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As a crew on the Grand Line, they’d already fallen victim to some fascinating dangers. At the island they were currently pulling up to, ‘fascinating’ just didn’t quite cut it.
Dark.
Spooky.
Eerie, maybe?
The entire island seemed to carry a sense of foreboding that for some reason the captain managed to completely ignore. Either that, or he had such undying confidence in his crew’s ability to overcome anything that it simply didn’t phase him.
Perhaps the rolling fog, gnarled skeletons of trees, buildings peeling and crumbling, presented as something as equally sombre as Trafalgar Law himself. It was no secret he was attracted to the macabre. Being given the epithet ‘the surgeon of death’ didn’t help.
Anyway, creepy setting or not, they needed supplies and it just so happened that this was the next place available on their journey.
As the Hearts made their way one by one off the gangplank of the Polar Tang and onto the crunchy, leafy ground of their new surroundings, the chill October air nipped at their cheeks and noses.
It was still daylight, but barely any light broke through the dense fog.
There was a distant howling that Uni reassured the group was likely just the wind. Though, this reassurance did little to wipe the glum looks off everyone’s faces.
The further inland they ventured, the more they cast each other uncomfortable glances as they passed abandoned building after abandoned building.
“Captain,” Hakugan spoke up, “are you really sure about this?”
Law took everything in. Despite initial appearances, there were signs of life if you looked closely enough. A hastily stamped out fire. Fresh boot prints in the mud. Rows of identically shabby houses, doors shut firmly against the autumn chill. But, not a soul in sight.
“The curtains are drawn,” Law explained, “if nobody was here, why would all the curtains be drawn?”
The Hearts followed their captain’s gaze, peering into each grotty window.
“A trick to get rid of pirates? Make them think nobody’s home?” Clione piped up.
Law nodded.
“Stay on your toes.”
Before long, the crew had wandered into the town square, where in the middle stood a rotting wooden sign next to a faded map in the centre of an elaborate network of diverging paths.
“We should split up, Captain,” Jean Bart suggested, “that way we can cover more ground.”
The captain nodded his approval. With a sigh, he withdrew a pretty silver pocket watch from the back pocket of his jeans and opened it with a satisfying click.
“Ok, I want everyone to stay in pairs. Each pair will take a different route, grab supplies and meet back here within two hours. Understood?”
There was a hearty chorus of ‘aye, Captain!’ then, as instructed, everyone split off in pairs, leaving the man alone with nothing but the ominous fog and the creaking of a nearby gate.
On with the mission.
As Law wandered off on the winding uphill path to the church, a chill seemed to creep up his spine. Memories of trailing along with his other classmates to the local church, a smiling Sister playing shepherd to the flock. He hadn’t let himself near a church since then. Yet duty pulled him towards the eerie looking building regardless.
He hoped that when he knocked on those rotting mahogany doors that no answer would come. That way, he had a good enough excuse to turn tail and return empty-handed. But alas. Life had never laid fortune in Law’s lap, and when he rapped his tattooed knuckles on the door, it swung open with a bone chilling creak.
Each step on consecrated ground seemed to reverberate around the stone walls as he dragged himself past pew after pew.
Last time Law had been in a church, he was… nine? Ten, maybe? His mind admittedly ran hazy on the details when it came to his past. Some time before all the shit had hit the fan, before the disaster that would unknowingly lead to a life of theft and endless battles.
Before he could reminisce any further, the very doors he walked through slammed shut behind him, drenching the room in darkness.
Great.
Was this even worth the hassle at this point?
Just as he held his hand out in front of him ready to shambles out of there, candles held in tall iron holders ignited one by one. In the dim light, Law could just about make out the foreboding fog from earlier brushing against his legs, snaking its way through the pews.
And a more troubling sight still.
In the frontmost pew, a dark feathered coat thrown over broad shoulders, head adorning a scarlet hat, sat a figure. An unmistakable figure. A father figure? Though that didn’t feel right.
Either way, Law stood frozen in place.
Never one to spook easily, he was deeply concerned by the goosebumps littering his skin, the heart thumping loudly in his chest.
If only he could turn around, escape from his past as it slowly rose from its seat, but he was glued to the spot.
When the figure turned to him with a wide, warm grin, that’s when the tears leaked from tired eyes, skating down his cheeks.
It was instinct that had him rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Corazón’s waist, holding him tight. Law let himself breathe in the all too familiar scent of cigarette smoke mixed with singed feathers. Crying like a child. Clinging onto warmth from the very body that lay rotting buried deep in snow, so Law could carry on clinging onto hope. God, he’d missed him…
Suddenly, there was a sharp, searing pain in his side as a blade sank into flesh. Law shoved Corazón away and stared down in disbelief at the knife, crimson blood dripping onto the worm infested church floor.
“Cora-san…?”
When he looked up, the man in the raven feathered coat was long gone. In his place stood a tall, wiry man in a flowing cloak, a wicked smile carved into the pumpkin that took the place of a human head. Law stumbled backwards, leaning against one of the pews.
What the fuck was going on?
***
Meanwhile, on a far less steep path, Penguin and Shachi made their way towards a local hotel of sorts. At least, that was their closest guess. It had been the only building in sight with doors swung wide open, inviting in any guest that happened upon it. Plus, hotels were bound to have food, right? If it wasn’t abandoned, that was…
Both men moved with careful footfalls into the unknown territory of the creepy hotel and as they did so, each light came flickering to life, illuminating the vast lobby and every corridor beyond. Their chance of escape shattered with the slamming of doors behind them.
The two cast each other a wary glance. Shachi gulped. “Dude, I’m not sure about this…”
Just like when they were kids, Penguin reached out and took the other’s hand in his own. “It’s ok man, I gotchu.”
Steeling himself, Shachi gave Penguin’s hand a squeeze as they made their way through the lobby and onto the row of rooms beyond. Though it seemed their chances of finding supplies were dimming with every step, the corridor seemingly grew in length.
Just as they made it about halfway, the sound of a woman’s maniacal laughter echoed down the hall, bouncing off the walls. Both men stopped dead in their tracks.
“Pen?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you hear that too, or am I just really high?”
Instead of answering outright, Penguin gripped tighter onto his friend’s hand, practically dragging him off in the opposite direction. Where there had previously been a lobby, however, they were now faced with another corridor of rooms. That persistent fog from outside rolled past their ankles. None of them spared any time to the creepiness of it all. No thought of escape. They had to come back with something. To return to the crew empty-handed would be less than ideal.
On they trekked, some strip lighting above their heads flickering menacingly.
“There’s gotta be a kitchen or something somewhere…” Shachi found himself thinking out loud through gritted teeth.
In the blink of an eye, as they turned another corner, a flash of auburn hair as a woman streaked past the rooms and off into god knows where.
Where Penguin tried to continue down the carpeted walkway, tugging on Shachi’s hand and apparently unaffected by the apparition, Shachi stood stock still.
“Mum…?”
Pen regarded his buddy with one brow cocked, his head turned a little to the side. What was that about? Before he could inquire into this, Shachi wriggled free from Penguin’s grasp and raced off in the direction of the red haired woman only he had seen.
“Shach?! Hey!”
What on earth was he thinking?
There was no way they were going to make it out of here alive if they split up now.
With an anguished groan, the other man set off in pursuit, the fog growing thicker as it sneaked further and further into the labyrinthine hotel.
The more he made chase, the less confidence he had that he was even going the right way. It all looked so familiar and to make matters worse, every door he passed was adorned with the same golden number thirteen. Each corridor looked identical. Every turn the exact same. And worst of all? He’d completely lost sight of Shachi.
Penguin paused for a moment, chest heaving, doubled over with his hands on his thighs as the sweat poured off him. He had to catch his breath right away. There was no way he was leaving here without his best friend.
There was no way Shachi had gotten too far, right? Maybe Penguin was making all the wrong turns?
As he took in his sinister reality, a door, lucky number thirteen, of course, creaked open.
“Dad!?”
The figure that had stepped out into the hall certainly looked like his father. Broad shoulders, average height, the same dishevelled slate blue hair. Though, he had darker eyes, which he imagined made a nice contrast to his mother’s pale blue. It was a face he’d almost forgotten it had been so long.
When whatever it was that bore the mask of his father’s face opened his arms to Penguin, he swallowed the lump in his throat. His tears, locked away in the prison of his mind, were rattling against the bars. He swore he wanted nothing more than to run into those arms. Feel his father’s comfort again, feel the love radiating off of him. It didn’t matter how old a person got, you could still crave that parental affection. Still long for that unconditional love and acceptance. Someone older that could reassure you everything would be ok, and they would look after you. Sometimes, being the older of their main group had its downsides.
He found his feet betraying him, dragging him towards the man, when all of a sudden a singular rational thought crept into the forefront of his mind:
This isn’t real. It couldn’t be.
All of this was fake.
No matter how much he wished for it to be true, the man in front of him was dead. Buried beneath the icy soil and other detritus of his home island, his remains inches from his beloved wife.
This isn’t real.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Penguin walked right past his father, leaving him behind for the last time. Once he was sure he was shot of him, he opened his eyes, taking off at a sprint. He had to keep looking for Shachi. He had to get them both out of this hell.
***
Simultaneously, puffing and panting in a pursuit of his own, Shachi chased after his mother, only a few feet ahead and practically gliding hallway after hallway. Lord only knows where she was heading, but like a faithful pup, wherever she went, her son followed.
At the next turn, Shachi skidded to a halt. Before him sat a great dark chasm in the claret carpet, like someone (or something) had taken a huge bite out of the floor.
The floating figure of his mother turned around and with a sickly sweet grin she stepped further and further towards the edge of the gnarled floor.
“Mum? What are you-”
She left him no chance to finish his sentence. She giggled, her laughter reminiscent of that horrific cackling they’d heard before. Then, she dove into the depths. Pulse thrumming in his ears, Shachi wandered over to the very spot where she’d disappeared, and he peered deeply into the hole. There was nothing. Just seemingly endless darkness. A pit to Lord knows where.
But something was driving him to leap in after her. Follow her, it seemed to call to him, she would never let you get hurt.
Just as he lifted his foot and brought it dangling over the edge, someone else yelled out to him: “SHACHI NO!”
Penguin had just rounded the corner and raced straight for his friend, who was now teetering dangerously close to the mouth of the chasm. He grabbed the redhead roughly by the belt hoops in his boiler suit.
“What’re you doing, man, let go!”
“Are you crazy? Do you wanna die?”
Shachi scoffed. Penguin was the crazy one. Wouldn’t he do the same to see his mum?
“Mum’s down there, it’ll be fine-”
“She’s dead Shach!” Penguin’s grip tightened a little as unpleasant memories resurfaced, “we buried her. Right next to your dad, remember? And right next to my mum and dad. Just as they would’ve wanted.”
The redhead slackened, stepping back, both feet firmly planted on solid ground. He took a single shaky breath that broke somewhere in the middle as he peered into that gaping abyss below.
No doubt the exact same scene Penguin had recalled now entered Shachi’s mind. Two pre-teens, ankle deep in mud and debris, standing over their parents buried six feet under. Lost and alone.
“I saw my dad too, I get it. I wanted to believe he was real too, but… they’re gone, Shach. It was just an illusion.”
Wordlessly, Shachi backed away further from the pit and fell instead into Penguin’s arms. Gently, he stroked that wild ginger hair, the same way he did since they were little.
“Let’s get the fuck outta here…”
***
When the Hearts had finally regrouped at the rendezvous spot, they looked like they’d been dragged backwards through hell, bloody and burning, crawling out with their bare hands. They’d long passed the two-hour mark, but nobody cared. There was more than one gloomy atmosphere caking the town at present.
Bepo was sat in the dirt, hunched over, head in his massive paws, a measly bag of food by his side. Pale faced, Ikkaku and Kurage dragged a sad sack of medical supplies behind them. Uni and Clione, Jean Bart and Hakugan fared no better. Whilst the three of them sat in complete stunned silence, Clione was staring off into the middle distance, absent-mindedly petting Bepo, running dirty fingers through thick white fur almost as if desperately clinging onto the physical plane.
Pen and Shachi hadn’t let go of each other’s hands the entire time they’d been back. Though, they did manage to snag the biggest bag. As well as the mini soaps and luxury shampoo bottles both had haphazardly procured from the rooms, it seemed that in their desperate attempt to flee, they’d managed to locate the hotel’s kitchen at last. Nobody, it seemed, had come back from hell empty-handed.
Except, surprisingly, their captain.
The man in question hobbled back to the old signpost in the square, hand drenched in his own blood and sweat where he clutched at his wound. As soon as the rest of the crew saw his sorry state, they rushed to his aid. The girls dug into their fresh stock of medical supplies, doing their best to staunch the bleeding around the obstacle of the dagger sticking out of Law’s side. He panted heavily and shakily conjured an operating room large enough to coat them all underneath its bluish glow. His first priority was getting his crew out of here. He could wait.
“Shambles.”
Within an instant, everyone was stumbling around the deck of the Polar Tang. Home at last. The crew members who had elected to stay behind to protect the ship flocked around the group, faces contorted with concern.
“Captain?! What happened?!”
“I’m not in the mood… Let’s just get out of here.”
They paused for a moment before giving a quick nod and setting off to the helm. Whatever had happened, they could tell by the cold, vacant look in their captain’s eyes that it was a topic best left untouched.
The Polar Tang rattled and groaned into life, shifting them all further away from that nightmarish island steeped in that devilish fog. Had any of this been worth it? All this anguish and hurt for a few poxy supplies? Is this what they could expect from life on the Grand Line? Misery and upset, for very little reward?
As the vessel continued to pull away, on the coastline, Law could just about make out a dozen or so figures. Corazón. The nun from his school. His parents. Lammy. A smattering of other faces who bore an uncanny resemblance to certain members of his crew.
Just before the ship sunk beneath the surface and out of sight for good, each face slowly transformed into jack-o-lanterns bearing sickly carved smirks.
Then, nothing but the ocean.