Archive of Our Own

The deck of the Antarctica was alive with activity - members of the Hardcore Pirates scurrying back and forth through the motions of a life at sea. Ropes cracked in the strong wind as the ship turned tack and the sails billowed as a warm breeze rippled up the side of the ship, ruffling the hair of her captain who was currently perched in the rigging. Philza hung off the edge of the mast and stared out into the distance, the sun burned bright and hot above him, salt spray and warm rays mixing deliciously in his feathers as he scanned the horizon. There was an island not too far off, at least that's what their navigator said and Wilbur had an uncanny sense for when the log pose was about to give up a new location, and the Grand Line was going to provide a new adventure. A wave crested and Phil could just barely make out the shape of his first mate in the water, bright pink against the clear blue, turning with the ship only to disappear beneath the hull as the Antarctica shifted heading. He scanned the horizon, seeking out a shape in the wide expanse of blue on blue. A few white clouds broke up the shape of the sky, and it looked so inviting, a beautiful freedom above him.

"Any sign of our quarry, captain?" Niki, their cannoneer, stood below the main mast, a massive paw held up to shade her eyes as she stared up towards Phil.

Phil stared out towards the edge of the blue expanse and tried to make a ship materialize. They'd been pursuing the ship Nightmare for several months, and every time they got close enough to catch them the ship disappeared like a ghost. The Hardcore Pirates were patient and consistent; Phil's crew was well used to the disappointment of a hunt gone sour. He hoped this one wouldn't follow in the footsteps of their earlier pursuits. The Nightmare was an enigma, a boogeyman that haunted the Grand Line, her captain was infamous and her crew cruel. She was Phil's white whale, his greatest obsession. They were going to catch the Nightmare, and send her to the bottom of the ocean. Niki was still looking up at him with her tail curled up in a curious sweep, twitching at the end. He returned his eyes to the horizon, one last desperate bid, and there, against the clear expanse of blue was a ship cut out against the flat line of possibility. Green sails on a black ship, stitched with a white circle that formed a sinister smile, they were too far for even Phil's enhanced vision to pick up movement on deck but he knew it was their target.

"Lucky as always, Niki," he called down, "I spy a bad dream, dead ahead."

Niki looked out over the side of the ship, furrowing her brow, ears twitching forward with interest, her tail sweeping low to twitch threateningly. Phil looked out towards the ship, torn between his desire to take to the sky, and the need to direct his crew. Right on cue, as if he could hear Phil's thoughts begin to spin the water off the port side of the ship split and the first mate of the Antarctica shot up to land on the deck with a splash and a roar.

"Everyone to your posts!" Techno's voice was a deep bellow as he began shouting orders to their crew. The deck burst into a new vigor of activity. Phil smiled, he didn't know why he bothered worrying, they'd been together forever. Techno was always there when he turned, protecting his back, keeping an eye out over their shoulders, a constant, steady presence. Phil leaned out of the rigging, spread his wings and let himself fall, body morphing to his will as he took to the sky - a massive, bright eyed crow - shooting off towards their enemy.

***

The fishbowl was small; thick, curved glass walls with barely enough room to stretch out making up the entirety of Phil's world. He had a plant, a thick curving reddish, purple thing that had been shaped and molded until it grew into a perfect, appealing loop. There was a rock for him to sit on, a carved piece of crystal that was rougher than the glass, but only in the spots meant to look natural. Sometimes he was given a comb, carved wood or bone with a rustic edge and that was usually his cue to settle on the rock and look pretty. He was always expected to look pretty, green scales and fins kept gleaming, long, flowing hair untangled and playful as he did shallow turns in the little space he had for free swimming. His arms were made up with gold jewelry, gems dripped from his ears and threaded through his hair, wreathing his tail. A heavy gold collar sat around his neck, a mark of ownership that kept him trapped in this glass cage, a display piece for the dragon that owned him. He liked to lay on the colored gravel at the bottom of his bowl sometimes and stare up at the open top, watch the small waves that formed when he waved his tail and imagine he was on the seabed. If he turned his head just right the glass rim of the bowl disappeared and he could pretend that the lights playing off the surface was the distant sun, that the salt playing over his gills was fresh and clear and not the stale, bottled stuff he had gotten used to.

If he was honest with himself he’d forgotten what real seawater tasted like.

Freedom was about as much a dream as the sun.

He turned a slow circle, tail pressing up against the cool glass and stared out at the room outside of his bowl. Treasures from every Blue stared back, fragments of ancient civilizations, jewelry dredged from the bottom of the sea, rare weapons and the waxy, curving skin of devil fruits all contained in neat glass boxes. What a waste. It was an impressive collection, and Phil was the cherry on top of it all, a genuine merman, pretty, young enough that he didn’t have his legs yet and a favored addition to the dragon’s collection of exotics. They moved his bowl sometimes, the only enrichment Phil was getting, toting him around to garden parties and dinners. Sometimes he was called upon to sing or do tricks, but mostly the untouchable class just gawked. If anything he was lucky, his dragon only wanted to show him off, the jewel in the crown of an exotic collector. It could be worse. It could always be worse. He could be dead. Phil spun a slow circle, watched the perfect plant bob attractively and barred his teeth. It didn’t do any good tearing it up, clawing at his own scales, ripping at his hair, it was all met with a sickly sweet, simpering smile and then pain. It hurt to be bad, and the punishments were administered with a careful, impersonal hand that was intent on ensuring there were no marks. He was a display piece. Better to be apathetic, floating listlessly until he was called upon to perform, and then do that with the fervor of someone fearing retribution. He laid down on the gravel, rocks stretching at his back and stared up at the ceiling. He'd decided a long time ago that he was going to be good, then maybe he’d earn something as nice as a glimpse of the sky, or some extra fish come feeding time. The door slid open, light poured in as slaves scurried to their masters bidding, lighting lamps and disappearing into the corners of the room, always within sight, at the beck and call of the dragon who swept into the room - long white robes, overlaid with purple and black, a decorated helmet over stark black hair in an elaborate updo. There was a distinct metallic sound as they breathed, a clicking sound inside of the helmet since they were too pure for the outside air. Phil didn’t see the appeal of being in a bubble, but what did he know? The dragon glanced over their collection, eyes fixing on Phil with a knowing smile before gliding over and tapping on the glass. The sound reverberated through the water, a dull thunk, thunk that made Phil’s gills flutter. He looped around the rock and slid up to the glass, tail anchored on his perch. He tilted his head, tried to look curious, content.

The dragon was uninteresting to look at up close, the robes and helmet doing the bulk of the work to make him look impressive and intimidating. The Rex family was characterized by being severe, hard cut and sharp at the edges. Ender, the family's heir and eldest son, exemplified these features, straight, long nose, dark eyes and long, thin, straight hair. Their fingers were thin where they rested on the glass, his smile toothy with the weight of someone who had never wanted for anything. Phil hated the man, but he’d long since accepted his place in the hierarchy of the world - a bottom feeder at the call of higher beings. 

“You look well today, Angel.”

Phil had long since learned that he wasn’t supposed to talk, he was just a fish in a tank. He curled his tail, ran slow fingers through his hair, tossing out the blond strands so they rippled in the water.

“Temperamental, did you miss me that bad?”

He was just playing a game, crossing his arms and turning with the air of someone who was allowed to have an opinion. He hoped the bastard would choke on their own air.

“You’re just so cute.”

Another series of taps, grating against Phil’s sensitive ears. He grit his teeth, forced his face into a smile and did a slow flip, coming up with his hand pressed against the glass. Ender smiled, indulgent, and waved a hand. There was a clatter of chains and a pair of slaves dragged a bulky, angry looking fishman into the room.

“I know you’ve been all by yourself so I got you a friend.” Ender smiled like this was great news and their fish should be happy with this turn of events. Phil wanted nothing to do with the enslavement of another person, he especially didn’t want to be implicated if and when this pissed looking guy lashed out. “Isn’t he impressive? Cost me a small fortune, but only the best to look after my Angel.” 

It never mattered what he wanted though, so he did a few flips, body bent near in half to accommodate for the size of the bowl and tapped on the glass with enthusiasm he didn’t have. Ender looked pleased as the fishman was dragged across the room and the chains loosed. He looked at Phil with an expression of horror dawning behind black and white W shaped pupils, he had multiple arms lined with flaps that undulated as he rubbed carefully at his wrists, eyes fixed on the celestial dragon who was still fixated on Phil. It had been awhile since Phil saw someone from his home, long pink hair pulled up in a messy, haphazard bun, dark pinkish purple skin and those weird eyes that put him on edge. His skin rippled, a deep purple hedging on red as Ender turned.

“I’ll let you two get to know each other,” Ender barely looked at the fishman, already halfway out of the room as their entourage piled out after them.

Phil eyed the newcomer, sinking slowly until he was pooled on the bottom of the fish bowl. The fishman stared back, briefly, before he sat on the ground and leaned against the curved surface, back to Phil. If he wasn’t livid about the new guy before, he sure as hell was now. He slammed his tail into the glass, rattling the bowl and causing the fishman to jump. He flipped him off. 

“Bruh,” the fishman leaned away, bracing on three pairs of arms, a series of colored patterns flashing across the skin. He gestured expansively at the heavy metal collar that looked pretty close to choking him. “I’m not happy about being here either but they’re going to turn me into fish sticks if I’m not close to you so we’re both going to have to get used to having a roommate."

Phil deflated, sinking back to the gravel at the base of the bowl. He wasn’t actually mad at this fishman who’d apparently been assigned as his guard. It seemed stupid to give the merman who couldn’t leave this stupid bowl a babysitter but that wasn’t this guy's fault. More importantly, Phil was more than familiar with the punishments the slave’s collars could meet. Apparently he was the lynch pin for this one, today just kept getting better. He missed the boredom of being alone in his bowl.

“Sorry, mate,” he whispered, voice hoarse from lack of use. The collar on his neck heated briefly, and Phil flinched. The fishman tilted his head. He waved him off, barely vocalizing but it was just them, and Phil was exceptional at skirting rules. “Not used to sharing.”

“Hey, I get it, I’m a big guy. I don’t want to step on your fins. How about, I stay out here and you can have the very roomy bowl to yourself?”

That seemed fair, there was barely enough room in the bowl for Phil. Lucky this guy he had legs, he could walk around, not that the great freedom of legs was doing him any good. Phil flicked his tail, at least his new roommate wasn’t trying to break the windows, steal a weapon, or eat any of the strange otherworldly fruits. He seemed content to sit and lean against the bowl next to Phil, colors shifting in a hypnotic pattern across his skin. 

“The name’s Techno, by the way.” The fishman’s skin flushed a deep pink, nearly the same color as his hair. “What should I call you?”

Phil thought about ignoring him, or giving him one of Ender’s diminutive nicknames. He only maintained his real name out of spite, thought about himself by a name because a name meant he was a person. Nobody else thought he was worth a name though, and no one had taught this guy that.

“I’m an angelfish.” He offered, hoping to hedge his bets against having to choose between the disappointment of making a new friend, then watching this guy die.

“Cool, cuttlefish, guess we can just be fish if you prefer. Maybe we’ll get a joint tank, his and his patches of gravel.”

Phil choked out a laugh, tail curling, then froze, waiting for the punishment he anticipated for making a noise that was ugly, too loud. None came. He pressed a palm to his face, ran it over the shape of his smile - a real one, broad and toothy and ugly.

“My name’s Phil.” He settled by the glass, tail curled up so he could rest his arms on it. Techno tilted his head back so they could make eye contact, strange W shaped pupils intelligent and sharp where they met Phil’s dull blue ones.

“Nice to meet you, Phil. Thanks for humoring me, bit of a rough day.”

Phil could sympathize, settling in to watch the patterns dancing across Techno’s skin. Maybe he could enjoy having a new roommate, something nice to break up the monotony. It wouldn’t last, but it was better than staring at the ceiling. 

***

Wind whipped at Phil’s cheeks as he soared up and up, spiraling towards the brilliant sun and expanse of blue sky. Warmth radiated across his wings, a beautiful contrast to the cold wind. He was so fast up here, free to ride the wind, its own kind of current. The green sails of the Nightmare loomed in front of him, billowing as they turned to catch the wind. He could see pirates on the deck, moving around with the practiced, casual motions of sailors used to the sea enjoying a day of relative calm. He banked, wings tilting to catch the wind and scanned the deck - the sailors had whips at their belts, next to the usual pistols and swords. There were a few devil fruit users, or people he assumed had fruits, their bodies moving in that unnatural way that implied they were a Logia - elemental forms blending seamlessly with the more human element. There was at least one other Zoan, a funny looking reptile type with a black scale pattern on their face and along the angular tail that waved lazily behind them. He couldn't see their captain, though that didn't mean he wasn't present among the cages stacked empty on the deck, manacles swung from the main mast, and the wood was dark, stained with sweat and no small amount of blood. Phil tipped in the air, sailed between the double masts and dove down along the side of the ship, fast enough not to be noticed as their quarry continued on unperturbed. He wheeled back towards the Antarctica, wings beating a steady, hard rhythm as he dodged waves, intent on going unnoticed even as the water tried to weigh him down - salt in his feathers a threat as much a as a blessing. He pitched upwards, flapping along the hull of the Antarctica before tumbling over the edge, talons extended to land on one of Techno's outstretched arms. The fishman was in the midst of giving orders, moving seamlessly between ordering a heading and getting their crew of scrappy fighters ready for what came next. There was a clatter below decks as Niki prepared the Antarctica's cannons, he could hear Tubbo, their shipwright chattering loudly about the most recent additions to the ship's weaponry. A tontatta scuttled past him, red bandana plastered over bright yellow hair and a striped tail.

"Welcome back, captain!" Tommy scuttled between the feet of their navigator, who was in the process of checking the wind, brandishing a kitchen knife that was barely more than a needle. "Ready and awaiting orders, bossman! I'm going to make the best celebration feast when we beat up those no good wronguns'!"

Phil crowed, body shifting as he grew larger, feathers pulling back from his face as he let himself adjust to a more human form. His legs were still scaled, his arms overtaken by the dark wings of a crow. Techno barely adjusted, stance shifting the barest amount as he took the change in mass without complaint.

"How's our heading?" He asked, staring out towards the horizon, the rapidly approaching ship that would no doubt be noticing their approach any moment now.

"Quackity says we've got the benefit of coming at them from behind, should be able to pull us up right alongside."

"This isn't going to be like the last time he said that, is it?"

Techno blinked, cheeks shifting with a blue to yellow pattern and then settling for a flushed purple shade. Phil barked a laugh, shedding feathers as he stood up to his full height, using Techno as a perch to look out over the sea towards their quarry.

"Definitely not, he's super normal and well adjusted, I trust our helmsman with our crew's lives. It's not like he's almost rammed us on multiple occasions."

As if on cue the Antarctica rocked, rudder pushed to its limit as they turned into the wind. Their ship was built for this kind of speed, power in short bursts and quick boardings that allowed the speedy, ruthless crew to do good work. Nikki's natural talents made the pirates who hunted other pirates a formidable force to match in any kind of combat - there was a reason they were so infamous. Phil boasted a bounty of 210,000,000 berry, his crew following suit with their own wanted posters and bounties. None of them were exempt, a fact that their captain considered a mark of pride - every single one of them had done things that sent the World Government running for the hills and it meant they were a force to be reckoned with. Their helmsman was a Shandian, sporting a pair of short, golden wings and a series of complex tattoos that wound their way up his arms. Phil had never seen him wearing anything more than an open vest and a pair of cropped blue pants - an angel who fell from heaven. He'd been snatched up by a group of enterprising pirates who cared for power over freedom and joined the Antarctica after cornering their navigator in a bar and breaking away from his enslavers. For all of his attitude, he handled the ship better than anyone, driving her over the waves like they were lighter than air and threading them through gaps during daring escapes that even Phil wouldn't have attempted, cackling as they pulled it off. There was no one else he trusted with their ship.

"Carrion off our starboard side, captain!" Quackity called down, the stupid hat he'd picked up the last time they were in port pushed back on his dark hair, a slightly crazed look in his eyes. "Look sharp, we're pulling alongside."

"Take us in, helmsman, I want this crew sunk yesterday."

"Sir, yes sir." Quackity's grin was crooked, dangerous, as he spun the wheel and the Antarctica caught the tail end of a gust that Phil hadn't even felt, shooting forward as they closed the last few yards between them and their quarry. It was time for the Nightmare to meet its match.

***

Phil's world was being moved today, his fishbowl hoisted up and moved out where he could be shown off to gawking nobles and their entourages. True to form Techno came with him, always within arms reach. Phil hadn't known a moments peace since he'd been assigned the fishman bodyguard. Thankfully the man was more than willing to give him space - as much as he could manage. He spent a lot of time talking to the air, philosophical ramblings, passages he'd memorized from strategy books and stanzas of poetry, snippets of memory that made something in Phil ache with recognition. Those were the worst days, when Techno was feeling sentimental and would go on and on about his life before. He was a blacksmith, before the dragons, a sword smith who tampered in jewelry making. It was just bad luck that led to him being Phil's assigned babysitter. A fishman - worth a lot - in the wrong place at the wrong time and he was interesting enough to catch Ender's eye. Phil could care less, sucked for both of them, now they were both trapped, on opposite sides of this glass bowl.

They were promenading today, a long slow walk where Ender got to show off his wealth and noble status by flaunting the number and value of the slaves he'd acquired through years of careful pursuit. The dragon was known for his exotic tastes, uncommon races, but more importantly unique variants of each. Phil sat on his rock, tail curled around the base and ran a bone comb through flawless, untangled hair that had once been yellow and was now closer to a dull, dirty white. He stared at the ends, uncaring of the world outside of his bubble of water. He glanced up every once and awhile to catch sight of Techno, skin shifting through various shades of dark purple. The colors were mostly involuntary, following a pattern Phil still couldn't parse, but they seemed to denote emotions. This one was anger, he was pretty sure, a low simmering rage that reflected in his narrowed pupils and folded arms. There was no point in being angry, this was just the way things were.

The slow rock of the bearers lulled Phil into a half sleep, he wasn't really awake, but he wasn't curled in a kelp blanket, floating near the surface either. He was trapped in a warm nightmare, staring down at the small scar on his left thumb with curiosity - a jagged irregularity on otherwise perfect skin. He picked at it with neatly filed nails. The world around him contorted, water sloshing over the side of the bowl as Phil was thrown across the small space into the glass. He grunted, tail contorting as his body twisted to try and absorb the shock. His hearing reverberated, an echoing overlap of voices shouting. Phil tucked his chin into his chest and curled into a ball against the glass. He could feel the soft brush of air against his back, the slosh of a few inches of water underneath him. It must have cracked, the water draining out somewhere he couldn't see. That's why everything sounded wrong, too loud, unmuffled. Phil curled tighter, pulling his hands over his head as two pistol shots rang out. He was shaking, he couldn't get his breathing under control, gills spasming convulsing in a few inches of water. There was plenty of air, but for some reason he couldn't seem to get any of it inside where it belonged. There was the distinctive click of a gun being cocked. Phil shrunk down as small as he could, trying to get his tail to curl into something less noticeable.

"Wait! Wait, hold on, what are you doing?"

Phil was still struggling to parse sound, threading out individual sounds and stringing them together into something that didn't make sense.

"Putting it out of its misery, poor thing, it's suffocating."

"No!"

A pair of arms wrapped around him, cold and a little clammy, but a comforting pressure against his back. Phil exhaled, gasping as the pressure on his diaphragm contracted and he inhaled, hard and sharp against whoever was pressed up against him. He was breathing, he was alive, he didn't need to be submerged - even if his gills were mostly useless on the surface. The arms around him constricted, a half hug, before loosening.

"He's just scared, look, he's coming around. Give him a new bowl of water and he'll be good as new, maybe a new rock, some toys, wait!"

Phil shook his head, he needed to get up, he needed to look around. He needed to know what was happening because in spite of it all if he was going to die he wanted to look down the barrel of the gun as it happened. The fishman was on his knees, forehead pressed to the ground, hands curled into fists on the cobbled path. He looked remarkably stoic for someone with a pistol being aimed, nonchalantly, at their head. The bullet was intended for Phil. He swallowed, that wasn't fair, he'd been nothing but hostile towards Techno, he had no reason to step in. He should just let Phil die. Now they were both going to die, because he couldn't be good.

"I don't like broken toys," Ender mused, angling his head to the side with a curious, borderline bored expression. "But I am glad to see that my Angel is making friends."

"He's great," Techno agreed readily, face still pressed into the stone walkway. "It would be a waste of a good investment. Since we're bonded now."

"You're funny," Ender said, without the hint of a smile, "very well, you've made your case, I did appoint you his guardian, bring him."

The noble turned away, stowing the gold barrel of the pistol somewhere in his robes and walking like they expected to be followed. Techno slowly sat up and turned to Phil, he looked apologetic, but shoved himself to his feet. There was a splatter of blood across one cheek, dark red against milky skin - devoid of color. He bent down and gently scooped Phil out of the remains of the bowl, tucking him against his chest and making sure that his long tail didn't drag, curled up over his right shoulder. The remains of Ender's entourage stared at them, subdued, as Techno stepped up to follow quietly on their heels.

Phil wanted very badly to disassociate, as they walked through a series of covered walkways and gardens that he didn't recognize. He'd probably been here before, but he was usually counting gravel. There was no point to memorizing the route, they were all at Ender's whims. Techno's chest was solid and cool against his torso, a strand of long pink hair brushing against his cheek where the fishman's usual quick updo had come undone. Phil couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched, gently, and his body reacted to it strangely. He turned his face into the side of the fishman's neck and inhaled, salt, a faint fishy smell, smoke and metal. It was a nice smell, comforting. They turned into a new building, smelling of fresh cut wood and exotic foliage.

"This is my latest ingenuity," Ender said to the air, to a smattering of applause, "a place for my collection to be properly displayed, in their natural environments. It was going to be unveiled at a party next week, but it would be good to give my Angel time to adjust, he's the centerpiece after all."

How quickly the untimely deaths of two slaves were forgotten, this was what they had been doing all along. Phil lifted his head, tried to force his exhausted body to react how it needed to, curiosity, excitement, it was easier with Techno's arms around him. He felt secure here, a preposterous and foolish emotion. None of them were safe, playthings at Ender's beck and call. Techno hummed appreciatively, a ripple of green crossing the arm keeping Phil's shoulders steady.

The building was massive, stained glass panels supported by metal beams, light filtered through from the world outside, soft and diffuse. Exotic plants bloomed around them, impossibly large flowers and trees that reached up towards the colored ceiling. There were manicured paths, which wound through the dense foliage and provided small galleries and spaces for peering into clearings, and an ornate bridge overlooking a grotto carved into a false cliffside. A small waterfall trickled down into a large shallow pool, surrounded by massive creamy white flowers in perpetual bloom. The air was heavily scented, sweet and cloying. Phil turned his head back into Techno's shoulder, searching for the smell of salt. Ender was talking, he needed to pay attention, to be grateful. The waterfall was for him, the pool and the area designed to look at it. He was a display piece after all - this whole zoo and he had a nice little pond in the middle of it. Techno knelt, slowly rolling Phil down and setting him gently in the water. It was warm, sand brushed against his tail. There was a rock in the middle of the pool, sparkling crystal that descended below the surface - it looked deeper in the middle, with space around the edge for him to come up and be observed while still being submerged.

Phil clung to Techno's neck, he didn't want to let go, he was comfortable in his arms. He was safe there. Techno slowly unwound his arms, gently lowered him into the water, smoothing back his hair with a gentle hand before he turned and sank to his knees. Phil stared straight ahead and tried to focus. Ender's long robes brushed the ground his gloved hand extended and Phil bowed his head, then rolled, scraping his tail against the sand to expose his stomach. He needed to appear grateful.

"I'll let you get settled, Angel. I hope you like it, this is my gift to you, a place as beautiful as you are."

Phil sank into the pool and waited until the noises above evened out into a comfortable quiet before he emerged. Ender was gone, the entourage and his slaves, Phil was alone, in a new, even more beautiful cage. Techno sat by the pool, his legs spread out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, staring up at the roof, eyes tracing the edges of stained glass flowers and stars. Phil slid up the sand, and reached out to slide his hand toward Techno's before he thought better of it. The fishman glanced down and nudged his second hand into Phil's, the other two still supporting him as he leaned back. Phil latched onto the contact: cool, smooth and grounding.

"Why'd you do that?" He asked, "that was stupid, mate, I'm not worth dying for."

"He killed them." Techno's hand tightened in Phil's, trembling. "He shot two men point blank and he didn't even care."

"He's a celestial dragon, mate. That's what they do. We're just toys for greater men."

"I didn't vote for him." Techno cracked a grin, "we should stage a coup, he's not really doing a great job with the whole consent of the governed thing."

Phil flinched, looked around, waited for guards to descend or for Ender to appear and do away with the mutinous slave that was currently holding his hand. He thought about pulling away, separate himself now, try and prolong his pitiful life. It didn't seem worth it. He laughed instead.

"Always more of a monarchy guy myself."

Techno laughed, fingers twining easily with Phils. He looked down, eyes crinkling. Phil liked his smile. He was glad he wasn't alone in this new place. He was glad it was Techno here with him.

***

The Antarctica bore down on her prey, crew at the ready, armed to the teeth and howling for blood. Phil could pinpoint the exact moment that the enemy crew realized they were being pursued - the scramble on deck and the shouting that carried out over the water. He grinned, hair whipping his face as the ship responded to her helmsman and turned to give their cannoneer a clear shot at the Nightmare’s stern. The air pressure dropped, cold and then searing hot as light night arced out of The Antarctica’s canons. The sharp scent of ozone cut through the return gunfire and a cannon ball soared past Phil’s perch and splashed into the ocean. He could hear Niki, somewhere below deck cackling as she reloaded and another volley of charges went off - slamming into the Nightmare with pinpoint accuracy. The railing of the top deck cracked, and one of their masts creaked threateningly as a stray bolt sliced through one of their sails. Techno bellowed, directly next to Phil’s ear.

“Prepare to board! I want this ship gutted and sunk before dinner, move it!”

Phil grinned, teeth sharp and predatory in his mouth. He flexed his talons, stepping down from Techno’s shoulder, his arm coming up automatically to let Phil down gently. His feet his the deck, black leather boots with loose green pants stuffed into them. An open necked, loose fitting shirt followed suit, body morphing back into something relatively human - ignoring the massive black wingspan and feathers in his hair under a bright green hat adorned with his own feathers. Phil’s hand went to his belt, to the two pistols he carried when he wanted to make it personal and tugged them out, cocking them as Quackity turned the wheel, bringing them alongside.

“Crosses!” 

A series of wooden planks were thrown across the gap between the two ships, a massive, giantish hand placing down the bridges they would use to board the enemy vessel. It would have been more efficient to just sink them, but Phil liked it to be personal, his whole crew preferred their vengeance bloody.

“Good work, Ranboo.” Phil called up, angling his neck to take in the looming form of the half giant - dark hair going prematurely white and mismatched eyes. He was on the younger end of the crew, still gangly, long limbs looking even longer in such a big body. He wasn’t much of a fighter, but they were a great support for making sure no one tried anything extra stupid.

“Good luck, Captain.” Ranboo nodded, expression serious, brows furrowed. Phil could barely make out Tommy perched on the half giant's shoulder, shouting at the top of his tiny lungs.

“Send the wrong’uns to the depths! Make them pay!”

Funny words from the second of their three noncombatants. It wasn’t that they couldn’t fight, but more that they preferred to stay on the deck of the Antarctica to repel potential counter attacks. Phil turned to see Quackity trading out with Wilbur, accepting a kiss on the cheek with a scowl before going for the pair of long knives he favored. Niki emerged from below deck looking grim except for the grin cutting across her muzzle. A shotgun that was more of a miniature cannon braced against her shoulder.

“Oh good, I didn’t miss all the fun.”

“Your demolition skill never fails to impress,” Wilbur leaned against the wheel, holding The Antarctica steady as her crew began to cross to the other ship. Phil snickered as Niki’s tail twitched and she glowered at their navigator, looking for some sign of a joke. “Quite the spark of inspiration.”

“Boooo!” Tubbo shouted from his perch on Niki’s shoulder. He was holding onto the gold hoop earring that hung from her ear and leaning out to get a better look at the ship they were about to sink. “Terrible joke, walk the plank.”

“I’ll be sure to throw a few scoundrels your way, Wil. Wouldn’t want you going soft.” Niki was already moving, pulling down her weapon as soft paws thudded against the wooden braces.

“It was an honest compliment!” Wilbur backtracked, but they were already crossing. Phil could feel the shift of the ships underneath his boots as he shifted his focus from watching his crew banter to the scramble on deck. Techno moved to his left, breaking off and falling into a ready stance to meet the first of their opponents who had begun a mad dash towards their ship. Phil ducked at the telltale sound of lighting rippling down the barrel of Niki’s gun and the needle noise of Tubbo streaking into their enemies ranks - armed with a series of pins that he could jab into ankles or ear canals. Quackity was somewhere off to his right, screaming bloody murder as he hacked his way through a pair of sickly looking swordsmen. Phil stepped off the plank, checked his sight and fired.

***

The mink was a surprise. Phil didn’t spend much mental effort trying to track time, it didn’t matter, even if he could better tell day from night in the grotto. Techno came and went, methodically exploring and then relaying the inside of their shared enclosure to Phil at night when he came back with food. The fishman wasn’t sure where or how the food got delivered, but there were a few specific clearings where bowls of fresh water and food were set out. It was consistent, albeit uninspired. They subsisted off of a steady diet of raw fish which Techno took to cooking in low pits filled with hot stones and foraged greens and fruit. Apparently there was an artificial river that ran through the sanctuary, Phil’s grotto was in the middle of the whole affair and then it cut down into a section that was warmer, heated from below with some kind of technical wonder. He had to admit he was impressed, Techno was adept, figuring out how to make the best of the scraps Ender thought would sustain them. Phil hadn’t eaten so well in years. It helped that the fishman was friendly, he cracked jokes and generally made the most out of what he called an involuntary vacation. The thought of this beautiful Hell being a spot someone would want to vacation made Phil’s tail curl, but he had the space to stretch out and someone to talk to, and he didn’t feel quite so lonely these days. Maybe Ender was being kind, getting him a friend - Phil felt better than he had in a long time. He was laughing, and he felt less sluggish, splashing around in the water, letting Techno join him at night where they’d both float on the surface and look up towards the glass roof. It was charmed. Phil wouldn’t mind living the rest of his life like this, short and sweet with just enough small moments of peace to make him forget about the pain. Their routine was interrupted by the addition of a new oddity. Phil was wrested from a peaceful doze, half awake and drifting, by a yowling, hissing cacophony followed by yelling and the sound of impacts. He was moving before his brain woke up, disappearing into the shallow water of the pool he preferred for its width and curling up, trying to make himself small, unassuming. He’d been a fool to think that this place was a paradise, clearly it was a new kind of torment - where he’d been lonely before, now he was going to be punished for getting too comfortable. They hadn’t been visited in too long, this was the retaliation for allowing himself to be lulled into a false sense of security, for being something other than ornamental. He waited to be dragged out by unkind hands, for his body to betray him. Nothing happened, for long enough that his muscles started to lock up and his tail cramped. Techno wasn’t here with him, he realized, when his gills stopped fluttering. He hoped he was hiding somewhere on land, or in the river, somewhere they couldn’t get to him. He uncurled eventually, when it was too much effort to stay balled up and slowly rose to the surface, scanning the shoreline. Techno was there, and the curve of a massive body covered in long silvery grey fur, thick tail hanging limp next to the water. He swam over, cautious, frowning at the spotted mink. Techno looked over to him and waved. Phil slunk over, belly scraping on sand.

“The fuck is that?” He asked, squinting.

“I think she’s our new roommate," Techno stared down at the unconscious woman. This close Phil could make out details, a collar that matched his and Techno’s, primed to explode if they misbehaved, pierced ears threaded with a series of complex hoops, long hair done up behind furred ears in a messy braided crown, massive paws that likely hid lethal claws, and a scarred muzzle with a few new scratches - sluggishly oozing blood. Phil slid closer.

“She’s a mink.”

“That she is, looks like a cold weather type based on the fur.” Techno offered his hand to Phil and squeezed it reassuringly. Phil eyed the mink. He liked Techno, but he wasn't sure about this newcomer. He didn’t like the idea of having to share his friend. “Looks like they roughed her up pretty bad.”

“You should see the other guy,” the mink’s voice was guttural, raw from screaming and forced out through grit teeth. She was awake. Phil pulled back, and Techno turned, squaring his shoulders like he was ready for a fight. Her eyes were a deep, cold blue. The cat lunged. “I’m going to gut every last one of them, starting with you.”

“This is what I get for playing a hero!” Techno managed to dodge the first swipe, stepping back away from the pool, and away from Phil. He's being protected again. He doesn’t want to be protected, not now with this wild, crazed and injured person rounding for another attack.

“Dragon loving scum,” the mink spat, claws out and teeth bared. Techno held up a pair of hands, surrender, but the rest were waiting to block the next swipe. Those claws looked lethal. Phil pulled his tail back and slammed it down. Water sprayed up, cascading over the mink, and the fishman in a cold wave.

“Shut! Shut up, do you want them to come back? Idiot, we’re stuck in here, same as you.”

The mink looked less intimidating wet, fur plastered to her skin and tail twitching unhappily. The shock had done its work though, freezing her in place long enough for Techno to loop around to stand in front of  Phil. It was a nice gesture, but the shame of hiding while someone new was thrown into the cage burned low in him. He’d hidden, and Techno had dragged this newcomer all the way here. If they were going to get punished for hurting Ender’s new toy, it was going to be together.

“Can’t say I’m a big fan of authority.” Techno offered, “but if you need to blow off some steam I can do my best impression, maybe some role play, all encompassing authority should be easy to mimic, right?”

The mink’s ears pinned, but her tail stopped twitching.

“You’re slaves?” She looked skeptical. Phil gestured to his collar, the acrid feeling of something other than apathy coursing through him.

“Why else would we be in here, mate? I can’t fucking walk, what am I going to do? Splash you to death?”

“Right, that’s,” the mink slowly loosened her stance, tail curling with something that looked a bit like embarrassment. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot… or, tail.”

Phil snorted, flicking his fin in derisive agreement.

“I’m Niki.”

“Phil, this is Techno.”

“How long have you been here?”

Phil didn’t like that question, he let the water cover his head and curled up on the bottom of his pool. It was nighttime. He should be sleeping. He ignored the sounds of conversation above him, he was just a stupid fish, no reason to try making friendly with someone who had such an obvious death wish.

***

The crew of the Nightmare were ruthless, scoundrels who made their living in the shady underbelly, selling the unspeakable to the worst kind of people. Phil’s crew paired off, switching between opponents anytime someone started to lag. Techno was there, anytime Phil turned, a net and javelin in his hands, pulled off of one of his fallen opponents. He was a fan of hand to hand, but against his current opponent - first mate of the Nightmare, a short human in white with the green smile flag blazoned across the back of his long coat, wielding four swords in a formidable display of four sword style. Techno turned to dodge a slash from two blades, dancing around a series of attacks as he backed towards the edge of the boat. The Zoan with black and grey scales and a massive tail was currently circling their helmsman. He opened his mouth to reveal a line of jagged teeth that dripped with something that looked like venom. Quackity looked unimpressed, turning the bite to the side with the flat of his blade which smoked with whatever was going on in the reptile's mouth. Niki was driving holes in the enemy lines, electricity arcing out of the barrel of her gun. Tubbo, who was a barely visible yellow and black blur dodged around the feet of the people she drove back, cutting them down to size - buzzing like a bee, sometimes an insect, sometimes not. He watched her turn, sighted and shot as someone lurched behind her, sword raised. The mink turned, eyes wild and her ears twitched in gratitude before turning and advancing towards an unimpressive, sickly looking sailor in tinted glasses, clothes that spoke of wealth mismatched with the burns on his fingers and glass bottles of swirling poison hanging from his belt. Phil knew sedatives when he saw them, could feel the phantom crawl of sleeping gas across his skin, the weight of it dragging him down. He stepped forward, intent on intercepting the mink when a too large bee buzzed past his ear.

"We've got him, captain, you handle the big one!" Tubbo zipped up and around, dodging as the man waved a hand, mouth turning up into a sneer. Phil could hear their shipwright laughing, tiny wings propelling him up and around as Niki set up her shot. They would be fine, his crew was competent, and they were all familiar with the kind of tricks the ships they fought employed and had their own tricks to counter them. He turned, scanned the deck which had split off into a series of smaller fights. They were down to mainly the big hitters: first mate, bosun and their enforcer. Phil tracked the combatants, could see the places where his crew were stretched thin, where they could be overpowered, where they could lose. Techno threw his net, arm extending into the path of a blade as it sliced upward, Quackity stumbled, feet pulled out from under him by a well timed sweep of a muscled tail, a bottle shattered against Niki's shoulder, grey mist billowing out as she swayed and Tubbo took a backhand that sent him skittering across the deck. Multiple points of failure, tripwires snapping in the same instant, careening towards a fate worse than death, the thing Phil had tried desperately to escape, the thing he had inadvertently led his crew into. It felt like he was paralyzed, fear crawling down his throat and curling in his stomach. His limbs locked, cold splashed over him like a wave. They were going to fail. He didn’t deserve to be a captain, he couldn’t even protect himself.

***

Niki wasn't a very good slave, and for every rule she broke the further she pushed Techno, and by proxy Phil towards the unspeakable. The problem was that Phil liked the mink and the fishman, he spent more time at the surface, breathing air rather than water and laughing loudly - talking until it didn't hurt his voice to form words and sharing meals under a stained glass ceiling. There was an irreverence to the pair, and they talked about things in hushed whispers late at night when they were supposed to be sleeping. Techno spent half his time in the water, skin shifting through a hundred rainbow shades and when he felt overwhelmed Phil would get lost in them, let the ideas of escape, of assassination wash over him. He wasn't going to be included, he didn't want to be. He'd just be a liability. They'd be punished for sure.

"What do you think, Phil?" Niki asked, a half map sketched in the sand next to his grotto. "You've been here longer than both of us."

"Think about what? I wasn't listening, mate." Phil slid over, glanced at the scrapes on the floor.

"Most of this is based on what Techno memorized on his way in, but the more we know the better."

Phil traced the lines in his mind, tried to recon them back to when he'd been bought, the bowl, the treasure room. He shook his head. Techno examined the notes Niki was writing out in neat script with interest, green splotches blooming along his skin. 

"I'm not going to be much help. I was stuck in a bowl since day one."

"All the more reason to get out, then." The mink twitched her whiskers, tail curling. "I think we should go out to the west, head for the cliffs."

"That's the guest wing," Phil butt in, frowning, he'd been taken there for entertainment when Ender had a particularly important visitor. The rooms were a maze, and all he'd had to do was perform tricks for snacks - demeaning. The thought made his throat catch. "I'd go down this way, it's a little longer but you'd have more luck going through the slave barracks anyways - stay low and no one will question you."

"We'll make a rebel of you yet, Phil." Techno was smiling, marking his notes on their makeshift map.

"Least I can do." Phil forced a smile. If they were going to try and run, he hoped they'd make it.

***

The ship tilted under his feet, he was stuck in place, bile pooling in his stomach and his legs alien under him. He was missing something intrinsic, the tail he'd left behind weighing him down. There was no water here for him to breath, he was suffocating. Worse he could feel the collar on his neck, choking him. His limbs locked, trying to compensate for phantom restraints; his eyes weren't working right, warping where glass would balloon the world around him. It was like being in the fishbowl again. They were going to drag him back there, and worse for his friends, nothing good awaited an escaped slave turned pirate. Phil gasped, tried to force air into his lungs and stumbled as pain blossomed across his left shoulder. His blood was cold where it trickled down his back, contouring around the raised edge of the chrysanthemum brand on his back. Everyone on his crew had one, a blooming flower in the same design of their flag. No one on the Hardcore Pirates belonged to anyone but themselves, whoever they decided to grow into. Phil shut his eyes, breathed through his teeth, focused on the pain above the panic that was trying to convince him it was real above all else. His body morphed, the pain shifted, but he could still fly - a bundle of black feathers and sharp talons as he shot into the air. The wind caught him, tugging him up and spiraling out and away from the deck of the Nightmare. He turned, wings catching an updraft and flapped for maximum height as he opened his eyes and finally caught sight of her infamous captain. 

***

Phil kept helping. He cursed himself for it some days, but in the long game of watching Niki and Techno plot to stick it to the dragons he found himself agreeing with them more and more. He felt more with them than he did alone, small bloomings of emotion where previously there was only a bored apathy. They didn't deserve to be here, Niki and Techno were both so talented and had so much to offer the world. They had dreams before they were kidnapped and forced to be entertainment for someone lucky enough to be born above them. Those dreams kept them awake at night now with wasted potential. Phil didn't have a dream, but he could imagine the sky when they described it to him, and when he slept the sea cradled him. If he could help someone as brilliant as Niki or as strong as Techno escape a slow decline into apathy, well, he would do whatever it took to make sure they got to go back to their lives. He'd remember them as fondly as he could. Their stroke of luck came with the grand reveal of Ender's menagerie. The preparations began weeks in advance, a steady line of gardeners, task masters driving groups of slaves through the setup and new decorations. The celestial dragon had his entire collection of exotic fruits brought in and set up in thematically appropriate areas of the greenhouse - Phil was under the impression that devil fruits were supposed to be an unknown. They offered a terrible trade, possibly limitless power in exchange for never being able to swim again. It was a gamble, and one that didn't seem worth it giving both his lack of legs and also the fact that they all lived on The Red Line on a world that was mostly water. He liked being able to swim just fine, watching dubiously from his pool as the strange, waxy fruits were brought in and displayed like they were growing from trees. It was a bizarre display of wealth but he wasn't the guy with unlimited power and money, which was a treasonous thought. He sank to the bottom of his pool, hoped that Techno and Niki had made themselves scarce as people tromped around their shared cage. He couldn't even be grateful of his beautiful new home. There was supposed to be a huge party, then Ender would escort his guests on a tour of his menagerie - apparently there was a new addition they would all be meeting from what Niki had overheard while hiding in the dense foliage. But the morning after Ender was supposed to be out, the grounds would be mostly abandoned, recovering, and security would be lax. Phil passed on as much as he could from years of watching parties and their aftermaths. Techno would filch a key for the locks, then just a quick jaunt, steal away in a ship and that was it.

"It's as good a plan as any," Phil reasoned, running over everything they'd put together in the past weeks. There was next to no time to meet between interruptions and setup. They'd all been dressed up for the event - finery meant to disguise from their more savage features. "You should be gone by the time anyone notices something's amiss."

"We'll be out and back to the ocean in no time." Techno nodded, "I can finally teach Niki the finer points of swimming."

"I will not be getting my fur wet." Niki glowered, but her tail was twitching. "We'll have to be quick, and I can handle any guards since Techno will have Phil."

"What?" Phil frowned, "mate, I'm not going."

"Of course you're coming." Techno wasn't looking at him, staring instead towards the door they'd selected as the most likely candidate for escape. "I'll carry you and Niki handles all the opposition, easy."

"No, that's stupid, I'll just slow you down."

Techno looked at him, and Niki paused with a paw out to swipe some of their shared meal onto the leaf she was using as a plate.

"We're not leaving you behind."

Phil disagreed.

***

Captain Dream was an intimidating man. What his stature lacked, he more than made up for in reputation. Phil imagined that if they stood toe to toe they'd be roughly at eye level, but the dark blonde hair under a deep green hood and a mask scrawled with the same slapdash smile that adorned his ship's sails was enough to ruffle feathers. He stared up, towards where Phil was circling and he could see the way his fingers melted into voids at the end - stars dancing between his feathers. Whether he'd been named for his fruit or the nickname had come after the dream dream fruit was as much a legend as the figure currently tracking Phil through the skies. The dregs of the nightmare were still clinging to him, leftover fear curdling in his stomach but it was harder to feel pinned down with salt air pouring over his feathers. The Manhunt Pirates followed their captain's stylings, monsters out of storybooks and things that lurked under beds made very, very real. A pair of cuffs hung from their enforcer's belt, the clink of seastone giving Phil pause even at this height.

"To what do we owe the pleasure, Black Crow?" Dream called up, his body didn't want to stay in one place, fuzzing at the edges, glitching into star scatters of green and blue before warping back into something roughly human shaped. Nightmares were just dreams left to rot, and this crew specialized.

"I think you've got a pretty good idea, mate." Phil crowed, voice croaking out of a corvid throat.

"Did we finally catch your attention, I'm honored." Dream was pacing, keeping track with him across the deck as Phil wheeled into a turn, banking for a dive. "It'll be a pretty pay day when we turn your crew in, once for the bounty and a second time for the sale."

Phil tipped and careened downward, wings pulled tight to his body and eyes boring into the unsettling mask. He didn't negotiate with slavers, and neither did his crew. Freedom or death.

***

It was stupid to hope, believing they could escape without being caught, that Phil could contribute to something meaningful, that he could be happy. There were things happening in the world that he couldn't see, and whatever it was left Ender paranoid, unhappy and angry. He didn't like how friendly his Angel was getting, thought it better that Phil go back into his bowl. A new one had been commissioned, he'd be put back immediately following the party and returned to his usual place where Ender could appreciate him as a display piece. He needed to be protected. The idea of going back into the cramped sphere made Phil's chest ache, he didn't want to loose his friends, didn't want to go back, not when they were so close but if this was the prescription then there was no way things would be lax enough for the kind of subterfuge they were planning. Niki looked grim.

"Then we go now," Techno reasoned, "tonight, we have to, it's the only option."

"They'll kill you." Phil argued, the crest on his tail raised as he flashed his teeth. He wasn't having this argument, better living in this beautiful cage than dead.

"Personally," Niki fingered the edge of her collar, looking contemplative. "I'd rather be dead than spend another day in this fucking zoo."

Lightning arced off her paws, snapping through the air with the intense smell of ozone and metal malfunctioning. Phil held his breath for the explosion, the blood, but none came, the collar cracked off of her neck in two even, charred pieces.

"You should have mentioned that earlier." Techno said, incredulous. Niki laughed, and he accepted the help as she sent another series of volts into his neck. Phil flinched, pulling back from the edge of his pond. They were insane, these two people, beautiful and wild and full of dreams. They were mad and they were going to get themselves killed. He was going to drag them down. "Get Phil."

"Don't, fucking, get out. Go on!" Phil splashed away from Niki, "don't fucking touch me. You're going to die, you're both going to die for this stupid dream and it's not worth it! It's not worth dying for! You're not going to make it to the sea, they're going to. Fuck. Ender! Ender help!"

Niki's lip curled, her tail lashing. Techno just looked at him, one arm out like he was still considering scooping him into his arms. 

“We’ll come back for you.”

Good fucking luck. Boots, and shouting, noise filtered in and Phil watched as the mink and the fishman turned to run. Phil watched them go, he hoped they made it. 

***

Phil shifted mid dive, body elongating, wings tripling in size as he slammed into Dream with the force of a human sized crow and sent them both crashing to the deck. They grappled for a moment tumbling head over ass before Phil got his talons around Dream's leg and pulled - dragging the man through a loose pile of chains. The ship was alive around him. He was vaguely aware of his crew in the background, cleaning up shop. Techno yanked his arm upwards, tangling the swordsman's weapon and dragging it out of his hands and spiralling into the ocean - one down three to go. Phil spun, took a void touched palm to the face and briefly saw stars, before he was back to grappling the slaver into submission. He got his other leg and flexed his wings, testing the cut on his left shoulder and took off with a cackling caw, towing his unwieldy cargo into the rigging. Quackity had the lizard on the run, one arm wrapped up in its tail, dragging it back within range of his knives as he took more and more swings at its armored hide. Phil looped upwards, crowing as he felt Dream scramble below him, trying to get a handhold against his scaled legs. Phil wasn't letting him win that easy. Tubbo had somehow managed to fully disarm their opponent, bottles rolling across the deck while Niki leveled her gun, the smell of ozone filling the air and making his feathers stand on end. He was free. He opened his talons, and let the bad dream slip through his fingers, spiraling down into the spray of the ocean.

"Techno! Catch!"

The fishman looked up, first mate crumpled at his feet and Phil could feel the exasperated sigh followed by a splash as he turned and arced back towards The Antarctica, wings spread out to catch the sun as he landed on the bow. Another bounty for the books, another crew of misery profiteers put to rest.

***

Phil sat at the bottom of his pool and waited for the inevitable. He didn’t know how long he would be here, curled in a corner before he was fished out and put back on display. It had been nice while it lasted, a brief respite from his loneliness, where it felt like there was something worthwhile. There were still people out there living beautiful lives, he could hold onto that, even as he felt an invisible vice tightening around his throat, his fins. He was never going to see the sea again; he hadn’t even dreamed of it, but the thought ached. There was an explosion from somewhere outside, muffled shouting that was covered by the lap of cool water. He would live out the rest of his life here, short as that would be, he wasn’t that young anymore. His tail would split eventually, not that he was keeping track of when his legs would come in. It didn’t matter, Ender would keep him until he got bored and then he’d discard him like every other toy he got which subsequently broke. Phil dug his nails into the back of his scalp and tried to breathe. He missed the apathy, the cloak of grey that kept him even keeled, boredom was far better than the myriad of painful consequences. He was alive. That had to be enough. There was a roar, heat washed over him as fire broke through the protective glass barrier, red light dancing on the edge of the grotto. Ender’s pride and joy, going up in flames.

Phil didn’t want to die here.

He didn’t want to live like this either.

It wasn’t living, trapped in the bottom of a bowl performing tricks for the barest scrap of affection. Phil wasn’t a fucking dog. There had to be more out there, something worth living for, something worth the risk of stepping outside of the safety certainty provided. In a fishbowl, or trying to grasp something more beautiful, if he was going to die, he wanted a say in how it happened.

Phil shoved himself towards the surface, cutting through the warming water and beaching himself with a wet slap. He rolled as a piece of glass careened down towards the floor. He didn’t have his legs yet, but he wanted to live long enough to see what those would look like. He wanted to actually experience walking. He wanted to breathe free air and race ships going full tilt, swimming against the wind.

He dug his fingers into the rough stone and pulled, dragging himself towards the exit he knew that Techno and Niki had taken. A series of gunshots gave him a heading and he bent himself to the monumental task of crawling, painfully, desperately towards the chance at something better.

Time blurred, there was only the next patch of ground he had to clear, the occasional rubble or falling chunk of glass to dodge. His knuckles were bruised, palms bleeding sluggishly but he kept at it. He could smell the sea, somewhere, salt and more water than he could ever tread himself. He was going to try. The sky crested through a gap in the glass - black with a hint of sunset red still glancing off a few clouds, pinprick stars glittering down as he shoved himself through a bush, dislodging a few decorative fruits, over a jutting piece of stone and looked out into the world.

The courtyard was burning. Fire licked at the boots of the soldiers running across black ground towards a pair of combatants wreathed in blue lightning and more than their fair share of bodies. Even unarmed and up against impossible odds, they were formidable. Niki’s teeth were bared, yellow in the firelight and Techno had two guards by their necks, slamming them together so their skulls knocked loud enough for Phil to hear. They were bloodied, battered, but they were far from dead and further still from giving up. They were also very slowly being pushed back towards a steep drop off. It was probably meant to be decorative, a natural edge of stone overlooking the ocean. Currently it was operating as a death trap. Phil looked around, trying to figure out how to help, he had to do something, get to them somehow, signal that he wanted to come, that he wasn’t going to die in this cage.

A figure in white on a balcony across the courtyard caught his eye, the glint of fire off of the barrel of a pistol. Ender looked put out, as disheveled as Phil had ever seen him, missing the distinctive helmet of a celestial dragon, he looked no different from anyone else. Stripped down to his nightclothes in the midst of a riot, Phil didn’t think he was anything special and he hated him for it. 

There wasn’t time, he could see it, in his minds eye, if he tried to call out to Techno, or Niki, if they slipped up for even a moment they’d be overwhelmed. Ender was always a poor sport, and this was the ultimate expression, it didn’t matter how good they were, how hard they worked, how unfair it was. If he thought one of his slaves had outlived its usefulness, they were put down. 

He had to do something.

No one had been stupid enough to leave a gun close at hand. Phil didn’t have Electro or incredible combat prowess. He was a useless, pretty mermaid who’d been in a bowl for so long that he couldn’t even remember where he came from. The ground rumbled, and something soft bumped into his tail. Phil glanced down, almost missed the smooth curve of a devil fruit where it rested against his scales. It was black, the distinctive, unnatural pattern of the skin looked like feathers in the intense shadows. He picked it up, heavier than it should have been in his hands where he cradled it.

He would never swim again.

He could hear the click of the hammer pushing the bullet into place.

Better this than the bowl. He bit down.

A sour, bitter, salty taste overwhelmed him, somehow both underipe and rotten. He struggled not to gag, forced himself to swallow before doubling over. His body shifted around him, untethered from his mind, tail splitting into legs, wings sprouting from his back and his face elongating into a razor sharp beak. His vision sharpened, his senses heightened as he inhaled, ragged and burning down his throat where the fruit had burned a trial.

He stumbled upright, letting instinct take over where his brain was still reeling and took off, unsteady on new wings as he scrambled into the sky. His feet were talons, wicked sharp when he plummeted. There was the briefest flash of recognition, dark eyes in a face Phil hated as a scream tore itself from his lungs. The gun scattered across the ground and Phil lept off the balcony, spiraling down before catching himself at the last second. Flying was a little like swimming, currents in air moved like water as he burst through a group of soldiers and slammed into the ground in front of his friends. He stumbled upright, looking around for their next target, the blood on his beak tasted like metal. He’d never felt this alive.

“Can I come with you?” He gasped out, trying to focus on making out Techno’s features through new eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, but I want to come. I want to see the ocean again.”

“The feathers are new,” Niki stared at him before snarling and darting forward to shove him out of the way as a pair of soldiers managed to get off a shot.

“You couldn’t have revealed your secret flying fish heritage before now?” Techno levied his shoulder under a charging soldier and flipped them over the cliff edge. “That would have been so useful, my plans, they’re in shambles.”

“Never let them know your next move.” Phil grinned. Something in him was opening, blooming under the possibility of starting over. He wasn’t dead yet, there was still time. 

“Good to have you back, Phil.” 

It was like meeting himself again for the first time. It was like becoming someone new entirely. A future of potential spread out in front of him, clear skies and broad horizons.

A world in which no one ever had to be owned by someone else again, where people were free.

***

They’d picked Ranboo up in the aftermath of their grand escape, the half giant had been left to guard a ship, and folded easily under the combination of threats and a shoehorned promise of freedom if they complied. The ship they stole became The Antarctica, and their little crew grew from four to six and eight as they set themselves to liberating those caught up in the slave trade the government couldn’t be bothered to regulate. It benefited them, having a continual, ready group of laborers who didn't need to be paid, that could be tapped into whenever there was something that needed done. The Hardcore Pirates took that lax attitude personally. They all knew first hand the horror of being caught up in a system that was cruel by design, that saw them as disposable and would do whatever it took to crush people under its heel to upkeep the lifestyles of a few over the many. The crew slowly filtered back to The Antarctica. They'd finish cleanup tomorrow, tow the ship to Navy controlled waters and let the Marines handle the rest. There wasn't anyone for them to ferry to safer harbors, so it was just a matter of celebrating their accomplishments. Tommy made good on his promise of a meal fit for kings (and queens, Niki was right there). There was fresh fish in abundance, cut up and marinated in lime, vegetables grown in the tontatta's below deck garden dressed up through pickling and dressing, crisp bits of flatbread fried in oil and custard covered in burnt sugar syrup. The alcohol was plentiful and the deck of The Antarctica boasted a celebratory feel. Tommy and Tubbo raced each other across the deck, dodging under their larger crew mates as they laughed. Niki laid on her back, stretched out with a mug of sake held loosely in one paw, staring up at the sky. Ranboo sat next to her, fiddling with a small piece of embroidery that they occasionally held out to the mink for an approving twitch of her whiskers. Wilbur was spilled across Quackity's lap, cheeks red with drink, spouting something that sent the other man's wings bristling. Phil leaned against the mast, sipping at his own drink, watching his crew enjoy their success. A shadow fell across his shoulder as Techno joined him, staring out over their ship, he raised his cup.

"Let's hear it for Captain Phil!"

"Mate-"

Phil's protests were drowned out by the cheers of his crew, a hand tugged at the gold hoop in his left ear as Tubbo materialized on his shoulder and Tommy zipped up his arm to yell directly into his opposite ear.

"Our fearless captain, yet another success for The Hardcore Pirates!"

"Alright, alright, shove off you lot. I just flew around and pointed, you all did the hard work. Everyone contributed, I couldn't do half of this without all of you putting in your best. So, drink up, enjoy your evening, it's back to work tomorrow."

His crew laughed, voices pitching up into cheerful heckling as they circled the deck together. Wilbur scrambled off and reappeared a few moments later with a battered guitar case that he popped open.

"What's a party without a little music?" He pulled out the instrument, old, and a little scuffed but that didn't matter as he settled on the deck and started to strum a slow tune. The rest of the crew circled around him, some sitting, others leaning or humming along as he started a familiar shanty. Phil nodded along, following the motion of fingers plucking across strings. Techno leaned over and tugged at his arm, jerking his head towards the side of the ship. Phil let himself be pulled away, setting his mug on the deck as Techno slipped over the railing and dropped into the ocean below them with a near silent splash. His head surfaced a second later, pink hair fanning out around his head and a series of bioluminescent patterns flashing across his skin as he tread water. Phil stared down at the dark water, before he stepped out and let himself drop. There was a brief weightless moment, then a weight dragging him down, heavy and inescapable. A sturdy chest collided with his own, Techno floating below him, buoyed by the ocean in that unique way fishmen had to call the currents to their will. They floated, Phil held up by a pair of strong arms wrapped loosely around his hips. He kicked, once, twice, and then his legs were a tail and he was being cradled in the ocean's embrace. It wasn't quite the same. He couldn't swim under his own power, would sink if he wasn't being held up. But it was warm all the same. The waves rocked them from below, a blanket of stars winked down from above. The world was cruel, yes, but it was also kind because he knew people who were kind in spite of cruelty. He dreamed, in the warm embrace of the sea, caught between the world he had been born in and the one he'd grown to love, united by a distant horizon. He dreamed of a beautiful future, and as his crew's voices swelled into the deepening night, he believed, more than anything else, that they would wake up in between the sea and sky, as free as birds and as wild as fish. The future was now, all they had to do was build it.