…
Bodies were everywhere.
Not dead.
Look, I was trying to be better about the whole murder thing, but there are only so many grown men you can punch through weapon racks before you start losing track of who is unconscious, who is pretending to be unconscious, or, you know, dead.
Very different categories.
One Marine came at me from the left with his sabre raised high, face twisted up like he had decided this was his big hero moment. Poor guy. The confidence was almost cute. He swung down with both hands, aiming for the side of my neck, and I let it land because at this point, testing was important.
The blade hit my skin.
It stopped.
It just bit in a little, barely enough to draw a thin red line, then refused to go any deeper.
The Marine stared.
I stared back.
Then I slowly looked down at the sabre pressed against my shoulder.
"Damn," I said. "Budget cuts hitting the steel now, too?"
His mouth opened.
I grabbed his wrist, twisted, and felt something pop, making several nearby people physically recoil. He dropped the sabre with a strangled noise, so I caught it before it hit the dirt and smacked him across the face with the flat of his own blade.
He folded.
Educational.
Very customer-service-friendly, actually, because I helped him lie down.
Another Marine rushed in before the first one even finished eating dirt, blade flashing across my ribs. That one had more force behind it. More technique, too The sabre scraped across my side, opened my uniform, and drew a shallow line through skin that closed before the blood could properly enjoy freedom.
He froze.
I looked down at the fading mark.
Then I looked at him.
Then I grinned.
His courage exited the building.
"Wait," he said.
"No, no," I told him, stepping closer. "Commit to the bit."
He slashed again, panic making the strike ugly. The edge dragged across my forearm with a squeal of steel against skin, and this time it didn't even cut enough to call itself a paper cut. My right hand pulsed with heat. The wheel mark shifted under the blood smeared across my knuckles, its pattern sitting heavy in my skin, warm and awake like it was enjoying the show almost as much as I was.
Clink.
The sound carried through the yard.
The Marine's eyes dropped to my hand.
I leaned closer, then I headbutted him, and he went down hard.
Somewhere behind the front line, Vale's voice cut through the noise.
"It's no use! Stop cutting him!"
There she was.
I turned my head toward her, wiping blood from my mouth with the back of my hand. Not my blood anymore, which made the whole thing either better or worse depending on the court case.
Vale's eye locked with mine.
I smiled wider.
"What's wrong, Captain?" I called over the yard. "Where'd your confidence go?"
Her jaw tightened.
Good.
Very good.
A Marine lunged at me from behind while I was looking at her. I heard his boots dig into the dirt and felt the shift in the air right before he drove his sabre toward my back. I didn't turn fast enough to stop the impact, but that was fine because the blade punched into my uniform, hit skin, and stopped.
He made this tiny noise.
Not a scream.
I reached back, grabbed him by the collar, and threw him over my shoulder into two other Marines rushing forward with spears. They went down in a clattering pile of limbs and weapons.
"Circle him!"
"Do not let him reach the captain!"
"Get the rifles!"
"Move, damn you!"
"Why won't he stay down?"
That last one came from a Marine who had already hit me twice and was now backing away with both hands shaking around his sabre grip. I liked him. Honest feedback. Five stars.
"C'mon then, I'm right here!" I said.
He blinked.
Then I kicked him in the chest hard enough to send him skidding across the dirt until he crashed into the water barrel near the wall. The barrel burst open, water spilling across the yard in a wide rush, and every Marine nearby jerked away from it as I had just released a sea monster instead of basic hydration.
I also stepped back immediately.
Because, yeah.
Still technically a Devil Fruit user, and I'm not trying to get no-diffed by a puddle in front of everyone.
Vale noticed, of course, she fucking noticed!
Her eye flicked to the water, then back to me. She wasn't stupid. Corrupt, cruel, arrogant, and apparently into emotionally grooming seven-foot-tall teenage monsters, but not stupid. That was the worst type, honestly. Give me a dumb villain any day. I can handle a man whose entire battle plan is yelling louder.
Vale raised two fingers.
"Force him toward the water."
The Marines hesitated.
I looked at the puddle.
Then at her.
Then at the Marines.
"Wow," I said. "Fuck you Vale!"
"Move!" Vale snapped.
The line rushed me all at once.
Not one by one anymore.
Finally.
Somebody in this branch had discovered teamwork after thirty casualties. The first wave was three Marines aiming to grab my legs while two more came high with batons. No sabres now. They had learned something. Very proud of them, actually. Unfortunately, growth did not stop me from grabbing the first man by the back of his uniform and using him to club the second man in the face.
A baton struck my shoulder from the right.
Hard.
That one hurt properly.
My arm dipped, nerves flashing hot from shoulder to fingertips, and the Marine who landed it saw the effect immediately. His eyes widened with ugly hope.
"There!" he shouted. "Blunt force works!"
"Snitch," I said, and punched him in the stomach.
He folded around my fist, but the others heard him.
Bad.
Very bad.
Batons came next.
A lot of them.
Wood and iron. Training staffs. Rifle butts. Someone even grabbed the broken half of the baton I had crushed earlier and tried to hit me with it, which felt personally disrespectful but I guess it's good to recycle.
The first few hits were messy. One cracked into my jaw and made my vision flash white. Another slammed into my ribs, and a third caught my knee from the side, nearly dropping me. For a second, the crowd surged, hands grabbing at my hair, arms, and collar, trying to drag me down through sheer numbers.
Okay.
Not gonna lie.
That one was unpleasant.
I went down to one knee under the weight of them, boots digging into dirt, bodies pressing from every side. Someone got an arm around my neck from behind. Another Marine hooked a baton under my left arm and tried to wrench it back. A third slammed the butt of his rifle against my spine.
Pain ran through me in thick pulses.
My grin stayed.
Not because it didn't hurt.
It hurt in the way that made my teeth grind, and my thoughts went white around the edges. It hurt in the way that reminded me I was not invincible. Every adaptation had a price!
Still.
I started laughing.
It came out rough at first, breathless and ugly, but once it started, it wouldn't stop.
The Marine choking me tightened his grip.
"Stop laughing!"
I wheezed, blood and spit bubbling at the corner of my mouth.
"Bro," I forced out, "you jumped me with thirty dudes and still sound insecure."
His grip faltered.
Clink.
Haha, my favourite sound!
The pressure in my ribs shifted first. The ache did not vanish, not completely, but it changed. The next baton strike hit my back and spread through my muscles without folding me forward. Another slammed into my shoulder, and my body absorbed it better, refusing to break under it. The Marine with the chokehold squeezed harder, and I felt my neck resist the pressure in a way it had not before.
My grin widened.
"Oh," I said. "That's nasty."
The Marines felt it before they understood it, and their weight stopped mattering the same way.
I rose slowly,
And not because I needed to be dramatic or shut up, but because there were genuinely about eight people on me, and lifting eight grown men at once is still hard. My legs pushed against the dirt. My spine straightened. Hands slipped from my uniform. The Marine around my neck started breathing faster as his feet left the ground with the rest of me.
Someone whispered, "Monster."
That word should have been weird.
And yet it slid right into the space Vale had already carved for it, but this time it didn't feel like ownership.
Yeah.
Maybe I was.
I grabbed the arm around my neck, pulled the Marine over my shoulder, and threw him into the group in front of me. Then I drove my elbow back into another man's chest, swept my leg through two more, and smashed my fist into the ground hard enough to kick up dirt and make the nearest line stumble back.
The pile broke.
I stood in the middle of them, uniform shredded, blood drying in streaks across my skin, breathing hard but steady.
The yard stared.
I looked toward Vale again.
She had moved farther back behind more Marines.
I pressed one hand to my chest in mock hurt.
"Captain," I called. "No way. Are you hiding behind your men?"
Her expression didn't twitch.
A shame, I wanted the twitch.
"Soldiers stand between threats and command," Vale said.
I laughed again, and a few Marines glanced at each other.
That made Vale's face tighten.
There we go. One of the officers near her, a square-jawed man with a lieutenant's insignia, raised his pistol.
"Fire!"
The rifles came up.
Ah.
That was less funny.
I moved before the first shot cracked through the yard, grabbing a Marine by the back of his collar and yanking him sideways as the bullet tore through the space my head had been in. Another shot hit my shoulder. This one punched deeper than the sabres, and I staggered half a step as blood sprayed from the wound.
Okay.
Gun.
Gun was still on the menu.
Rude.
More rifles fired, and the yard exploded into smoke, noise, and men shouting over each other. Something hit my thigh. Another round grazed my cheek. One slammed into my abdomen.
I nearly doubled over.
Nearly.
Vale watched from behind the rifle line, her cutlass still in hand, her eyes were cold but still laser. She was studying me, testing which damage stuck and which damage didn't, and I hated how calm she looked doing it.
Fine.
If she wanted data, I could give her a live demonstration.
I shoved two Marines aside and charged straight into the rifle line.
The first man panicked and fired too early. The bullet struck my chest, not deep enough to stop me, and I grabbed the barrel of his rifle before he could reload. I yanked him forward, brought my knee into his stomach, and tore the rifle from his hands. The second Marine swung his rifle like a club. I ducked under it and hit him in the jaw with the stolen rifle's stock.
Then the third shot me in the side.
Point blank.
That one hurt so badly my grin almost slipped.
Almost.
I turned toward him slowly.
He stared at the smoking barrel in his hands.
I touched the wound. Blood ran warm between my fingers, thick and real. The bullet was still inside. I could feel it. My body was working around it, trying to decide whether to push it out, heal over it, or throw a formal complaint to management.
The Marine backed away.
I stepped closer.
"Good shot," I said, voice tight.
He swallowed.
"Thanks?"
"Wasn't praise."
I grabbed his face and slammed the back of his head into the wooden post beside him
More shots came. One missed. One grazed. One hit.
Then another.
Then another.
The wheel on my hand burned hotter.
Not enough.
Not adapted yet.
Bullets were different. Cutting had been repeated. Blunt force had been repeated too, messy but frequent enough. Bullets were something I could lower the threshold of yet so I was forcing it now.
A round tore through my upper arm.
I hissed.
Another hit my ribs and stuck.
My feet dragged for half a step.
The Marines saw it.
Hope came back.
I hated hope when other people had it.
"Keep firing!" Vale ordered.
The next volley smashed into me.
I moved as much as I could, but even with my speed, there were too many barrels from too many angles. A bullet cut across my scalp. Another punched into my shoulder near the first wound. A third tore through my lower side, and my body lurched hard enough that I had to catch myself on one hand.
The dirt under my palm was wet with my blood.
Vale took one step forward.
Not enough to leave her human wall, obviously. Let's not get crazy. But enough to show she thought the tide had turned.
"You see?" she said, voice carrying through the yard. "Everything has a limit."
I breathed through my teeth. I could feel my arm hanging on by a small amount of flesh. The Marines closed in again slowly, rifles trained, batons ready behind them.
I saw Toma in the corner of my eye.
He was still near the steps, crouched behind an overturned crate with the medicine bundle clutched to his chest. Sergeant Mallor was the one who had hesitated earlier, had moved without anyone noticing and put himself between the kid and the chaos. He wasn't fighting me. He wasn't fighting Vale either.
Not yet.
But he was standing there.
That mattered.
Small thing.
Still mattered.
Vale's eye followed mine, then narrowed.
"Secure the child."
The Mallor stiffened.
"Don't," I said.
Vale ignored me.
"Now."
Two Marines broke away toward Toma.
My body moved before the thought finished. Pain screamed through my side, my thigh, my shoulder, but I crossed the space anyway, hitting the first Marine hard enough to send him skidding across the dirt, my left arm flying with him. The second got one hand on Toma's arm before I reached him.
Bad choice.
I grabbed the Marine by the wrist with my remaining arm.
He looked up at me.
I looked down at him.
His grip opened immediately.
Smart man.
I still spun him around and punched him
Not my hardest.
Toma stared up at me, eyes huge, face pale under the dirt and bruises. The medicine bundle was still crushed against his chest.
"You good?" I asked.
He nodded too fast, taken aback by the damage I had taken
"Cool," I said, then pointed at the Mallor. "You."
The man froze.
"Mallor," I said. "Take the kid and go."
Vale's voice cracked across the yard.
"Sergeant Mallor, you will not move."
Mallor's face tightened.
There it was.
The moment.
The part people love talking about later, like it was obvious, like they always knew what they would do when the line appeared in front of them. But lines don't show up glowing. No dramatic music. No narrator gently explaining that this is where your character arc branches. It's just a sick kid's medicine, a captain's order, and the knowledge that obedience has a cost even when you pretend you're not the one paying it.
Mallor looked at Vale.
Then he looked at Toma.
Then he looked at me.
I smiled, Mallor gulped, but then grabbed Toma by the shoulder and pushed him toward the side gate.
Vale's expression went flat.
"Traitor."
Mallor flinched but kept moving.
Good man.
Probably still complicit in a bunch of stuff, but hey, redemption has to start somewhere. Preferably with child rescue. Strong opening move.
Vale lifted her cutlass.
"Shoot them."
The rifle line shifted.
I moved in front of Mallor and Toma before the order could become bullets.
The volley hit me instead.
I felt myself stagger back, boots dragging grooves through the dirt, body catching round after round while Mallor shoved Toma behind the storage crates near the gate. Pain lit up through me, hot and layered and disgusting. My breath left my lungs. My knees bent.
The Marines lowered their smoking rifles.
I stood there with holes in my uniform and blood pouring down my front, shoulders rising and falling.
The bullets were inside me.
Several of them.
My right…stump twitched.
Clink.
The bullets began to fall out, one by one. The wounds tightened behind them, muscle and skin closing with a deep, burning ache that made me laugh through clenched teeth. My arm also grew back, regenerating almost instantly.
A Marine whispered something that sounded like a prayer.
I rolled my neck. One bullet fell from my abdomen.
Then another.
I looked at the rifle line.
They looked at me.
I smiled. "Round two?"
No one fired.
Vale's fingers tightened around her cutlass until her knuckles paled.
"Cowards," she snapped. "He is one boy."
I took one step forward.
The entire rifle line took one step back.
Oh, that felt amazing. I wonder if this is how Gojo felt after learning RCT.
I spread my arms slightly, blood still dripping from my sleeves.
"Come on then," I called. "Where's all that justice? Where's all that discipline? Where's that big Marine pride?"
Nobody moved.
I tilted my head toward Vale.
"Captain, your boys are being shy."
Her mouth twisted.
I could see it now. Vale liked fear when it flowed away from her. She liked being the centre of the yard, the one everyone watched, the one whose voice made men move. But now they were watching me, and worse, they were watching her hide.
So I pointed at her.
"You gonna keep standing back there, or do you need more employees to die on company time first?"
That did it.
Vale stepped through the line.
Slowly.
The Marines parted for her with the desperation of people who wanted this to be someone else's problem. Her cutlass hung low at her side, the blade stained with my blood from when she opened my throat. She moved like the whole fight had been beneath her until now, but I could see her eye. Focused. Angry. Careful.
Still dangerous.
Very dangerous.
My body might have adapted to cuts from normal sabres, but Vale was not normal. Her speed was different. Her technique was different. Her first slash had nearly killed me before my body caught up, and I was not dumb enough to forget that just because I was having the best mental breakdown of my life.
She stopped a few paces away.
"You think this makes you free?" she asked.
I wiped blood off my chin again.
"Not yet."
"You think breaking men weaker than you proves anything?"
"Nope", I said, popping the p.
Her eye narrowed a vein jumped in her temple.
Worth it.
Vale's blade lifted, but this time, I watched her feet.
The feet. People love staring at weapons because weapons are shiny and scary, but movement starts lower. Vale shifted.
I moved in a suit
Her cutlass flashed where my face had been. I slipped back just enough for the edge to pass my nose, then stepped inside and drove my fist toward her ribs. She turned with it, letting the blow glance off her coat instead of landing clean, and her elbow snapped into my jaw.
My head rocked sideways, but I caught her wrist before she could withdraw fully.
For half a second, we were close enough that I could see the tiny flecks in her eye.
She smiled.
"You are learning."
"Yeah," I said, tightening my grip. "Bad news for you."
I swung.
She ducked under my arm, twisted her wrist free with a movement that made my fingers sting, and carved her cutlass across my stomach.
It cut.
Not deep.
But it cut.
My grin twitched.
Vale saw it.
Her smile returned.
Ah.
The regular sabres had been solved, but Vale's technique was still finding gaps. Not because the steel was magical or anything, but because she knew how to cut. Angle, pressure, timing, all that sweaty master swordsman nonsense. It wasn't to the same extent, but I imagine it was like Zoro in Alabasta when he fought Mr 1.
Her second slash came for my throat again.
I blocked with my forearm.
The blade bit in, and blood ran down to my elbow. I looked at the cut, then back at her.
"Still not enough though."
Her next attack was faster.
I barely caught the movement. She stepped in, blade flicking from low to high, and I felt the edge open a line across my cheek before I could pull away. I answered with a punch that cracked the air near her head, but she leaned aside and let it miss by a disgustingly little margin.
Then she kicked my knee.
My leg dipped.
Her cutlass came down toward my neck.
I caught the blade between both palms.
The yard froze again.
Blood ran between my fingers as the edge bit into my skin, but the blade stopped. Vale pressed down with both hands, her face inches from mine, jaw clenched, eye burning.
I pressed back.
The cut in my palms deepened.
The wheel on my hand twitched beneath the blood.
Vale saw it.
Her expression changed.
Not fear.
Not yet.
She tried to pull the sword free.
I held it.
"Captain," I said, voice low.
Her eye flicked up.
I smiled at her through the blood.
"Clink."
The wheel turned at the same time.
The pressure in my palms changed.
The blade stopped sinking.
Vale pulled harder.
It did not move.
I leaned closer.
"Adapted~!"
Then I headbutted her.
…
End of Chapter!
Word Choice - 3666