wilted mollusk.
Silence descended, thick and heavy as wet canvas. The tick-tick-tick of the broken fan sounded unnaturally loud. Lysandra finally released the breath she'd been holding, her hand trembling slightly as she raised her monocle back to her eye, her face pale. Sentomaru slowly unclenched his fists, leaving deep impressions in his palms. He looked at Harlow, his expression grim. "Venus..."
Harlow didn't look at him. She took one last, deep drag from her cigarillo, then crushed the ember against the console's metal edge with unnecessary force, leaving a fresh black scar. The smoke curled upwards, momentarily obscuring the cold, determined glint that had replaced the exhaustion in her eyes. "Move out," she commanded, her voice low and dangerous. "Full tactical deployment. Grove 13. Secure the perimeter. No one enters or leaves until we have her." She turned on her heel, the hydraulic whine of her prosthetic leg the only sound as she strode towards the exit, already barking orders into her own wrist-mounted transponder. "All units! Converge on Shakky's Rip-Off Bar! Priority Alpha apprehension! Lethal force authorized only if primary target resists! Move!" The command post doors hissed open, flooding the room with the harsh daylight and the distant sounds of Sabaody's painful recovery before slamming shut behind her, leaving Sentomaru and Lysandra in the suddenly oppressive quiet, the ghost of Kizaru's threat hanging heavy in the recycled air.
*****
The air inside Shakky's Rip-Off Bar hung thick with the comforting smells of woodsmoke, frying fish, and the faint, lingering scent of antiseptic. Two days had scabbed over the raw wounds of Sabaody. Sunlight, real and warm, streamed through the newly cleaned windows, illuminating dust motes dancing above the patched-up furniture. Fia stood at the makeshift stove Shakky had rigged in a corner, her coral-pink hair tied back, humming softly as she stirred a bubbling pot of fish stew rich with sea vegetables. The rhythmic scrape of her ladle against the pot was a grounding counterpoint to the lively chatter.
Atlas Acuta sprawled across the largest surviving couch, his rust-red fur brushed clean, though a thick bandage still encased his injured leg, propped high on a stack of salvaged cushions. His usual arrogance was softened by fatigue, a half-eaten dried fish snack forgotten in his hand as he watched the room with lazy, sapphire-blue eyes. Beside him, Galit Varuna perched on a stool, his long neck bent intently over his volcanic-glass slate. His stylus, carved from fish bone, scratched rapid diagrams – likely escape routes or tidal calculations – his emerald eyes darting with restless energy. "Optimal buoyancy for the sub's descent curve..." he muttered, oblivious to the playful chaos nearby.
Jelly Squish, a wobbly azure beacon of joy, bounced gently in place, his form shifting between mittened hands and a gelatinous hoop. Geo and Lulee, their youthful resilience shining through the lingering shadows under their eyes, squealed with delight as they took turns jumping through him. "Higher, Jelly! Bloop higher!" Geo yelled, missing teeth making his lisp pronounced. Lulee, her hammerhead birthmark visible on her temple, giggled as she landed softly on Jelly's springy surface.
Marya sat at the scarred wooden bar, the Heart Pirates insignia on her leather jacket catching the light. She nursed a glass of something clear and strong Shakky had poured. Her denim shorts and tall boots were clean, but faint smudges of resin stubbornly clung to the seams. Her golden-ringed eyes were calm, observant, watching Geo tumble through Jelly with a flicker of something unguarded – a softening around the eyes, a faint tilt of her head that vanished as quickly as it appeared when Shakky leaned across the counter.
Shakky propped her elbows on the bar, bringing her face level with Marya's. She took a slow drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling lazily upwards. "You know," she said, her voice a low rasp softened by a rare warmth, "I see just as much of Elisabeta in you as I do Mihawk. That quiet way you watch the world… like you're figuring out its hidden gears."
Marya raised a single, dark eyebrow, her expression otherwise unchanged. "You knew them both?" Her voice was level, but a spark of genuine curiosity glinted in her golden eyes.
Shakky blew out a plume of smoke, watching it dissipate. "Knew 'em? Honey, I drank with 'em. Back when the world felt wider and trouble tasted sweeter." A wistful smile touched her lips. "Never thought I'd see the day that stubborn hawk would find someone he cared for like he did her. Bit disappointed he kept you tucked away like a secret, though."
Marya took a slow sip from her glass. A ghost of a smirk played on her lips. "He's more selfish than people realize. Doesn't like to share his treasures." She paused, swirling the liquid. "Had plenty of uncles, though."
Shakky's chuckle was rich and genuine. "Oh, I bet you did. That man collected strays and swordsmen like... well, like I collect dust." She tapped her cigarette ash into a chipped saucer. "Listen, about your moth—"
CRASH-BANG!
The door flew open as if kicked by a startled Sea King. Dr. Lysandra stood framed in the doorway, her indigo-and-gold lab coat askew, mercury-streaked curls escaping their Sican pins, her brass monocle askew. Proto-Mono vibrated beside her, electric-blue and pink hair frizzing wildly, mismatched eyes wide, a half-melted bubble wand clutched in her whirring mechanical hand. "Oh good! I found you!" Lysandra gasped, chest heaving.
Shakky straightened up, one eyebrow arching elegantly. "Something I can help you with, Doc? You look like you raced a storm front."
Jelly immediately bounded over, morphing into a wiggling puddle of excitement at Proto-Mono's feet. "Glitchy friend! Play time!" Proto-Mono beamed, her static crackle intensifying. "Bouncy friend! Yes!" They immediately zipped off, joining Geo and Lulee in a chaotic game of morph-and-chase, filling the air with happy shrieks and the sound of Jelly's squishy impacts.
Lysandra ignored the play, her frantic gaze locking onto Marya. "It's the Navy!" she hissed, the color draining from her face. "They're coming! We stalled them at the lab perimeter, diverted reports, scrambled comms... but they've pushed through! Sentomaru's holding them off near Grove 9, but it won't last! And the Celestial Dragon..." She shuddered. "You have to go! Now! Hide! Disappear!"
A low, unexpected chuckle escaped Marya. She set her glass down with a soft clink. "Ah. That." She shook her head slightly, a wry, almost amused expression briefly crossing her stoic features. "I had forgotten about the electrocuted noble."
"This is no laughing matter!" Lysandra sputtered, wringing her hands. "They mean to take all of you into custody! Interrogation cells! Impel Down!"
Shakky calmly stubbed out her cigarette. "Sounds stressful. Maybe you should sit down, Doc. Have a drink. Takes the edge off those frazzled nerves." She gestured towards a stool.
Before Lysandra could retort, the door swung open again, more gently this time. Rayleigh shouldered his way in, followed closely by Henrick, the massive hammerhead fishman wiping engine grease from his hands onto a rag. Rayleigh's white hair was tied back, his face smudged, but he wore his usual easy grin. "Well, look at this! The gang's all here! Just finished the final seal on that sub of yours, Marya. Shipshape and ready for the deep!" He dropped a heavy canvas bag of tools near the door with a thud. "Alright, hey Doc," he added, spotting Lysandra's agitation. "Didn't expect to see you gracing our humble establishment."
Shakky gestured towards the frantic scientist. "Good timing, Ray. Doc here brings tidings. Navy's on the warpath. Heading this way."
Rayleigh's grin didn't falter. He scratched his stubbled chin. "Oh, are they now? Maybe they fancy a drink after their long march. Shakky's got the good stuff today."
Lysandra looked ready to combust. "Rayleigh! Will you please take this seriously! They have Pacifistas! Vice Admiral Harlow is leading them personally! They intend arrest!"
Rayleigh just chuckled, ambling towards the bar. He glanced at Marya, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, kid? What's the play? Feel like making a run for it? We could probably outpace 'em to the cove."
Marya pushed herself off the barstool, her movements deliberate. She glanced towards the couch where Atlas was carefully shifting his bandaged leg. "Running," she stated dryly, her gaze lingering on the Mink's injury, "might be a bit ambitious for some of our party." A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched her lips. "We could probably manage a brisk walk."
Galit snapped his slate shut with a decisive clack. "Based on my calculations," he announced, his long neck straightening with purpose, "taking the most direct route avoiding Marine patrol vectors... we could reach the cove in approximately seven minutes at a sustained walking pace accounting for Atlas's mobility limitations."
Geo immediately leapt to his feet, his eyes wide with excitement. "Does this mean we get to go on the sub now? Really? Finally!"
Rayleigh scooped up his bag of tools. "Well then," he declared, his voice booming with cheerful finality, "We'll see you off. And I can show you how that fancy bubble coating works. Don't want you scraping the paint on your first dive."
A sense of purposeful movement filled the bar. Fia quickly covered the stew pot. Lulee grabbed Geo's hand, her own eyes wide with anticipation. Atlas grunted, levering himself upright with Galit's immediate, steadying hand under his arm. Jelly and Proto-Mono paused their game, drawn by the sudden shift in energy. Marya adjusted the collar of her leather jacket, the Heart Pirate insignia facing forward. The respite was over; the next leg of the journey, beneath the waves, beckoned. The bar, still smelling of fish stew and smoke, felt suddenly like a launchpad.