The air inside Shakky's Rip-Off Bar hung thick with salt spray, blood, and something far worse – the cloying, rotten-sweet stench of the Resin. Outside, the once-lively grove of Sabaody Archipelago had dissolved into a nightmare chorus of guttural snarls and the wet thud of bodies hitting bubble-coated roots. Inside, desperation clung like sweat.
Shakky, her usually languid posture coiled tight, braced against the bar's grimy window frame. The polished wood of her rifle stock was slick under her palms. Crack! Another shot, another infected figure – a fishman whose scales had turned a sickly, weeping grey – crumpling onto the mangroves. "Henrick! Left window's buckling!" she called, her voice a rasp cutting through the din. Sweat plastered strands of dark hair to her temples.
Henrick, a mountain of muscle and scarred, grey-blue skin, filled the doorway. His hammerhead profile was stark against the fractured light filtering through the barricaded door. He fired his own rifle with devastating force, the recoil absorbed by shoulders used to swinging forge hammers. "Holding!" he roared back, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. But his eyes, usually sharp and intelligent beneath their heavy brow ridge, flickered with an unnatural, feverish light. Sweat beaded on his skin, not just from exertion, but from the unnatural heat radiating from within. Empty shell casings littered the floor around his massive feet like metallic confetti. "Fia! The children?" His voice cracked.
At the center of the bar, Fia knelt, trembling. Her coral-pink hair, usually vibrant, was lank and dull. The iridescent sheen on her skin seemed muted, sickly. Her legs were tucked beneath her, but a faint pattern of scales shimmered faintly along her calves, a ghost of her true nature. She clutched her daughter, Lulee, to her chest. The twelve-year-old whimpered, her small body radiating unnatural heat. Lulee's lower half was still a magnificent, shimmering goldfish tail, its vibrant coral-pink and deep orange-red hues now marred by streaks of that viscous, grey Resin oozing from her pores. Her skin, scattered with pearl-like markings, felt burning hot under Fia's touch.
"They burn, Henrick," Fia whispered, her voice raw with terror. "Like fire inside." She hummed a snatch of an old Fishman Island lullaby, a desperate attempt to soothe herself as much as her daughter.
Suddenly, Lulee stiffened. A low, guttural growl, utterly alien, tore from her throat. Her ocean-blue eyes, flecked with gold, rolled back, showing only milky white. Her small hands, tipped with delicate claws, snapped up and clawed at her own neck, raking bloody lines through her shimmering skin. "Lulee! No, sweetheart, stop!" Fia screamed, trying to pin the girl's flailing arms.
Lulee's tail thrashed with terrifying, violent energy. It slammed against the floorboards, cracking the wood, sending splinters flying. The heavy fin whipped through the air with dangerous force, knocking over a stool. She convulsed, writhing on the ground, a creature of beauty turned feral, her tail a blur of desperate, uncontrolled motion.
Henrick spun from the door, his face a mask of anguish. "FIA!" His cry was a raw wound.
In that split-second of distraction, Geo moved. The nine-year-old boy, his silver-blue hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, had been huddled near his mother, trembling. Now, with a speed that belied his size and the unnatural heat radiating from him, he lunged. Not at the door, not at the windows, but at Fia's exposed neck. His small jaw unhinged, revealing sharp, fishman teeth, one front tooth conspicuously missing. A predatory snarl ripped from him.
Shakky moved like smoke. One moment she was at the window, the next she was between Geo and Fia. Not with the rifle's muzzle, but with the heavy wooden stock. She brought it down in a short, brutal arc. Thud. The impact was sickeningly solid. Geo's snarl cut off abruptly. His small body went limp, crumpling to the floor beside his thrashing sister. A trickle of blood, startlingly red against his grey-tinged skin, welled from his temple.
"He's out, he'll be—" Shakky started, her voice tight but calm.
Henrick's roar drowned her out. It wasn't human, wasn't even fully fishman. It was pure, Resin-fueled rage. The unnatural light in his eyes blazed. He dropped the empty rifle with a clatter. His massive hands, capable of forging steel, curled into fists. He didn't grab his warhammers; the infection demanded raw violence. He charged Shakky, a juggernaut of muscle and fury, his movements terrifyingly fast despite his size. The air whistled as one huge fist swung towards her head, carrying the force of a battering ram.
Shakky cursed, a single, sharp syllable. She dropped into a crouch, the fist passing so close over her head she felt the wind of its passage ruffle her hair. She rolled sideways, coming up behind an overturned table. Crack! His fist obliterated the wood where her head had been moments before. Splinters rained down.
"Henrick, listen!" Fia cried, her voice breaking. But the plea died in her throat. She was staring at her own hands. The iridescent skin was darkening, greying. The pearl-like markings seemed to weep the same viscous Resin as Lulee's tail. Her breath hitched, then came in ragged, tearing gasps. She looked up at Shakky, her ocean-blue eyes, usually warm and kind, now clouded with the same milky-white film. The hum in her throat twisted into a low, guttural hiss. She pushed herself up, her movements stiff, jerky, her gaze locked on the woman who had struck her son.
Shakky lit a cigarette with a flick of her lighter, the small flame stark in the gloom. She inhaled deeply, the smoke curling around her face like a shroud. Henrick was already rounding the shattered table, his breath rasping, another fist drawn back. Fia was stumbling towards her, arms outstretched, fingers curled into claws. The air vibrated with their guttural growls.
"Well," Shakky murmured, the cigarette bobbing between her lips as she exhaled a plume of smoke. "Here we go."
She flowed backwards, avoiding Henrick's next haymaker by a hair's breadth. His fist slammed into the bar counter, cracking the heavy wood. Bottles shattered, spilling cheap liquor that mixed with the coppery tang of blood and the cloying Resin stench. Fia lunged, surprisingly fast, her clawed hand swiping. Shakky twisted, the claws tearing through the fabric of her sleeve but missing flesh. The lullaby Fia used to hum now sounded like a death rattle in her distorted throat.
Shakky danced between them, a shadow in the dim, chaotic light. She used the broken furniture, the overturned stools, the very structure of the bar itself as fleeting shields. Every dodge was economical, born of decades of survival in the shadows, but the relentless assault was wearing. Sweat stung her eyes. She couldn't strike to kill, not these victims, but disabling them without lethal force against a fishman of Henrick's strength and his infected wife seemed impossible.
A wet, tearing sound drew her eye. Outside the window she'd abandoned, the Resin wasn't just clinging to the infected. It was seeping. Thick, grey tendrils, like sentient slime, oozed through the cracks in the window frame, crawling down the inside wall like obscene vines. It pulsed faintly, emitting that sickly-sweet odor that now permeated everything.
Simultaneously, a massive impact shook the barricaded door. BOOM! The heavy wood groaned, splintering further. BOOM! Another hit, stronger this time. Something huge was outside. Something determined. The pounding echoed the frantic rhythm of Shakky's own heart trapped in her ribs.
Trapped. Henrick's bulk blocked the path to the back room. Fia lurched from the other side, her greyed skin glistening. The Resin crept down the wall, pooling on the floor near the still-twitching Lulee and the unconscious Geo. The door shuddered under another monstrous blow.
Shakky took a final, long drag on her cigarette, the ember flaring bright in the encroaching darkness of the bar. The smoke tasted like ash and inevitability. The family she'd offered refuge to was gone, consumed by the horror outside. And now, the horror was inside, closing in from all sides, with only her weary bones and dwindling options left standing against the tide.
*****
The rich, earthy scent of tea curled between them, a fragile peace in the impossible sanctuary. Marya's golden eyes, usually sharp as Mihawk's blade, narrowed fractionally. The warmth of the cup in her hands felt alien, a stark contrast to the chill of Eclipse across her knees and the phantom sting of lab water on her skin. "Who exactly are you?" Her voice was flat, cutting through the jungle's gentle hum.
Nanã Buruquê paused mid-sip, the steam momentarily veiling her weathered face. She placed her clay cup down with a deliberate clank on the dark wood table. "Oh, you are quite right, forgive an old woman's manners," she chuckled, the sound like pebbles in a brook. Beads clicked softly in her magnificent silver-streaked afro as she inclined her head. "Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Nanã Buruquê."
"Pleasure." Marya's reply was drier than the bone pit Bianca had tumbled into. Her gaze swept the sunlit room – the woven walls, the open archway revealing endless green canopy below. "Where are we?"
Nanã's lips curved into a knowing smirk. "You are here," she gestured expansively with a bejeweled hand, the bangles chiming, "with me. In my home."
Marya suppressed a sigh, the leather of her Heart Pirates jacket creaking softly as she shifted. Her denim shorts felt incongruous against the ancient wood of the chair. "And where," she pressed, knuckles tightening slightly on Eclipse's obsidian hilt, the permanent black void veins on her arms stark against her skin, "might that be?"
Nanã took another unhurried sip, her dark amber eyes twinkling with infuriating calm over the rim. "Dear child," she chided gently, "why don't you ask more pertinent questions? The where matters less than the why."
Marya's brow arched, a flicker of impatience breaking through her stoic mask. "Pertinent?"
Nanã's chuckle deepened. "So true to your lineage. Direct. Cutting. Like that sword you cling to." She nodded towards Eclipse. "Your father's shadow is long, even here."
Marya's jaw flexed. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, nothing," Nanã waved a dismissive hand, beads flashing. "So… about that quest of yours? The one tied to your mother's silenced song? How is it going?"
Marya studied the woman. The vibrant blouse, the layered necklaces, the sheer, unnerving presence radiating from her like heat from sun-baked stone. The jolly expression as she sipped tea felt like a mask over something profoundly ancient and weary. Marya took a measured breath, the scent of cedar and herbs suddenly cloying. "Let's just say," she said, her voice carefully neutral, "progress is… slow. Obstacles arise." Images flashed – Vaughn's lifeless eyes, the fragmented Poneglyphs, the gnawing guilt, the monstrous serpent bleeding void in the flooded lab.
Nanã opened her mouth, likely to ask another vague, probing question. Marya cut her off, her tone sharpening like steel. "What exactly is it you know about my quest? Truly know?" The air in the room seemed to thicken, the dappled sunlight through the woven windows feeling suddenly colder. "Why bring me here?"
Nanã's grin widened, revealing surprisingly strong teeth. "Now that," she declared, setting her cup down again, "is a relevant question." She leaned forward slightly, her amber eyes locking onto Marya's with unnerving intensity. "You and your quest, Marya Zaleska, are threads in a tapestry far older than you know. You seek to right the wrongs of the past. To return the balance that was lost." She paused, letting the weight of the words settle. "You will cut away the rot festering in the roots of this world."
Marya exhaled, a sound of weary frustration. "More riddles. Balance. Rot. Meaningless words."
"Only seeming riddles now," Nanã countered, her voice dropping to a resonant murmur that vibrated in Marya's bones. "Clarity comes with the cutting. As you progress, the path will reveal itself. For you are chosen." Her gaze drifted past Marya, out through the open archway to the vast expanse of mangroves stretching towards a horizon lost in green mist. "You, and one other…" Her voice took on a rhythmic cadence, like distant drums. "…will rally the lost souls, return them to their rightful place. The drums of liberation will beat once more…" She turned back, her eyes holding a terrifying depth. "…and they will be as resounding as the bells of your own Death's Knell."
Marya's brow furrowed deeply. Liberation? Death's Knell? The implications were staggering, cosmic. "Why?" she demanded, the word tight. "Why me? Why bring me here?"
"Because Achlys willed it," Nanã stated simply, as if discussing the weather. Her eyes flickered to Eclipse, resting cold and heavy on Marya's lap. "And Yggdrasil allowed it." She spread her hands, the gaudy bracelets catching the light. "We are all threads, child. Pulled by forces unseen. Woven into the cosmic pattern."
Marya's gaze instinctively dropped to Eclipse. The memories hit her like physical blows: the agonizing fusion of the blades, the searing pain as the curse snaked up her arms, the chilling emptiness as Law used his Ope-Ope powers to seal the Void within her, binding it to the sword. The feeling of becoming a living prison.
"He is part of it as well," Nanã murmured, watching Marya's reaction.
Marya's head snapped up. "Law?" Disbelief warred with a chilling sense of inevitability.
Nanã chuckled again, a low, rich sound. "The Surgeon of Death? Oh, yes. He is… well-known to the deeper currents. His blade cuts more than flesh."
A flicker of movement near the woven window wall caught Marya's eye. She tore her gaze from Nanã. For the first time, she truly saw the intricate stenciling bordering the windows. Not abstract patterns, but serpents. Long, sinuous forms rendered in shimmering gold leaf, coiling endlessly, their eyes tiny chips of obsidian that seemed to watch her. The design was ancient, powerful… and chillingly familiar.
The pieces slammed together in her mind – the colossal serpent beneath Sabaody, trapped in resin, bleeding void. The primordial deity before her. The golden serpents coiling around the windows of this impossible treehouse sanctuary.
Nanã Buruquê chuckled, the sound echoing softly in the sudden silence. "Took you long enough, Dracule's Shadow."
Marya stared, the warmth of the tea forgotten, the weight of Eclipse momentarily insignificant. "Are you…" she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, "…the serpent?"
A profound sadness washed over Nanã's vibrant features, deepening the lines around her eyes. She offered a small, melancholic smile. "It is a part of me," she conceded, her voice heavy with the weight of centuries. "A fragment trapped, suffering… screaming. But not the whole." She held Marya's gaze, her ancient eyes filled with a terrible understanding. "And you… you will be doing that part of me a great service when you slay it."
Marya felt a strange pang, unexpected and unwelcome. Regret? Pity? She opened her mouth, perhaps to offer… something. An apology felt absurd.
"You are not the one who wronged me, child," Nanã said softly, preempting her. The sadness lifted slightly, replaced by a fierce, quiet conviction. "What you will do… it is not vengeance. It is mercy. A release long overdue." She gave a single, decisive nod. "A kindness."
Marya absorbed this, the stoic mask settling back into place, though her knuckles were white on the cup. She gave a curt nod in return. "The tremors," she stated, shifting the focus back to the immediate, tangible horror. "They're tearing Sabaody apart. Caused by… the infection?" She thought of the writhing resin, the empty-eyed husks shambling above.
"Precisely," Nanã confirmed. "The imbalance festers. The rot spreads. Cut away the infection – sever its hold, destroy its source – and the tremors, the sickness… it will cease. The world groans under the weight of the wound."
Marya sighed, the familiar frustration rising. "And how? How do I cut away an infection woven into the roots of an archipelago? How do I kill a piece of a god?"
Nanã's earlier knowing smile returned. She leaned back in her chair, picking up her tea once more. "You are clever, Mihawk's daughter. Resourceful. You carry the Void and wield the Mist. You will figure it out." She took a slow sip, her eyes twinkling with infuriating certainty. "The path is yours to walk, the cut yours to make."
Marya sighed again, the sound heavy in the quiet room. She leaned back, her gaze drifting out over the impossible vista of endless mangroves bathed in golden light. A tiny movement near the railing of the balcony caught her eye – a small, wide-eyed lemur with impossibly fluffy fur, peering curiously into the room. Marya's stoic expression flickered for a nanosecond, a spark of instinctive delight quickly smothered by discipline. She forced her attention back. "Is this where…" she began, turning her head back towards Nanã, intending to ask if this sanctuary was connected to the Sunlight Tree Eve.
The chair opposite her was empty.
Nanã Buruquê was gone. Not a blur, not a shimmer. Simply… absent. As if she had never been there. Only the faint scent of her earthy tea and the lingering warmth in the second cup remained. The steam curled upwards, undisturbed.
A final whisper, rich and melodic yet carrying the vast distance of time, seemed to brush against Marya's ear, echoing not in the room, but in the quiet space behind her eyes: "Perhaps we will see each other again, Dracule's Shadow. Walk the path. Make the cut."
Silence descended, profound and heavy. The jungle sounds outside – the chirps, the rustles, the distant calls – rushed back in, louder now. Marya stared at the empty chair, then down at the cooling tea in her cup. The golden serpent stencils on the window frames seemed to gleam mockingly. She flexed her hand on Eclipse's hilt, the void veins throbbing faintly in time with her heartbeat. Mercy. Balance. Infection. The path was hers. And somewhere above, in a world drowning in resin and madness, a clock was ticking. She raised the clay cup to her lips and took a long, slow sip of the now lukewarm tea. It tasted of earth, secrets, and the terrifying weight of a task only she could finish. The fluffy lemur on the balcony chittered softly. Marya ignored it, her golden eyes fixed on the empty space where a goddess had sat.