Grand Voyage- Log 4

Log 4- D'Artagnan Arc Part 4
“No way.”

“Why not?!” Knave whined, resting his chin on his left palm.

“Because I don’t trust you,” D’Artagnan replied simply, rubbing the cleaning cloth over one of his knives. The two of them had returned to the house, and the money lender had elected to rest for a short bit and have some food whilst waiting to see if the gang would retaliate. “And I won’t go with someone I don’t trust.”

“But I trust you....” Knave groaned, leaning back and resting his head on a nearby silk pillow. This put him in quite the odd position, with his legs propped on a nearby chair, and his torso hanging in empty space in between the two pieces of furniture.

“But that doesn’t mean I have to return the favor,” D’Artagnan answered, “and considering that you probably just got me into a lot of trouble, no way I’m going to help you right now.”

“Ah, come on~,” Knave muttered, rolling over slightly, “don’t be so stingy...”

“I’m not being stingy! I just don’t want to di-”

“Pardon me once again, sir,” said the manservant, peeking his head into the small reception room where Knave and the money lender were recovering, “but the food is finished.”

“Food?! AWESOME!” Knave cried, attempting to slide around and regain his footing, but instead made an awkward twirling motion, completely dislodged himself, and crashed to the floor. “Oww...” he groaned from his position.

“Sieghart-san,” Kinan said, gently prodding her superior, “wake up...”

Sieghart snorted, pulling his face off the bar where he had laid it unwittingly to rest, and quickly shook the cobwebs of his head. “What were we talking about?” he yawned, rubbing his eyes to clear away the tiny bits of phlegm that had formed around them while he was sleeping.

“We were talking about how to track the brat,” Gerard answered, taking another sip of his traditional, almost pitch-black coffee.

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Of course,” Sieg recovered, then popped another fried clam into his mouth, quickly chewing and swallowing it. “Ah, those are the best. So, any ideas?”

“Almost none,” Kinan answered, once again looking at several papers on her clipboard, “all we have is his.... previous run-ins with the law.”

“Previous run ins?” Sieghart asked, before quickly snatching up another fried clam and sending it into his gullet.

“9 years ago,” Kinan said, “several Marines on a small South Blue town discovered a Devil Fruit in the possession of a villager. They quickly seized it and identified it as the Naga Naga no Mi.”

“Meteorite Meteorite Fruit?” Gerard asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Indeed,” Kinan continued, “they immediately contacted headquarters, deciding it was a gift worthy of an admiral. We quickly dispatched several ships to retrieve and take the Devil Fruit back to HQ, to give to a Marine who was currently gunning for admiral and seemed likely to succeed.”

“Who was the Marine?” Sieg asked, raising an eyebrow and reaching for a cup of orange juice near his plate.

“Hammer,” Kinan replied simply.

A moment of silence reigned as the three Marines paused to either have a drink or eat some more food.

“So, disregarding that, what happened to the fruit?” Gerard asked, “Hammer obviously doesn’t have it now.”

“Right as it was being handed over,” Kinan resumed, “a young boy seemed to come out of nowhere and quickly snatched the fruit, then disappeared into the town’s sewer system. We sent multiple search parties, but we never found him.”

“So this kid ended up getting the fruit?” Sieghart sought confirmation.

“Yes,” Kinan said, “he was sighted a few times after that, and eventually they gave him a bounty for his crime. A simple 1,000 beli. A few others villagers knew his first name, so we used that.” She lifted up the same poster that Hammer had shown them. It displayed a young boy, with wild neon green hair, wearing a simple black vest and white pants. Below the picture simply read “KNAVE: 1,000 Beli”.

“Naga Naga no Mi?” D’Artagnan asked, before taking another bite from the large piece of turkey he had managed to carve off before Knave had seized the rest, and began digging in, sending small bits of spittle flying everywhere.

“Yep!” Knave paused, swallowing a large chunk, “I’m a Shooting Star Human! I can give my body the energy, speed, and heat of a shooting star!” He resumed eating.

“So that white stuff you used against them was...”

“The heat and kinetic energy, I think. I’m not entirely sure how it all works. It’s mostly.... instinct, I guess.”

“And that’s all you can do?”

“I can fly sometimes, but not for very long before I fall down. I don’t really know why.”

“Maybe it’s because you use the fruit’s abilities on instinct, and you need to consciously activate some of its abilities.”

“Maybe. Can I go back to eating?”

“Tch, fine.”

With that, Knave’s teeth found the turkey once again. D’Artagnan sighed, then leaned back, taking a sip from the small goblet he had by his plate. Good booze, at least, he thought wryly. Knave suddenly glanced up.

“Since you’re going to join my crew, can I just call you ‘Art’? D’Artagnan is too long and hard to say.”

“I never said I’d joi-”

“Art it is.”

The newly christened “Art” grimaced and opened his mouth to retaliate. Before he could speak, however, a loud rapping was heard on the door. “I’ll get it sir,” the manservant said, moving swiftly towards the door.

“No, wait!” Art cried, raising out his hand, “don’t-”

Too late. The manservant opened the door, his mouth opening to release a greeting, as several bullets ripped through his body, landing in his chest and head. He dropped to the floor, a pool of blood quickly forming.

“Sh*t!” Art thundered, yanking out his knives as the door sprang fully open, while thousands of gangsters stormed in, firing seemingly at random. Knave quickly swung the turkey in front of him, blocking the bullets, while Art leaped under the table.

“HOW DARE YOU SHOOT MY FOOD?!” Knave thundered, hurling the turkey into the air, as the flame-like substance  quickly wrapped around his hands.

“He’s attacking, get him!” one of the gangsters yelled, as they concentrated all their fire on the green-haired menace.

“Naga Naga no...” Knave cried, quickly spinning rapidly in a circle, causing the heat energy to wrap around him in a vortex shape. “....WHIRLWIND!”

The bullets were quickly shattered in the vortex, and Knave halted the movement, allowing the heat energy to fade. “Naga Naga no....” he yelled, as his hand was once again covered with the energy, “HEAT CANON!”

Knave thrust his arm forward, as the heat energy was flung off, landing in the mist of several gangsters, and then exploded outward, sending many of the mobsters reeling, clutching burns and scratches. Meanwhile, D’Artagnan, emboldened by Knave’s actions, rolled out from under the table, knives flashing.

“Two Knife Style: Thorn Valley!” Thousands of small slashes cut deep into the gun barrels, then cut into the gangsters facing them, causing them to drop.

Meanwhile, Knave allowed the white aura from before to burst into being, as he leaped towards another one of the mobsters, this one wielding a particularly nasty-looking shotgun. “Naga Naga no...” Knave’s forearm smashed into the gunman’s neck, causing his eyes to blank out as he smashed through the wall. “....LARIAT!”

“Two Knife Style:....” Art cried, jumping to the side of the table and using it to propel himself into the air. His knives angled downward, towards the opponents, “...Blood Rain!” Compressed air slashes fell in a figurative downpour, defeating even more of the agressors.

“They’re too strong!” an anonymous member of the gang cried, “run!” Screaming, the group began running for the door, while others leaped out of windows, crashing into the garden below. Knave, however, wasn’t far from finished.

“Naga Naga no....” the marimo youth cried, as his body began to glow white. He extended his hands, facing the remaining gangsters. “...RAPID FIRE!”

Thousands of small bursts of energy flew off him, striking the gangsters all over and leaving small burns where they landed. Frantically, the last remaining gangster leaped out the window, smashing into a nearby oak and dropping to the ground.

Silence quickly returned, as Art once again sheathed his knives, then strolled over and checked his butler. His eyes quickly clouded over. “Damn.”

Knave, meanwhile, let out a deep exhale, and he sunk into one of the chairs around the dining table again. “That was fun,” he yawned happily.

“What’s fun about it?” Art asked, his annoyance building once again, “my butler’s dead and my house is ruined! HOW IS THAT A GOOD THING?!”

“Good point!” Knave said, slamming his fist into his other open palm, “that just means that it’s easier for you to join my crew now! Ciaosususususususu!”

“Like hell!” the Majin yelled, hurling a plate at his green-haired, sadly retarded ally. Knave yelped, ducking the blow as the plate crashed into pieces on the wall.

“Now what was that for? I didn’t say anything wrong!”

“Yes you di-.... Wait, do you smell that? Smoke?”

“I’m probably not the best person to put in charge of burning things,” Ice John remarked, a sweat bead dripping from the back of his head as he stared at the now burning cafe. The cook, patrons, and waitresses mostly fled, while others cried out as they were consumed by the inferno.

“Ice John-sama!” one of the henchman yelled. The right-hand man glanced at his subordinate, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“The two people we talked about earlier are heading this way!”

Ice John’s eyes flickered, and a malevolent smile grew on his face. However, his Ko Den Den Mushi chose that moment to start ringing. He quickly lifted it up. “Yeah, Don Cazzuto-sama?”

“Get back here right now!” came the Don’s voice, “we have a report from the men who went to kill those two!”

“But sir-”

“No buts! Get over here right now!” The Ko Den Den Mushi stopped talking.

Ice John let out an exasperated sigh. “Pack up men,” he ordered, “let’s just hope those two get demoralized when they see what we did here.”

~End of Log~

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter