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The deck was warm, planks creaking gently beneath hands and feet, swaying against the gentle breeze that rocked the ship in unison with the waves. The sails picked up the wind, allowing the Going Merry to slowly wander to their next adventure. The wooden floors creaked, and the keel held strong, supporting The Merry’s crew. Merry’s family. The family of God.
God sat on the figurehead, legs crossed, just behind Merry’s face. God hummed a tune under his breath, occasionally singing louder in microtonal notes, letting the wind carry his voice across the ocean. The sun was merciful today; it was happy. It shone gently onto the water and sank into the wooden planks, seeping into Merry’s bolts and rivets, driven deep into her hull, patched over repeatedly with planks and scrap metal and love.
God pet her on the head, grinning happily. God was always happy with his crew. There had been a few times when he had been alone and afraid, and the clouds swallowed up the bright sky. He was never happy then. God was happy when he ate, when he played, and when he was with his Nakama. He loved his Nakama. He loved Merry.
She could feel them, wandering through the galley, pacing the deck, stretching out and soaking in the warm sun on the floor, napping in her belly, in their cots. Her crew was here, there, and everywhere. She could feel every grateful gesture they gave her. Stroking the railing on the deck, relaxing against the masts after a long day, ensuring her sails were tight, and her anchor had been sunk when they hit shore. The nicest thing she could ever ask for, however, is God. Every time he ran off for another adventure, he’d turn back, grin, and yell,
“Thanks, Merry!”
The gratitude warmed her like the sun warmed her planks. And she would creak in return; you’re welcome.
Zoro did not believe in God. He had never prayed, never stood before the altar, hands clasped as he accepted the wafer into his mouth, to become free of sin. Zoro didn't care about the dynamic of God and… slave? Worshipper? Puppet?
The issue was whether Zoro had free will if God existed. It was all part of God’s plan, right? Maybe, if God spoke it into existence, he would never be a master swordsman. All because of some random guy who never showed himself and let his creation suffer all day!
He still didn't believe in God. But he believed in his captain, and his captain was the closest thing to God he had ever known. He was not all-knowing; he was actually rather stupid. He certainly wasn't all-powerful; a water gun would take him out in two seconds flat.
But captain was all loving. So when he untied Zoro from his cross, denying his holy crucifixion, he would need to be repaid for his kindness, for his grace. Captain did not see him as sinful or demonic. He smiled and giggled at him, and he would poke and bite at him playfully.
He would earn his place on the ship if only to see his captain smile down at him for the rest of his days.
However, there is no debt owed to the Pirate King, nor God. Being saved by Him means forming a friendship with Him. Zoro learned this lesson swiftly. He had tried for a while to protect his crew, to atone for his perceived debts. He developed a strong trust in Him, getting to know Him intimately, and he couldn’t bear the thought of failing to protect his crew. His captain was strong, and so Zoro had to be strong, too.
So far, his captain had been kind, though occasionally annoying, falling overboard, accidentally eating all their food supplies, mistakenly throwing cannonballs into seafaring restaurants…
You know, annoying.
Captain had repeatedly placed His faith in Zoro, expecting him to remain brave in the face of danger. Zoro embraced this duty wholeheartedly. After all, how could he be strong if he didn't challenge himself? He pushed himself to the limits and beyond, far, far beyond. He believed in him, and he had to uphold that belief, to earn it. What value did the title of greatest swordsman hold if he didn't truly deserve it?
The colossal galleon had been torn apart, shattered into pieces. No, not torn, not shattered, cut. It had been cleaved clean in half, hundreds of crazed sailors stumbling, falling into the ocean as the hull dipped beneath the waves, pulling them deeper, dragging them down with it. There, only a few feet away, was the man who caused it all, the man Zoro had been searching for ever since…
He gulped, taking a step forward, daring Mihawk, the greatest swordsman, to face him. His hands shook as he gripped his swords, sweat dripping down his brow. He had searched across the entire East Blue, and now his adversary stood in front of him, taunting him with a small dagger, no bigger than the palm of his hand. He would earn Mihawk’s title, even if he died trying.
“Only a fool would use a cannon to hunt a rabbit.” Mihawk teased, shifting his weight, holding the knife loosely, his other hand limp at his side. An opening, Zoro had thought. He was stronger than that little knife. He was stronger than a rabbit.
He dashed forward, swinging his swords together, preparing to-
He stopped. He couldn't move; his swords were stuck in place. Mihawk smirked as Zoro finally caught sight of his obstacle.
That forsaken dagger stopped all three of his swords. The boat swung to and fro with the force of momentum, shards of wood drifting away. Not a single human being had ever had the gall to stand tall in front of his blade, let alone stop it with the equivalent of a butter knife. He shook his head, darting back. It was impossible. It had to be.
He lunged, aiming for the heart. Every strike was met with a parry, every blow was deflected, and every jump for the throat was dodged. He swore he saw Mihawk roll his eyes and sigh.
With a single push of that dagger against his attacks, he was knocked back, kicking up dust and wood chips as the boat rocked heavily beneath him. He heaved himself up, glaring at his opponent. The distance couldn't be so far. His dream couldn't be so unreachable, could it?
“How ferocious… You have no grace when it comes to swordplay, all strength and no skill.” He said plainly, hardly fazed. His ambition couldn't be so hard to reach. He couldn't fail; what would Kuina think? What would his captain think, seeing his swordsman fall at the first hurdle? Would he shun him, deem him unworthy of his captain—of God’s love? He needed to get stronger, he needed to win. Strength was all he had, so how could he still not be strong enough! He leapt ahead once more, shameless and brazen in the face of death. This, his final chance-
The pain radiated throughout his chest. Blood began to trickle down onto the planks of the ruined galleon. The dagger scraped his rib before being withdrawn. Those golden eyes stared down at him, and Mihawk slowly backed away, drawing his sword from his back.
“I'll give you the honour of dying by my real blade.” He said, eyes narrowing. All Zoro could manage was to nod his head in thanks, raising his swords to parry. Mihawk lunged forward, and Zoro swung accordingly. For a brief moment, he believed he had done it. He really had deflected against Mihawk. Perhaps he was strong enough.
His swords shattered, bursting into a million shards. He slumped down, his legs unable to take his weight. The sun beat down upon his wound, warming him, encouraging blood to spill out more. Stumbling, he tried to raise himself up, only to drop back down, limp like a sack of rice. He dropped his broken swords, heaving himself up to face his adversary and spread his arms wide, muscles aching with the weight of himself and God’s expectation. Mihawk faltered, his face dropping for only a moment, before swinging once more with all his might.
Blood gushed from the wound, bright vermilion streaks bursting from his chest as he fell limp on the warm wooden planks, the sea spraying onto his arms and back, soothing him. The warm breeze tousled his hair, and the sun glared down upon him.
“ZORO!” He vaguely heard God scream, the sound echoing in his mind. The wound throbbed, steadily pouring out blood. His limbs were so heavy. He felt himself be lifted and carried away, the world a blur around him. He looked around and there stood God, eyes wide, eyebrows drawn up. Zoro hoisted Wado up to the sky, arms shaking.
“I will never lose again!” He screamed up to the empty heavens, the sun warming his skin and blood, numbing his wounds. “How can you be pirate king…” he paused to catch his breath, his arm trembling as he held his sword up in salute, warm blood trickling down his sides, seeping into the planks of the rowboat. “If you don’t have the greatest swordsman in the world!” He said as loud as he could, offering his dreams up to God. If he had nothing else, he had his king and his desire. That was enough.
And God accepted. Despite his failures, despite his loss. It was then that Zoro learnt of God’s forgiveness. Since then, he had given it his all to ensure his captain succeeded in his dream. He had learnt God cared deeply about dreams, wishes, and desires. Did he need his name to reach the heavens when it had already reached God on earth? What was debt when there was freedom? What was debt when there was strength to hold him high, lifting his captain with him?
God had remembered this vow all the way back at the Baratie. The memory was fuzzy now, even for Zoro. But God would smile every time Zoro rose from the battlefield, soaked in blood and sweat. He would squeeze Zoro tightly to his side with a grin that could rival heaven’s light.
And he would say nothing to Zoro, but hold him there and bask in the glory of victory. That touch, that glee at his success, scorched him with the force of pride. God was proud of him. God believed he would be a master swordsman. That was enough.
If this was the man who spoke the world into existence, shaped him from clay, and kissed life into his bones. If God was the one who determined how the world turned, the history and future of mankind. Then maybe Zoro would have to be wary. His captain would never resist the urge to cause a little chaos.
She wasn’t sure if she understood freedom. It was foreign, a mere nostalgic memory of days long past. Running through tangerine groves, sneaking books under her shirt, running through the village with her sister. She wasn’t sure if that was freedom. She was happy then, of course, but she was still bound by society. For a long time, there was no freedom, but a pen and a piece of paper. Sometimes there was pain spreading up through her arms and hands, sometimes there was nothing. She could feel her hands tremble with every line.
Furthermore, this… deprivation caused a new feeling to blossom inside her chest, eating away at her bones every time she stared up at her captor. She hated pirates. They were evil, conniving villains who had done nothing but steal freedom, trapping her in a cage. She refused to speak the word ‘Nakama’, despite Arlong’s insistence. She was no friend of his. The tattoo on her shoulder ached like a freshly pressed brand. There was no ‘Nakama’ in this cruel world. There was no freedom, not here. If freedom even existed. How could she understand it when it never existed?
It wasn’t until she met him that she understood. Those bright eyes. The second they landed on her, seemed to light up. They were a deep brown, the colour of the most fertile soil. Yet when the sun hit them, they turned amber, with specks of green and red throughout. God’s eyes were wide and kind. God’s eyes were like the sun, fiery and warm. They were so deep and vast, that it was almost like the universe itself.
She had taken advantage of God, used him for her selfish gains, and yet he didn’t seem to care. He was determined to be her friend, to know her. He spoke of freedom, something she did not understand. God spoke of freedom, vast seas, and wild dreams. God did not care for her misdeeds; he cared for her freedom. God spoke of the King of the Pirates. And, for a brief moment, she longed to believe in fairytales, so she could believe in him.
She accompanied him until she could find her way back to her gilded cage.
God was kind, but not in the usual ways—no acts of service or gift-giving. Instead, he expressed his love through something beyond definition; it was evident in his words and his smile which had a calming effect on her.
Nami couldn’t bear it any longer. She left, taking Merry with her. She returned to her jailer, reclaiming her rightful place, and was almost finished with her task.
Almost 100 million berries. Almost enough to buy freedom. Her heart ached. Then her hand. Then her shoulder. Soaked in blood like a gruesome baptism, she looked behind her and God looked back, staring down at her. That flimsy straw hat shadowed his face, his scar looking less like an old scratch and more like a jagged battle wound. She had begged for abandonment. Pleaded with this higher power, don't take me. But God trusted her. And so, reluctantly, she trusted him.
“Help me.”
Those two words were something she had locked away. She didn’t need help; she was the only one who could free her village, her sister, and herself. God raised his head up high and took off his hat, his eyes shining like ancient amber, trapping dreams long forgotten inside. He placed his hat firmly on her head, fingers lingering, before turning away.
She followed him, watching from afar as Arlong beat him down over and over, refusing him any glimpse of respite or hope. God was stuck, with his two wings watching over him, trying to keep him safe. Sanji was losing his temper quickly, as God was thrown into the deep ocean like a skipping stone, and Zoro tried to dive in right after him.
Sanji grasped Zoro’s shirt and heaved him out of the water, jumping into the sea in his stead.
It got quite violent after that. Zoro was barely holding off their enemies, his wound from Mihawk taking its toll. Occasionally, splashes would resound from beneath the waves, blood diffusing from deep in the water. She held her breath as her sister rushed forward to help God.
This wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t asked for help. If only she weren’t so pathetic as to grovel on her knees and pray to God for his aid. She was not pious in any sense of the word. She believed in God, but no deity could save her now. Not even the young boy with fire in his eyes.
She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the brim of God’s hat like a lifeline, shaking like a leaf. She could hear every groan, hiss, and grunt that came from Zoro as he fought not only his enemy but his wounds. He wouldn't be in so much pain if he hadn't come after her. Hadn't fought for her so valiantly. Why was he fighting for her? For some stupid title? Praise? Her arms came to wrap around herself in a hug, breath hitching.
Or was he fighting for her? Why? For her body, her money, her knowledge? Her shoulders tensed. Had Sanji convinced them to come save her, so he could have her? Why were they doing this! Why did they want her so badly?
Then, God rocketed out of the water, fully prepared to face her captor. His face was dark and grim, teeth bared as he glared up at the Fishman. Her eyes snapped open as she heard the great splash that announced his arrival, the wet slap of sandals on concrete. She imagined her own head spinning with the weight of God’s strike, sending Arlong staggering back, toward the sea.
They exchanged blow after blow, with Arlong taunting God over every mistake and blunder. Finally, after a particularly hard hit, Arlong’s teeth had shattered.
Nami couldn't hold back her gasp, hands flying to clasp over her mouth and eyes hunching over. The yelling grew in volume, and then she heard the crunching and gnashing of teeth. She could smell the blood and seawater, and it made her sick to her stomach.
Arlong kept laughing. She resisted the urge to cover her ears, too. God couldn't save her now. God couldn't save her now. She would die here, under Arlong’s thumb, and no one would save her-
CRASH!
Nami jolted up, eyes widening as her head whipped to the source of the sound.
They were in her room. She could imagine it now: her desk under the curtained window, covered in maps, a jumble of papers, and splatters of dry blood, piles and mounds of ordnance surveys, underwater mappings, and various other sketches. She could imagine her bare wardrobe pushed into the corner and overtaken by clutter, not clothes.
She could remember the smell of her bed, stained with sweat. The sheets were thin and ragged, barely qualifying as blankets, anymore. The wallpaper peeled, and the floorboards creaked in that room. Not anywhere else. Such treatment was reserved for Nami only.
With every thud and bang, she could map out and imagine what was being thrown. Chairs, desks, pens, and piles of thickly stacked documents. Then, God threw her desk out of the window. It landed with a splintering clatter on the concrete, the legs breaking off and landing haphazardly around it.
She felt herself step forward, feeling the brim of God’s straw hat as her cage was destroyed. God was essentially emancipating her through this seemingly mindless destruction.
She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. They didn't want her for her body. Or her skill. Or anything like that. God wanted her for her. So he was showing this love just the way he always showed love. With passion, determination, and the aim of freedom.
Namie once asked why God was so focused on the idea of freedom. Why was he so desperate for it? And he responded,
“I can't be free when others aren't. That's stupid.”
She felt herself laugh, staring up at her prison as God broke it apart piece by piece. Her God was so selfless and so selfish, all at the same time.
With a final crash, the concrete and marble of Arlong Park began to splinter, before shattering into rubble above and below God and his devil.
She tried to rush forward, only to be stopped in her tracks as God, That boy, arose from the dead. He thrust his arms into the air and yelled at the top of his lungs.
“NAMI IS MY NAKAMA!”
And he laughed.
Understanding: It was then that she understood real freedom and liberty. It was no fairytale. It was not make-believe. It was him, God. It was sailing the seas without fear, it was the warmth of the hearth, it was food; it was living life. She had found this. Maybe Nakama wasn’t a dirty word anymore.
Maybe her God wanted her for who she really was.
Fear was all he had known. No matter how hard he tried to look strong, let alone actually be strong, the world was terrifying. Despite running around for the better part of ten years with his own ‘pirate crew’, he never imagined actually being able to sail the Grand Line.
All he was, was a liar. At least to those who knew him. It was like all he could do was lie and pretend. Fake it till you make it, right? Keep acting like you know what you're doing, and you're brave, and eventually, it will happen, right?
Well, he had been faking it. And it wasn't working. Every day he would run out into the village and pretend his father had returned. That someone had finally come for him. Yet, years later, still, nothing happened. No one came back for him. Not a single ship docked at that harbour, but the strawhats, and the pirates they had fought.
He hadn't even fought well, if at all. He just kept running. No matter how much he screamed, “I have 8000 men, and I am the great Captain Usopp!” It would not be true. He was a liar for no good reason. He wished he wasn't a liar sometimes. Even Kaya had not believed him.
He had been sailing with the strawhats for a few weeks now. He didn't know what to do with himself. His crewmates were stronger, faster, and more capable. And if they weren’t, at least they had something to offer at all! Usopp, at best, was comedic relief.
Not to God, though.
Sometimes, God would glance over at him, when he felt useless and weak. He would stare, as if looking deep into the recesses of Usopp’s soul, searching his mind. He would then grin, stand up, and ask Usopp to do something with him.
Sometimes it was playing. Sometimes it was watching the clouds and sun go by. God would ask Usopp to tell a story, and he would happily oblige.
Until God’s anger landed on him. The Merry, their dear ship, his only connection to his homeland… was unfixable. The Merry, who he had put back together piece by piece!
And Luffy. Was flipping through catalogues.
He couldn't take it. He faked being able to fix the Merry, stitched and welded her back together piece by piece, begging her to make it to the next island. Luffy was looking for a replacement.
He is not ashamed to say he hit Luffy. As hard as he could. Pushed, shoved, kicked. His memory is fuzzy, but he might have even bitten him. Took his things, told Luffy to duel him that very night, and left.
He sat on his cot, in that small motel, and wondered why. Why did God- no. Luffy, not understand the weight of this! His dream of becoming a pirate, of finally seeing his father, of proving himself by becoming a brave warrior of the seas… it all depended on her.
It all depended on Merry. So he couldn't lose. He couldn't abandon her the way they all wanted to. Despite the bone-deep ache, flaring out into his muscles, creeping up his spine and bouncing around his skull in sharp stabbing throbs, he must ignore it. Must ignore the pain, and push harder.
He would never succeed like this. But he pushed on. Just like his crewmates… former crewmates had.
He felt the sand crunch beneath his boots, the wind was salty and cold. Pain wracked through his every muscle and tendon, but he held on. His hands tightened around his slingshot, and he waited for Luffy to face him.
Perhaps God would have his favour tonight. Perhaps he could avenge the Merry.
How dare they. How dare those stupid, shitty little pirates come crashing into his life and steal his heart. They ruined the restaurant, almost destroying his (no, no, not his) dream. Everything he had worked for, for almost a decade. And he let them.
That stupid boy, breaking dishes, insulting customers, the peak of stupidity. That stupid boy who looked at him, and all Sanji could see was the blazing, blinding light of heaven beaming down at him.
He never should've followed him onto this ship, never should've followed him across the world, shouldn't smile when he sees the softness and care in that face.
He trusted God. He followed him this far, followed him across the world, and would do so again and again. But, by God himself, why did God trust him! He trusted him to cook for him, care for him, give him snacks, and do his laundry.
Sanji wasn't all that. They could easily find another cook, a better cook, even. They could easily find his replacement, so why did God smile at him like that! Like he cared about him!
Back when they first met, God had destroyed everything but was willing to repay. God was ever kind, ever caring. From the moment God saw Sanji, he seemed dead set on getting him to join his pirate crew. He constantly spoke about dreams. How he longed to be free, be king of the pirates.
Strange how he was willing to shackle himself to the Baratie. Willing to work to repay Zeff. Strange, how Sanji had done the same thing.
‘King of the Pirates’ was a childish dream. Yet, God insisted upon it, insisted that freedom was just beyond his reach, but someday he would have it. Grasp it between his sweaty palms and breathe it deep, soaking in the weight of liberty.
Sanji had to resist the urge to light a smoke.
It wasn't that easy; he wanted to tell him. How could he follow his dreams when he needed to repay Zeff? This was his dream now. The Baratie. He could not follow God. Could not be a loyal disciple of God, because it wasn't that easy. He wished it were.
That boy had the gall, the pure audacity to giggle at him, sit on the railing as he looked upon the fruits of Sanji’s kindness. Of Zeff’s dream. He spoke softly, but confidently, like he knew what he said was right.
“I refuse your refusal.”
He turned to look at him in bewilderment and was left speechless as the sun bracketed God’s head, shining out from behind him and blanketing him in pure light. He looked like an angel, face shining like a halo, scar tinted red with the sunset. It looks like a gaping wound, his black hair sticking out like a crown of thorns.
An angel. Sanji wants to scoff at the idea.
He tries to avoid him. Tries to stay professional and act like the sun hadn't just laughed down at him, accepting him wholeheartedly without even knowing him. Zeff notices the shift and begins acting more aggressive, insisting that he leave. He repeats that ‘this is not your dream’, and he ignores him.
It's his dream now. Then that stupid moss ball, always getting himself into danger, that idiot Marimo…
Sanji cannot look at the gash. Cannot look, and imagine the blood still leaking. Looks him in the eye, and sees care through all the fighting. Stupid moss.
They all almost died that day on the Baratie. Stupid God. Stupid Marimo… shitty geezer. They're all so stupid to try and protect him. They're all so awful to care. To look at him with love, despite it all.
Then they're all finally safe because God risked his life to save people he had never met. To save him. That idiot.
He makes the cooks some stew for dinner that night. He skimmed the scum off the damn thing for three days, and they spat it out.
After all he had done. All he gave up for this restaurant. Every sleepless night sneaking down to the kitchen to cook or staying up under the covers, reading and rereading the same cookbooks, determined to perfect it this time.
After all those nights he laid awake, starving. Throwing up after he ate too much, desperate to be full. After everything. They spat it out.
Sanji runs. He can't take it. Do they really hate him so much? Do they really want him to leave them so much? How funny would that be, if they saved his life, if only to taunt him some more? How funny would it be to save him, just for this?
Sanji doesn't laugh.
He sucks in a harsh breath and runs back to the staff room, ready to beat their asses. He’d show them shitty cooking, the God damned-
Shitty Geezer is speaking. He doesn't even remember what he said, he only remembers sobbing in front of the door. It was never his dream. The Baratie wasn't his. He didn't need to dedicate his life to this, no matter how guilty he felt.
No matter how much he wanted to repay him, this wasn't what he wanted. Not what he needed.
His hands find themselves tangled in his hair.
He walks out on the balcony, the air punched out of his spasming lungs as he grasps for a cigarette. The sound of sandals slapping against wood makes him look up. He breathes in, deep and full.
God—for God’s sake, it's always him—asks him what his dream is. He wishes he hadn't said anything. Wishes he could ignore God’s smile and the way his eyes shone like a thousand stars. But, unable to help himself, he grinned, eyes widening. He tells the boy everything, everything he's ever wanted. He looks out towards the sea and wants more. And God, of course, laughs. He should feel offended. He should scream at him for laughing at his one genuine desire.
He laughs along.
God should not care for him, should not care for silly childish dreams like Sanji’s. But God smiles at him and thanks him after every meal.
No matter what, God never stopped smiling at him.
So, he is glad God stole his heart. Glad that God trusts him, with every ounce of his being. Glad that he was stolen away from the Baratie and shipped halfway across the world. It's worth it to look up to the mast and see the sun beaming down at him.
Humans were notoriously cruel, Chopper had learnt this through years of research. (Looking at the pictures in history books before he could read. Then finally finding out the full story once he could.)
They used medicine and the power of technology all to hurt their kin. Chlorine gas, for example, was produced for the sheer purpose of warfare but was easy to make. All the more reason to use it at liberty.
Even the weapons that were difficult to make or find were sought after, all for… what? Revenge? Retribution?
War was senseless. Chopper hated it. He wanted to heal, not break. Yet all humans seemed to enjoy was breaking each other down, and laying piles of their comrades to rest in shallow pits.
Chopper asked Doctorine one day, why do people hurt others?
She said because they were different.
This is not the answer he would've liked. It was the answer he got. He wanted to prove her wrong, travel the world, and tell her that she was wrong.
However, it was difficult to see the world, for Chopper. He… wasn't capable of defending himself, despite his scientific advancements with his rumble ball. But more importantly, he wasn't human. Despite popular belief, humans are even more violent to those not in their species than those inside it. It was difficult to believe, to be honest. To Chopper, at least.
Maybe Doctorine was right.
He had met his captain after saving him from certain death. His captain responded gracefully, by chasing him around the castle and trying to eat him. His cook then joined in, proceeding to monologue about the variety of ways venison could be prepared.
Chopper wasn't filled in on what venison was, at the time. This is no longer the case. He doesn't think he would taste nice, anyway. Maybe because he was different, he would taste better, and he just wouldn't realise. The wrongness within him would create a new flavour.
Maybe they wanted to hurt him because he was different?
Doctorine got the patients to calm down. She hit them a few times, which Chopper didn't like doing, but always seemed to work well. He hated how he had to hurt people just so they would listen.
Despite how… interesting his first interaction was with the cook and captain, the girl seemed nice enough. The way she looked at him, with wonder and a soft smile, helped him feel less afraid.
She was still human, though, so he didn't stick around long, giving her a wide berth.
Chopper kept himself busy for those few days. He was an errand boy, essentially, picking herbs and making medicines and cleaning the patients and their bedcloths. Business was good. It kept his mind off of what he could've had. What he wanted.
Sometimes he still looked out the window, and the glistening sea slammed against the cliffs, raging beyond the horizon. He wished to see more of it. It would never be enough, not until he saw the whole world and every molecule that made it up.
He would quickly remind himself that humanity would not accept him. Not as a reindeer, not as a pirate. (If only he knew.)
God and his crew were violent. The people were violent. The king, especially. It was scary. The world was scary. Yet, despite it all… despite trying to eat him multiple times. God looked down upon him and told him to come with them.
Not asked, told.
He wanted to. So desperately. All he wanted was a friend. To see the world. To see the Doctor’s dream come true, despite his death.
He could not have this. He was too different. God smiled down at Chopper, and something told him that God was also different. He was as much a monster as Chopper.
God told him to join. So he walked their path, and paused to look behind him, aching from the lack of farewell with his fierce Doctorine. His vision was consumed by a gigantic cherry blossom tree, pink petals fluttering down as his vision blurred. He sniffled, and let himself fall to his knees.
Hiriluk had been right.
With this knowledge safe in his heart, Chopper turned, and walked towards the ocean, basking in the pink glow as he stepped in line, their feet crunching in the snow behind them.
It was like touching the sun with bare hands. It was like fiery hot plasma caressing your arms, legs, and face, kissing you gently. It was like the very clouds parting from above you, letting the light shine upon you, warming your skin. The love of God burned. It burned like the brightest flame, scorching and soothing all the same. It razed the fields of crops, yet fed and nurtured them. The Sun God was a violent God. And the Sun God was free.
Freedom was the aim. The Sun wished for freedom, to be the freest of all. He hoped for the freedom of all, as how can God be free when his people are not? God is aware of the suffering in his kingdom, and he is powerless to change it. There are bigger forces than God, yet he battles for the freedom of his children. The Will of D holds true, yet the enemies of God have God himself.
God is no angelic being. He is not a man in the sky forcing judgment upon humanity. God is freedom, God is happiness. God is of the sea.
God is freedom. God will be free.
And thus, he shall free his people from the shackles they have bound themselves in.