Zoro
A strike came from behind. The little girl was in my arms before the thought even finished forming, and then we were airborne.
"HIK! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
No answer. Just legs, moving, carrying us away from whatever was behind us. Turning around wasn't an option—it would give chase regardless.
Running gave me time to analyze it.
The body of an insect. The head of a toddler, or something close to it. And protruding from its mouth—mandibles.
Mandibles. Inside a mouth. What the hell.
Ugly as sin didn't begin to cover it. My stomach turned just looking at the thing. That, and one other tiny detail. You know. No big deal.
*'ITS DAMN CURSED ENERGY IS INSANE.'*
Okay. A slight exaggeration. Naobito, Soya, even the Kukuru squad captain—all of them outclassed this thing in raw volume. But they kept it contained, pulled tight within their bodies. This spirit wore its cursed energy like a flood, like something spilling out in every direction with no restraint, no control.
Nothing like the spirits from the rift.
*'Those bastards. This is clearly a high-grade cursed spirit.'*
Semi-Grade 1 at best. Grade 1 at worst. That was the read, stacked against the Semi-Grade 2.
*'They want me gone that badly? Falsifying a mission—dressing up a Semi-Grade 1 as a Grade 3? That's not an assignment. That's an execution order. And damn, it's fast.'*
The gap hadn't widened once. Every meter gained was immediately reclaimed, effortlessly, like the distance between us was just a formality.
And every time a strike was about to land, it pulled back. Slowed down on purpose.
My gaze darkened.
*'It's toying with us. Wants to watch us squirm.'*
No clean solution was presenting itself, and the girl thrashing in my arms—terrified, confused, understanding absolutely nothing—wasn't helping the thought process.
"Hey, why are you running? And why do you look scared?"
Her face was pressed against my chest, away from whatever was behind us. Probably couldn't see it. But some non-sorcerers managed to perceive cursed spirits when pushed far enough past their limits.
"Hey, are you even listening to me?"
Not even slightly. Every scrap of focus belonged to the legs, the path ahead, the weapons stashed somewhere close.
The storage shed appeared through the trees—small, unremarkable, exactly where it should be. The daycare's equipment room.
A terrible place to hide weapons, by any reasonable standard. And yet—hidden in plain sight, and nowhere a child would ever think to go looking.
The girl hit the ground as soon as we stopped. The door handle didn't move.
*'Locked. Obviously.'*
The door didn't survive the kick.
BOOM!
Inside: chaos of a different kind. Educational materials, gardening tools, cement bags piled in the corner. The cabinet at the back. Behind it, exactly where they'd been left—the katanas. Secured at the left side in one motion.
A look, direct and serious, cut across the room toward her.
"Stay here. Don't move. It's dangerous outside."
A hand caught my sleeve before the first step out.
"Sniff… sniff… Where are you going? You promised you'd stay with me. I don't want to be alone."
Something tightened in my chest. Pushed it down.
"Listen. Not leaving—just stepping outside, that's it. There's a monster out there and it needs to be dealt with. Stay in here. Stay hidden. I'll come back."
A long pause. Then, slowly, a tiny hand rose between us, right pinky extended.
"Pinky promise?"
The smile came before the thought did. My finger curled around hers.
"Pinky promise."
She was tucked into the far corner a moment later. Then the door, and the outside, and the cursed spirit—waiting exactly where it had been left, patient, still, like it had nowhere else to be.
The enjoyment was written into every line of it, even without a readable expression.
Not a chance in hell was that going to stand.
One blade coated in invisible Haki. A charge. A slash.
SLASH
It jumped back—hadn't accounted for the intangible arc that followed the blade, stretching the reach of the strike far beyond the physical edge. Too slow to react. The flying slash took one of its legs clean off.
The advantage pressed immediately—a torrent of strikes, relentless—
Pain detonated through the left side. Vision blurred. Hand dropping to the ribs.
*'Broken rib—not now. Not now.'*
That split second was enough. Wings tore free from its back and it lifted off the ground. The damage dissolved like it had never existed.
*'Gone. Best shot, gone. It won't offer that again.'*
Banking on arrogance to close things quickly had been wishful thinking.
No way to close the distance now. A defensive stance, and everything poured into Observation Haki—stretched wide, sharpened to a fine edge, held there through sheer will.
The wait wasn't long.
WHOOM!
A twist, barely in time. The strike grazed past and the spirit plowed into the surrounding wall.
BOOM!
Stone exploded outward. A gaping hole opened where the wall had been.
Back into the air. Hovering.
*'One clean hit and it's over. Can't let it touch me. Not even once.'*
Another charge. Another escape. By less margin than the last.
The pattern held—over and over, the same exchange, the same rhythm. Observation Haki burning through reserves that were already running low. Every breath a reminder of the rib. The dodges getting slower. Sloppier.
Then, for the I-don't-know-how-many-th time, it hung above—mandibles clacking in that awful, gleeful rhythm, savoring the deterioration playing out below it.
Something shifted.
WHOOM!
*'It sped up—'*
BOOM!
The ground came up hard. Multiple ribs gave at once. The hands—
Shattered katanas. That's what was left in them. Brought up at the last second, just enough to blunt the worst of it. And through the haze, just barely—a faint black sheen on the broken blades, there and gone in an instant.
No time for that.
The damage report assembled itself slowly.
Left hand: gone.
Right ankle: sprained.
Ribs: several broken.
Everything else: spinning.
No path forward was visible. Winning wasn't even a concept worth entertaining. Surviving felt nearly as abstract.
Above, the mandibles clacked faster. And faster. Pure euphoria, stretched out deliberately, savored—until, finally, it decided the moment had come.
WHOOM!
*Sorry, Toji. You'll have to manage without me.*
The body rolled anyway.
Agonizing. Automatic. The strike missed by a breath.
Another charge. Another roll. Same result.
It kept happening—the mind surrendered, the body refused. Threw itself clear every single time, regardless of intention, regardless of the pain that came with it.
Eventually the confusion gave way to exhaustion, and exhaustion gave way to somewhere else entirely.
*'I hope she stays hidden. I hope it just takes me and walks away.'*
No chance of that. *'It'll go after her the second I stop moving. That's what these things do.'*
Then the memory surfaced. A tiny hand. A raised pinky.
A glance down at my own finger.
The shame hit like a physical thing.
*'I MADE A PROMISE. WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING?'*
Up. Somehow, up. Every broken thing inside screaming, and up anyway.
And then screaming back—
"GET BACK HERE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT. I'LL TEAR YOU APART."
One hand raised. No blade. Just the hand, wrapped in Armament Haki, held like there was something in it.
No hesitation on its end. It charged.
Within a few meters, the arm came down.
BOOM!