The festival grounds had become a nightmare.
Flames licked at collapsed stalls, turning streamers and lanterns into ash that swirled through the smoke-choked air. Screams cut through the roar of fire, punctuated by the whump-whump-whump of explosive apples raining from above. Villagers ran in every direction, some dragging wounded, some carrying children, some simply running because running was the only thing their bodies understood anymore.
Galit stood in the center of the chaos, his long neck weaving as he tried to track everything at once. A family trapped near a burning stall. A group of wounded huddled behind an overturned cart. A wave of panicked villagers about to stampede directly into another explosion zone.
"Move toward the temple steps!" he shouted, pointing. "The wounded—get them to—"
FOOM.
A fireball from Vasco Shot's direction obliterated the path he'd been pointing to.
Galit's jaw tightened. He tried again. "Circle around through the—"
FOOM. Another fireball. Another escape route gone.
"Use the—"
FOOM.
Galit's hands clenched into fists. His neck coiled tight with frustration. Every direction he looked, every plan he formed, that laughing, fire-breathing monster destroyed it.
Bianca paused from where she'd been helping an old woman to her feet. She saw Galit's posture change—the way his shoulders squared, the way his hand moved to his weapons, the way his eyes fixed on a single point in the chaos.
"Galit?" She straightened. "Like, what do you think you're doing?"
He looked at her. His expression was calm now—the calm of someone who had stopped trying to save everyone and decided to focus on one thing instead.
"Stay back." His voice was quiet, steady. "I'm going to deal with him."
Bianca blinked. "Deal with him? Like how?"
But Galit was already walking.
He moved through the chaos with purpose, his steps carrying him toward the massive figure who stood in the center of the burning market, laughing as fire streamed from his mouth. Villagers parted around him like water around a stone. Pirates who saw his approach thought better of intercepting.
Bianca stared after him, her mouth open.
Then something grabbed her collar.
She was yanked sideways, her feet leaving the ground, as she and Vesta tumbled across the stone just as an apple exploded exactly where she'd been standing.
They came to rest in a heap, both girls panting, dust and debris settling around them.
"Shew," Vesta breathed. "That was crazy."
Bianca turned her head, looking at the rainbow-haired musician with the kind of dazed expression that came from nearly dying too many times in one day.
"Like," she managed. "isn't Mikasi a power holder?"
Vesta blinked. She looked at the guitar lying next to her—Mikasi, who had been wiggling and jumping as if fussing at her since the chaos began.
"Well, yeah, but..." Vesta swallowed.
Bianca's brow furrowed. "But like what?"
Vesta looked up at the smoke-filled sky. Another apple detonated somewhere to their left. More screams. More fire.
"I can't control his power. I've only used it one other time, and I can't remember how I did it."
Bianca pushed up on her elbows, her cracked goggles sliding down her nose. "But like, maybe you just need to, like, try. Maybe it's like, about trust and stuff."
Vesta considered this.
A food stall exploded twenty meters away, sending a spray of wooden splinters through the air. Vesta sat up, taking in the chaos—the burning buildings, the screaming people, the pirates, the fire, the destruction.
Bianca put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm not like a power holder or anything, but like... I think you have a lot more to offer than you, like, give yourself credit for."
Vesta looked at her. For a long moment, something shifted behind her violet eyes. A decision. A choice.
She gripped Mikasi by the neck and pushed herself to her feet, then reached down to help Bianca up.
"I'll try."
Bianca nodded. "Like me too."
Vesta's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Bianca was already backing away, her eyes fixed on the path toward the dock. "I'm like, going to the sub. I can, like, be way more helpful there. Engineering. Countermeasures. Like, actual useful stuff."
Vesta's face broke into a smile. "Cool."
Bianca grinned, then turned and disappeared into the smoke.
Vesta watched her go for just a moment. Then she turned to face the chaos, took a deep breath, and with a dramatic strike across Mikasi's strings, she played.
The note rang out across the burning grounds—clear and powerful and alive. Mikasi hummed in response, the living instrument awakening to its wielder's call. Power flowed through Vesta, channeled by her music, given form by her will.
She played louder.
And from the smoke, dancing coyotes emerged.
They wore headdresses, feathers and beads bouncing as they moved, their forms translucent and strange. They charged into the oncoming wave of pirates with manic grins and impossible grace, tackling, tripping, confusing. The pirates swung at shadows that shouldn't exist, and the coyotes laughed and danced and fought.
Vesta's music swelled.
---
Vasco Shot took another long swig from his bottle as Galit approached.
The massive pirate wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned at the sight of the long-necked warrior walking toward him through the flames. There was something in that walk—something that said I've stopped running—that made the grin widen.
"Well, well. A brave one."
Galit didn't respond. His eyes never left Vasco's face.
Vasco raised his hand, fingers spread, and breathed.
Fire shot from his mouth in a barrage—not a stream, but bullets, each one capable of igniting whatever it touched. They streaked toward Galit in a wall of flame.
Galit moved.
His neck coiled, his body twisted, and he flowed through the gaps between fireballs like water through stones. The flames passed him on either side, leaving him untouched. He kept walking.
Vasco's grin flickered. He fired again—faster this time, wilder.
Galit dodged again. Closer now. Much closer.
Vasco threw aside his bottle and met him head-on.
They clashed—Galit's whips cracking against Vasco's fire-hardened fists. The pirate's strength was immense, each blow sending shockwaves through the ground, but Galit was fast, his neck allowing him to strike from angles that shouldn't be possible.
For the first time since the invasion began, Vasco Shot stopped firing at the festival grounds.
He had bigger problems.
---
Eliane's lungs burned.
She'd been running for what felt like hours, dodging fireballs and explosions, dragging Sanza and Jelly behind her. Every time she thought they'd found safety, another apple detonated, another wave of flame washed over them.
She looked up.
Doc Q circled overhead on Stronger, the spotted horse's hooves finding purchase on air. He reached into his bag, pulled out another apple, and dropped it with casual cruelty.
BOOM.
More screaming. More fire. More people hurt.
Eliane stopped.
Sanza and Jelly, running behind her, slammed into her back and tumbled to the ground in a heap of limbs and gelatin.
"Ow!" Sanza yelped, rubbing his rear. "What are you doing?"
Eliane didn't hear him.
Her eyes were fixed on Stronger. On Doc Q. On the endless rain of explosives that was destroying everything and everyone.
Her hand found the bamboo hilt of her practice sword.
"I'm not running anymore."
The words came out quiet, but they carried a weight that made Sanza's complaint die in his throat.
Then her wings appeared.
White and brilliant, spreading from her back like a blessing. And behind them, a flame—a halo of fire that blazed against the smoke-filled sky.
Sanza's jaw went slack. "You have wings?!"
Eliane didn't hear him.
She leaped.
The ground fell away beneath her as she shot upward, her wings carrying her straight toward Stronger and his rider. The wind screamed past her ears. The fire at her back blazed brighter. And from her throat came a sound that was not a child's cry—a war cry, fierce and terrible and free.
Doc Q looked up just in time to see her coming.
"Oh," he murmured. "Well then."
Eliane swung.
Her bamboo sword connected with Stronger's flank—not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get their attention. The horse whinnied and veered, nearly throwing its rider.
Doc Q grabbed the reins, steadying himself. His pale face split in a grin. "A little bird, come to play?"
Eliane swung again.
He dodged.
The chase was on.
Through the smoke, over the flames, between the falling apples—Eliane pursued them with a fury that surprised even herself. Her wings carried her where she needed to go, her sword always reaching, always almost connecting.
Doc Q muttered to himself, fumbling in his bag. "This is no good. No good at all. Contingency time."
He pulled out a small vial, uncorked it, and let the contents drift down on the wind.
Below, villagers began to fall.
One by one, they collapsed—not wounded, not dead, just... asleep. The toxin spread through the festival grounds, silent and invisible, claiming victim after victim.
Eliane saw.
Her eyes blazed.
She flew faster.
---
On the ground, Sanza watched Eliane's aerial chase with his mouth hanging open.
Jelly bounced beside him, starry eyes wide. "So fast! So fast! Bloop!"
Around them, the chaos continued. Pirates poured into the festival grounds, their silhouettes becoming solid shapes as they emerged from the smoke. They laughed and shouted and grabbed at anything that moved.
Sanza looked at them. Looked at Eliane, fighting in the sky. Looked at Vesta, playing her heart out while coyotes danced. Looked at Galit, locked in combat with a monster.
Everyone was doing something.
Everyone except him.
The shame was like a physical weight. He was useless. A child playing at importance while real warriors fought and died.
Then he heard the music.
Vesta's song reached him, and something inside Sanza stirred.
Not like before. Not the usual itch of power waiting to be used. This was deeper. Stranger. The Tora Tora no Mi, the White Tiger, the Celestial Guardian—it awakened.
"What is..." His voice came out shaky. "What is happening to me?"
His body began to change.
White fur erupted across his skin. Three tails sprouted behind him. Golden horns curved from his temples. And from deep in his chest, a sound emerged that was not a child's voice—a roar, haunting and terrible, that came from somewhere far beyond him.
Vengeful spirits answered.
They poured from the shadows—translucent forms of regret and sorrow, memories given shape. They swirled around the invading pirates, and where they passed, men screamed. They saw their greatest failures. Their deepest shames. The faces of everyone they'd wronged.
Pirates dropped their weapons, clawing at their own heads, begging for mercy from enemies that weren't there.
Sanza—in his three-tailed White Tiger form—charged into their midst.
He was small. He was untrained. He had no idea what he was doing.
But he was done running.
Jelly bounced behind him, gelatinous body quivering with excitement. "Weeee! Save friends! Bloop-bloop-bloop!"
---
A new sound joined the chaos—a roar of voices, deep and unified.
Monks.
Dozens of them, pouring down from the temple steps, their gray robes streaming behind them, their Haki flaring in unison. They hit the pirate line like a wave, and the invaders broke.
Haki met steel. Ryu met fire. Centuries of training met brute force.
The pirates fell back.
---
Vasco Shot and Galit circled each other in the burning heart of the festival grounds. Both bled. Both breathed hard. Neither looked away.
"You and your friends," Vasco laughed, spitting blood, "are going to sell for a lot of berries."
Galit's eyes narrowed. "Your ships won't leave this island intact."
Vasco's grin widened. "That's a threat you won't be able to keep."
Galit lunged.
His whips cracked through the air, striking from three directions at once. Vasco dodged two, took the third across the chest, and answered with a blast of fire that forced Galit to retreat.
They circled again.
Waiting.
Watching.
The battle raged around them, but here, in this small space, only they existed.
Only they mattered.
Only one of them would walk away.
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