…
CRACK!
Her nose broke first as my forehead smashed right into the centre of her face, and I felt cartilage give under the impact with a wet crunch that travelled straight through my skull. Vale stumbled, but I didn't let her get far.
My hand shot out and wrapped around her throat.
Her eye widened.
Good.
I wanted her awake for this part.
My fingers tightened until I felt her pulse hammering against my palm. Vale's cutlass jerked up, the blade scraping across my ribs, then my shoulder, then my forearm as she tried to carve enough of me open to get free. The steel kissed skin and failed. Again. Again. Again. It dragged over me with sparks of pressure and shallow red lines that closed almost as quickly as they opened, the edge no longer carrying the same threat it had a few minutes ago.
The yard saw it.
Vale felt it.
I felt her swallow under my grip.
"Not so sharp now," I muttered.
Then I drove my forehead into her face again.
Her head snapped back as far as my hand allowed, which was not far, because I kept her close. Blood burst from her nose, running over her lips and down her chin, staining the neat collar of her uniform. Her boots scraped against the dirt as she clawed at my wrist with her free hand, nails biting into my skin and dragging useless white lines across the skin already there.
Someone hit me from behind with a baton.
Then another.
Then three at once.
The impacts landed across my back, my shoulders, my ribs, but my body barely moved. The "pain" came in dull, distant pulses that were barely noticeable. A Marine screamed in my ear, maybe telling me to release her, maybe praying, maybe both. I didn't care enough to translate panic.
I headbutted her again.
This time, her mouth split.
Her teeth clicked together so hard one of them cracked, and I felt her breath break against my face in a wet, choked sound. Her eye lost focus for half a second before snapping back to me, still furious, still trying to command a body that was rapidly learning it no longer owned the situation.
"Voss!" someone shouted.
That made me hit her again.
Because no.
Not Voss.
Not recruit.
Not petty officer.
Not her clever little monster.
Just Kai.
And right now, Kai was busy.
A sabre slashed across the back of my neck. Nothing. Another Marine drove a spear toward my side. The point caught in my torn uniform and skidded off skin that had already learned how to refuse steel. Hands grabbed my arms, my shoulders, my belt, trying to drag me away from her, but all they did was give me more bodies to ignore.
Vale tried to speak.
My grip tightened.
The sound died in her throat.
I leaned in close enough that her blood smeared across my cheek.
"You talked so much," I said, breathing hard through my grin. "All that strength this, order that, weak people deserve it, blah blah blah. Where's the lecture now?"
Her lips moved.
No sound came out.
I slammed my forehead into hers again.
Her knees buckled, but I slammed her to the ground. The Marines with the rifle started reloading with shaking hands. I could hear the scrape of the cartridge, the frantic breath, the tiny metal clicks beneath all the shouting. The mark on my hand pulsed against Vale's neck, warm under the blood.
The rifle fired again.
Clink.
The bullet hit my back.
It did not enter.
Her face had swollen around the places I had broken, blood leaking from her nose, her mouth, the corner of her eye. A thin red line had begun to run from one ear, then the other, and when she blinked, more blood gathered under her lashes and slid down her cheek. The clean, controlled captain was gone, buried under bruised skin and panic and the wet sounds she made every time she tried to breathe.
I smashed my forehead into her face again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
"Come on, Captain!" I yelled, my grin still there even though my voice had gone quiet. "Tell me about strength!"
Vale's lips moved.
Nothing came out as I kept slamming my head on her face. This time, the marine behind me tried smashing with a baton as if they had worked earlier, but this time the baton simply broke on contact with my back, splintered in his hands, and the loose half spun into the dirt beside Vale's cutlass which she'd dropped.
I inhaled slowly.
The pain in my head sharpened.
Then steadied.
The wheel on my hand twitched against the side of Vale's neck, slick with her blood and mine.
Clink.
Something in my forehead changed.
Not the wound, because there wasn't much of one. Not skin. Not just bone either. It felt deeper than that, like my body had gotten tired of me using my own face as a weapon, and simply strengthened it. The ringing in my skull faded from screaming to background noise.
"Oh," I exclaimed. "That's disgusting."
Vale's one visible eye focused on me for half a second, and I think she understood.
Not the mechanics or the Devil Fruit. Not the whole adaptation thing in any clean way.
But she understood enough.
I had started adapting to the headbutts, too.
I pulled her closer.
"Seriously," I said, breathing harder now, my voice wobbling with something that wasn't quite laughter anymore. "Do you know how unlucky you have to be? You had one job. Just get me somewhere stronger!"
Her fingers clawed at my wrist.
Pathetic.
I headbutted her again.
Her cheekbone gave, and blood sprayed hot across my eyes and mouth. I tasted iron. I tasted dirt, and by this point, the Marines around us stopped hitting me.
A few still had weapons raised, but their arms had gone slack, sabres and rifles hanging uselessly while they watched. One man near the front had both hands over his mouth. Another backed away so fast he tripped over a fallen Marine and landed on his ass, scrambling backward with his heels digging into the dirt.
Good. Watch.
Watch what you ordered, you fucking cucks!
I shook Vale once by the throat, almost gently, as if waking her.
"Still here?" I asked.
Her head lolled, but her body twitched.
A thin, broken breath leaked from her.
I nodded, like that answered everything.
"Good."
Then I hit her again.
And again, I didn't stop.
My grin was gone by then. I don't know when it left. Maybe when the first part of her skull cracked. Maybe when her body stopped fighting. Maybe when some part of me realised I was no longer trying to win. My mouth hung open, breath dragging in and out of me, eyes locked on what was left of her face as my hand kept her body on the ground.
Again.
The impact crushed more bone inward.
Again.
Her head jerked loose in my grip, no resistance left, just weight and damage and the awful wet give of something that had stopped being a person before my body was willing to accept the fight was over.
A Marine vomited somewhere behind me.
Another whispered, "Please stop."
That one reached me.
Not fully.
But enough.
My forehead hovered over what remained of Captain Isolde Vale. Her head was ruined, broken open at the front. Fragments of bone were caught in her hair. Blood ran down her neck, over my fingers, into the collar of her uniform.
No breath, just a dead weight.
My fingers slowly loosened.
For a while, I just stood there.
Blood dripped from my chin. From my hair. From my hands. My forehead was painted red, but it didn't hurt anymore. I could feel a single injury on my body anymore. I flexed my fingers once.
The Marines nearest me had lowered their weapons completely. Some were crying. Some were frozen. Some stared at Vale's body and then at me, their faces carrying the same question in different shapes.
What are we supposed to do now?
Toma was still near the crates by the side of the yard, both arms wrapped around the little medicine bundle like it was the only real thing left in the world. Sergeant Mallor stood in front of him, rifle lowered but still held in both hands. Not aimed at me. Not pointed away either. Just… held. Like he didn't know what kind of man he was supposed to be right now, so his hands had defaulted to Marine.
Mallor's face was tight.
Disturbed.
Yeah.
Fair.
Even I was getting there.
Toma stared at me, his eyes were wide and wet, his cheeks streaked with dirt, and when I took one step toward him, he flinched so hard his shoulder hit the crate behind him.
I stopped.
Ah.
Right.
That was a thing.
I looked down at myself properly for the first time. My uniform was nonexistent. Blood-soaked fists. My hair was stained red, probably because white hair was very committed to picking up stains.
Still, I tried to smile at him.
Bad idea.
His fingers tightened around the bundle.
"Hey," I said, keeping my voice lower than before. "You got it now."
Toma didn't answer.
"Medicine for your sister," I added, like maybe he had forgotten, like maybe words could gently pick him up and place him back before the blood and the shouting and the part where I turned a Marine captain into a warning label. "That's good, yeah?"
His lips parted.
No sound came out.
His eyes flicked past me, toward the yard.
Toward Vale.
Then back to me.
He looked more scared of me than he had been of her.
My smile faded.
"Yeah," I muttered. "Okay."
Mallor shifted slightly, placing more of himself between the kid and me without fully raising the rifle. He was scared, too. I could see it in his jaw, in the way his fingers tightened. But he still stood there.
Between Toma and me.
Interesting.
I looked at him.
"Sergeant Mallor."
His throat moved. "Officer Voss."
The name sounded wrong coming from him now.
I didn't correct him.
Not yet.
"Take him to his sister."
Mallor's eyes narrowed slightly, like he expected a trick. "You're letting him leave?"
I stared at him for a second.
Then I laughed once, short and ugly.
"Bro, what do you think all this was for?"
His eyes flicked to Vale again.
I followed the look.
Ah.
Yeah.
Valid question, actually. I rubbed a hand over my mouth, realised it was still wet with blood, and immediately regretted all my life choices.
"Take him," I said again. "Now. Before anyone in this yard decides they're stupid."
Mallor looked at Toma, then lowered his rifle completely. "Come on, lad."
Toma didn't move at first.
Mallor crouched slightly, not touching him, just bringing himself lower.
"Your sister needs that medicine, doesn't she?"
That worked.
Barely.
Toma nodded, tiny and stiff.
"Then we go," Mallor said.
The kid moved like his body had forgotten how walking worked. One foot, then the other, clutching the bundle so hard I thought he might tear the cloth. He gave me the widest possible path without actually running, and every step he took made the thing inside my chest twist a little harder.
I wanted to say something.
Sorry, maybe.
But sorry felt pathetic here. Sorry was what you said when you stepped on someone's foot, not when you traumatised a child while saving his sister's life. So I said nothing. I just let him pass.
Mallor followed him, but stopped beside me for half a breath.
"What you did to her…" he began.
I looked at him.
He stopped.
His mouth tightened. "She was wrong. What she did was wrong. But that…"
He didn't finish.
I looked back at the yard, at the Marines who still hadn't moved, at Vale's body lying in the dirt, at the pieces of the branch that now had to decide whether they were witnesses, accomplices, or future casualties.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "I know."
Mallor studied me for a moment.
Then he nodded once, not forgiving me, not approving, just accepting that the sentence had ended there.
He guided Toma toward the side gate.
Nobody stopped them.
I made sure of that. Then I turned back to the yard.
Every Marine in front of me stiffened at once.
That would've been funny ten minutes ago.
Now it just felt useful.
"Alright," I said, raising my voice enough to carry. It came out rough, scraped raw from blood, smoke, and screaming. "New game."
Nobody moved.
I pointed toward the main building.
"Vale's office. Ledgers. All of them. The one on the desk, the one under the floorboards, the one she probably thought was hidden because apparently evil people think wood panels are government-grade encryption."
A few Marines glanced at each other.
I pointed at one of them.
"You. Move."
"I… I don't know where…"
I took one step toward him, and he immediately recognised it.
"Yes, sir."
"Do not sir me," I said.
"Yes, Voss."
"Don't love that either, but it'll do."
He ran, and three others followed after him. I didn't tell them to, but sure.
"Medicine stock. Bring it out. Food stores, too. Anything Vale was holding back from the town because someone missed a second payment, third payment, secret payment, emotional support payment, whatever she called it."
More hesitation, and the yard had that sick little pause people get when they are waiting for someone else to volunteer first.
I smiled.
A few of them went pale. A few Marines immediately dropped their weapons and raised their hands. One man actually sat down in the dirt as his legs had given out. Two others bolted for the far gate. Another officer near the barracks shouted that this was mutiny and drew his pistol, which was brave, loud, and very short-lived.
He aimed at me.
Mallor, halfway to the side gate with Toma, stopped.
I saw the officer's finger tighten.
I moved.
"I can start picking names," I said. "Or you can start walking."
The branch fractured all at once.
The shot cracked across the yard, but I was already inside his reach. The bullet clipped my shoulder, deflected, and vanished behind me. I grabbed the pistol, crushed the barrel shut around his hand, and watched his face process every mistake that had brought him to this moment.
"Bad timing," I said.
Then I punched him in the chest.
He dropped like a sack of flour with a pension. The two running for the gate got further than him. Credit where it's due. They had cardio. Unfortunately, they also had the tactical depth of startled pigeons. I picked up a fallen rifle, not to shoot, because gross, but to throw.
The first rifle spun across the yard and cracked into the back of one runner's knees. He went down face-first. I threw a second one at the other runner's shoulder, and he hit the gate so hard his helmet bounced off the wood before he slid down it.
"Anyone else got errands?" I asked.
No one did.
Mallor had seemingly returned now, and he looked at the unconscious officer.
Then, at the two runners.
Then at me.
That got people's attention; he was one of the most influential people on the island, behind Vale, of course.
Mallor picked up his rifle from where he had lowered it, checked the chamber, then removed the ammunition and set both rifle and cartridge pouch on the ground. After that, he turned to the Marines.
"Enough," he said.
His voice was very gruff and loud
"Any man who helped Captain Vale take protection fees from civilians will place his weapon down and kneel by the wall. Any man who falsified store records will do the same. Any man who knew and stayed quiet…"
He paused.
His face tightened.
That one included him.
It included a lot of them.
"…will stand by the centre line and wait to give a statement."
A Marine near the front snapped, "You're taking orders from him?"
Mallor looked at me.
Then at Vale.
Then back to the Marine.
"No," he said. "I'm taking responsibility too late."
That shut the man up.
Huh.
Good line.
…
End of Chapter!
Word Count - 2741