Chapter: The Hunter Gets Hunted
The island of Omatsuri seemed like paradise at first glance. Waters clear as glass, beaches untouched by time, and a baron who greeted them with open arms and promises of games and merriment. The Straw Hats were charmed by the welcome—all save one.
Silas lingered at the edge of the crowd, crimson hair catching the sun like flame. His gaze never left Baron Omatsuri, eyes sharp as a hawk's. While his crewmates laughed and mingled, Silas watched. And what he saw, they did not.
Smiles too wide, too bright, never reaching the eyes. Conversations that faltered when they drew near. A wrongness in the air—subtle, but unmistakable. Like rot beneath fresh paint.
And most of all, he saw through the Baron's mask—both the one he wore, and the one he pretended not to.
---
"Such delightful guests!" Baron Omatsuri declared, his painted grin stretched unnaturally wide. "You must stay for our festival tonight! We've prepared such... special amusements."
Luffy's eyes sparkled. "A festival? Sounds amazing!"
"Count me in!" Usopp grinned.
Chopper bounced on his hooves. "Do they have cotton candy? I wanna see everything!"
Nami crossed her arms. "As long as there's shopping."
Sanji twirled, hearts in his eyes. "A festival under the stars with beautiful ladies? This island is heaven!"
Robin tilted her head. "This place has a strange scent. Sweet... but old."
Zoro yawned. "Whatever. Just point me to the sake."
Silas stepped forward, his smile easy, the kind he wore when danger was near. "Baron, might we speak in private later? I'd like to hear more of the island's... past."
The Baron's grin faltered, just for a breath. "But of course, my red-haired friend. Perhaps tonight, once the revelry begins?"
"Perfect."
---
That night, while the others reveled beneath lantern light and music, Silas walked alone. The path to the Baron's manor was dark, the air heavy with silence that swallowed sound whole.
The mansion rose before him—twisted lines, crooked walls, a place built by hands that had forgotten beauty. Silas had seen such places before. Evil had a way of shaping its own halls.
His hand rested on the flintlock at his side as he knocked.
"Ah, my curious guest," Baron Omatsuri greeted, mask still in place. "Come in. I've been preparing for our little talk."
He led Silas into a room dressed in oddities—arrows, strange flora, and bones arranged like art. Still playing the fool.
"So," the Baron said, settling into a throne-like chair, "what would you ask of our humble isle?"
Silas remained near the door, voice calm, almost idle. "I've heard enough."
"Have you now?" The Baron's tone held amusement. "And what is it you believe you know?"
"I know you're no longer a man." Silas's voice never wavered. "And I know something foul lives on this island."
The Baron's smile held. His voice remained smooth. "You're—"
BANG.
The first shot struck true, center of the chest. The Baron's eyes widened behind the mask.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Three more followed, swift and sure. The body jerked with each, the words dying before they could twist the air.
Before the echoes faded, Blood Fang was in Silas's hand. The cursed blade sang once, and the Baron's head fell clean from his shoulders.
The whole affair lasted less than ten heartbeats.
Silas stood over the corpse, wiping the blade with quiet care. No speeches. No hesitation. Just the end of a threat.
He'd learned long ago—evil loves to talk. To tempt. To twist. Better to silence it before it begins.
---
He dragged the body through the twisted halls, past the grotesque trophies and bone-laced décor. No ceremony. No hesitation. Just the weight of a corpse and the silence of a man who'd done this before.
Behind the mansion, he found a patch of earth where the soil was soft and the moonlight dim. He dug with his hands, blade, and boot heel—whatever worked. The grave was shallow, but deep enough to keep the worms busy.
He laid the body in without a word. Covered it. Packed the earth tight.
Then he stood over it, staring down at the mound.
"I used to be a bounty hunter," he said calmly, voice low. "Slayer of slavers. Killer of tyrants."
He lit a match, dropped it into the grave. The dry roots caught flame, smoke curling into the night.
"I don't care about your past. Or your reasons. Or whatever bullshit made you think this was justified."
He turned away.
"Once you decided you were after my crew… you were good as dead."
---
The scent hit him halfway down the trail. Thick. Sweet. Rotten.
It clung to the back of his throat like spoiled fruit. He followed it through the brush, past twisted trees and silent stones, until he found it.
The Lily Carnation.
A grotesque bloom, pulsing like a heart. Petals slick with something that wasn't dew. It reeked of death and pride.
Silas didn't hesitate.
Three shots to the stem. One to the core. Blood Fang carved the rest.
By the time he was done, it was mulch.
---
When Silas returned, the camp was quiet beneath the stars.
Luffy snored, hat tipped over his face.
Zoro muttered in his sleep, "Damn moss…"
Sanji stirred, eyes half-lidded. "Did the ladies leave already?"
Chopper mumbled, "I dreamed about cotton candy…"
Robin didn't open her eyes. "You smell like ash."
Silas didn't answer. He settled near the dying fire, pulled his coat close, and closed his eyes.
Just another quiet night guarding the ones he called family.