"A Zoan Devil Fruit User," Ensie swore to himself, "looks like a canine beast to me, a wolf? A fox?" 

He spun his halberd, not too affected by the change. He was a Rear Admiral, after all-- a Fruit user or two wasn't much of a surprise-- the only shocking element was that he was in West Blue, and that he didn't know what this beast was supposed to be. It only mattered to him how annoying it would be to deal with it while transporting a convict.

The girl had claws, and speed.

She lunged right at the Rear Admiral, fear absent from her veins.

Ensie took two steps back-- and met her strike with a clear clang of his axe. A hard swing from his back, blade on claw, the force of wind whirled from impact, sending shockwaves reverberating through the land.

Their eyes met.

His were deep brown-- against hers that burned an unnatural crimson. 

She was no longer human.

Ensie gripped his staff with both hands-- and with a grunt-filled warcry, he anchored his foot and pushed forward. It was a Zoan user-- anyone with less than incomparable strength stood no chance. He clenched his shoulders, and threw the girl into the air.

Rose lost, flailing miserably against the pressure-- she was thrown into the sky-- and left to fall prey to gravity she couldn't fight.

Ensie leaped, and with one hard, merciless swing of his blade-- metal swooped across her back, leaving a deep, red trail that wound much more than her physical pride.

When the Rear Admiral landed back down, he considered if he shouldn't have scarred a girl's back. It wasn't gentlemanly to be leaving scars at all-- but would it have been preferable if he attacked her front? Well, he would talk this over with his subordinates.

Rose could only howl as she was defeated-- so pathetically-- in less than even a minute. She wasn't even a foe to him, just a nuisance, an obstructive pebble so easy to deal with. 

She was miserable, so pitiable.

Plunging onto a roof tent was the least of her worries. She plummeted, breaking the contraption, shattering a vase-- and only tumbled weakly to the corner, her back raw and bleeding in a wound that, although may not take her life, wounded her.

"I was expecting a few of you devils around, but I wasn't expecting a Zoan, of all," Ensie swiped the blood of his halberd, returning it to its holster at his back. "She won't be getting up, we'll go."

"Wait, how could it have been so easy--" Mime was struck with disbelief-- "you! that naginata-- it's made of Sea Stone, isn't it? Why would you--"

"Only the staff, calm yourself," Ensie continued his way down the street, marching lackdaisical steps forward, "the blade itself isn't, because it's made to subdue, not kill. That girl's got guts, and she's a Zoan, so she'll live."

Rose clutched the grounds, ebbing in an out of consciousness. Her eye drooped, lidded, pained, angered and the red faltered. She was struck right out of her half-beast form-- was this the effect of seastone? Or was it because this was just how much weaker she was?

Her back burned. Sliced right open, tainted red and scarlet.

A burning sensation that seared iron into skin. A scarred back that can never fade, a mark of property and weakness that can she never went against. The screams that tore through only at the pleasure of the insane masses.

Oh, how she thought she outgrew it.

But there was only one reality. She was weak, helpless, and at the mercy of the ones above.

Like the brand burned into her back, that fact will never change.

Her hand trembled, her limbs shivered. She was cold. She was smaller now. She was human now-- no, she wasn't human. She was less than human. Scum.

Mime was turned back, dragged forward-- but he was still trying to reach her. His hands outstretched-- his mouth was moving, screaming, shouting-- something.

Her name echoed in the cacophony, but the world was underwater. Her ears were failing to focus on anything, and her heart was only palpitating and hurting her with each heavy, painful beat. Her blood was running dry, her mind was running wild, and her senses were flaring with pain that she had long escaped.

She tottered to her limbs, bringing her head away from the ground-- dragging her limbs, suddenly so, so weak.

She wasn't even that badly hurt. She could do this. She could go on.

"How dare you talk back to a human," a voice spat at her, kicking her down.

Nothing touched her, but she felt it hit. She felt herself gasp, hurt, choking back an agonized scream. Her ears rang, her mind blared sirens-- 

She saw Mime, calling for her. Desperate, so desperate, so far away. She saw herself behind invisible bars, separated, as Mime was dragged away from her; and she was helpless.

Ah, she realized. Looking up, unable to even crawl to her knees, she knew that this feeling-- was submission. To strength. 

She felt someone come to her side.

A hand clasped hers-- and suddenly everything was just warm now. She was pulled into an embrace-- and feeling just so, so safe, she closed her eyes and drifted from consciousness.

She was too tired.

ー

Grizzly stood before the crowd, marching forward despite his injuries. His fists were packed with rage. His eyes were filled with malice. 

His eyes washed over Rose's form-- unconscious and bleeding, in Masquerade's arms... the girl-- the girl that never liked violence-- had fought-- and it seemed she was now hurt with something far worse than the wound on her back.

Memories, perhaps? He knew her past-- perhaps, this hit home to her.

"She had a panic attack," Masquerade quietly told him, forlorn, meaningful, near tears, "it hasn't happened for seven years, Grizzly."

Grizzly fumed.

Rear Admiral Ensie was far now-- but not too far.

"Grizzly!" Visul came into view, "thank goodness, you're alright-- where's--" her breath drew in when she saw Rose-- her back split open, her breath shallow.

The palace was bustling with the commotion of medics rushing in and out. There were guards injured too, and they were trying to remove the debris to save more. 

"Visul?" Masquerade was alarmed, "what are you doing here?"

"You have light scrapes, and a bleeding shoulder injury," Visul observed, "Grizzly will be fine. Knight's head avoided a fatal injury because of your helmet, but your wrist is bruised and probably bent. Don't move it."

"Visul," Butterfly grabbed her hand, "you're not supposed to be here."

"A large, bladed weapon. Bleeding is fatal," Visul wasn't hearing it, she had already crouched down next to Rose, "it didn't reach the spine, but infection may occur. Masquerade, hold onto her."

Visul turned her gaze to Grizzly.

Warm, earthen eyes landed on her, softened and stern, but not without trust. Visul returned the gaze with the seriousness of midas gold-- the words didn't need to be spoken.

"Masquerade and Knight will stay here with Rose," Grizzly decided, "Butterfly, Fox, and Boar will come with me to deal with the soldiers."

The order was obeyed without question, and the four ran ahead.

Visul reached to the girl's back-- and from the top of her shirt, Visul tore the fabric away from the skin, eager to not aggravate the injury. Her back was fully stained in the red-- Visul winced, but didn't falter.

"Visul, why did you come?" Knight lurched forward, taking her by the shoulder. His eyes were stern, broken, and so filled with concern, "the three of you, please don't tell me you're--"

Please don't tell me you're going to fight for us.

"I am a doctor," Visul lifted her hands-- interlocked her fingers-- and pulled them apart, pure white threads stretching out of her fingers-- "and my job is to close up wounds."

"Where's Cross and Takara?" Masquerade held Rose tight-- watching in bated awe.

The threads that swayed in the wind, danced int he light, interlaced and crossed, forming a web of clot over the wound, gleaming as if they were luminescent-- threading over the wound much more precisely than any surgical stitch-- it culminated, covered the hole so thickly-- then promptly, wound a sealing knot and detached itself from Visul's fingers.

The white patch on her skin stood out against the red of the blood on her back.

Visul breathed out, wiping the sweat off of her forehead.

The crowd awed, surprised but not negatively appalled.

"What... was that?" 

Visul cringed at Knight's curiosity. She didn't provide an answer-- she didn't know how to. Instead, she stood up, with clenched fists and a resolve to save lives. 

"The three of us will do whatever we can to help," Visul told them, a cheeky smile making her way to her face, balling her fists in a show of gusto, "and we're just repaying a debt, so don't mind it at all!"

"Wha-"

ー

"Hm," Cross landed on the edge, of the roof, looking out, "Huh? where's that Edgy guy?"

By now, the crowd had subsided, and only the ambulance remained. The soldiers had marched off a ways away, nearing the centre of town now--

But unfortunately, Cross had somehow ended up in the precise opposite direction of the palace. Now he was probably nearer to the port than he started out.

Pulling his hood back on, Cross pouted.

"Must've just missed them, okay," he decided, standing right up and spinning around-- and his foot slipped down the diagonal edge of the rooftop-- "Eeek!"

It was so sudden, his eyes didn't even register the down scenery before he was just crashing onto another human down there.

"Ow, ow," he winced, "oh, my foot is bleeding."

"Hello, get off me!"

Cross was sitting on a man--with brown hair, a full-grown man-- A white, gold-rimmed coat on his shoulders, the man donned the kanji of Justice on his back. 

"Uh," he tried to remember what Takara told him to say in situations like this. Keeping himself comfortable on the man's spine, "I'm sorry for bumping into you?"

"You fell on me," the man groaned miserably.

"I'm sorry for falling on you!" Cross said, brightly.

"Yeah, no problems, kid," the man sounded utterly defeated, "very polite. I like you, kid. Now, if you would kindly get off of me-"

"Can't," Cross simply reported, "Takara said that when I get a wound on my foot, I'm not allowed to stand up. So I can't get up."

"So you're just gonna sit on me?"

"Maybe?"

Cross sat down, considering. "Well, Takara's not here to yell at me," he observed, "so whatever." He got onto his feet quickly, spinning around to watch the man crawl to his own feet.

Dusting himself off, the man sighed.

"You cut your foot?" he asked, a passing concern, "where on earth did you fall from?"

"The roof!" Cross told him, "The roof tile broke on me!"

The man raised an eyebrow at the sight-- Cross was standing firmly on both feet-- he cut his foot? The only blood he could find was a speck on the ground. Did the child cut the bottom of his foot? A normal child would be crying, seeing how sensitive the at part of the body usually was...

"Why aren't you wearing any shoes?!" he joshed in a panic. Wasn't it common sense?

"Shoes are heavy and noisy!" Cross declared, "I don't like them."

Folding back the collar of his coat, the man sighed. His coat of justice told him to get this child to the police office, because this was probably a lost feral child, but he wasn't actually supposed to move from his current spot until he received new orders.

"So, who are you, kid?" the Marine raised an eyebrow, crouching down a little to the child that was quite a bit shorter than himself.

He liked children, he had one himself-- well, a little time to this one wouldn't hurt.

"I'm Cross, and I'm a pirate!" he chirped cheerfully, "are you a Marine, Mister?"

The man facepalmed. This kid was an idiot, if he'd ever seen one. 

"Yes," he decided to humour the child, "my name is Niryou, and I'm a Lieutenant. See this coat?"

Cross nodded, "it's the coat Takara told me to look out for!" he announced, raising his arms and exaggerating sizes, "because you might be dangerous, I think."

Niryou nodded, "yes, in a normal situation, I would be arresting you for piracy!" he snickered, "but right now, I'm on standby for orders from my Rear Admiral, so since you don't seem to have a bounty, you can run off and pretend you didn't see me."

"Okay!" Cross smiled, hands tucking behind and his back straightening and his head lifting-- his mismatched eyes gleamed, meeting the Lieutenant's firmly, "but you said I can, so I don't have to, right?"

"Huh?" Niryou was caught off guard. 

Next he knew, he was dodging.

Niryou swerved sharply to the side, pure instinct-- only barely avoiding a silver blade-- and a red wire that seamed with it. He ducked toward the wall. Cross pulled his other blade, sending it to the other side of Niryou's face-- the Lieutenant lurched his head up.

With blades embedded on either side of him, wires extending in a intersect right at his neck, Cross leaped forward, feet planting firmly on the wall behind the marine.

"That was close," the boy breathed a sigh of relief, eyes-- murderous, a predator's eyes-- never leaving the marine. "Takara told me not to kill anyone, I almost forgot."

But he didn't seem like he was letting up from his position anytime soon.

Niryou couldn't move an inch without red wires digging deeper into his neck. He could barely speak, or swallow, without feeling a new cut bite into him.

Never in his life would he have guessed he would suddenly get a kabedon from a kid, but who knows, this is the sea, after all.

"But Takara didn't say what to do with the coat-wearing people," Cross mumbled to himself, "hey, do you know how to defeat people without killing them?"

Niryou's fists clenched-- the child was boring holes into him. Perhaps it was the shadow of his hood, but those eyes-- black and blue-- gleamed and sharpened like hunting animal. It wasn't quite as similar to those of a certain Master Swordsman's-- but it was eerie nonetheless.

Niryou didn't see how he could answer, so he kept silent.

Cross tilted his head to the side-- his eyes were still wide, creepy, like a doll's, just plain curious, so, so, interested-- "hey, what were you guys planning on doing with Mime?"

Mime, Niryou recognized that as Captain Skipper Jack's alias. So this child had something to do with him-- this was part of the complications he was brought to deal with. To ensure safe transportation of the convict, to make sure none of these interference gets their way--

Niryou felt shivers.

Those eyes weren't just threatening-- they were interrogative, looking right into and through him, reading his every bit and parcel and secret and every thought. It made him fear-- because they were empty. Without emotion. Without life.

Bright and glowing, but without spirit.

That was a doll's eye on a human body-- no, it wasn't. His imagination is running wild.

His emotions are becoming disarrayed.

He should have more composure than this!

"Hey," the child's voice was still innocent, a little song in his tone, "can I kill you?"