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TRY MY NEW(KIND OF) FANFIC: ONE PIECE: SOL RAGNAROK
NEW SIVER MEMBERS:-Daniel Reis, JoyBoy, Keavi, Rob, Flaminglines, Michal Matušík
NEW GOLD MEMBER:- Cole Bachmeier
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The world was fire, and screaming, and the clang of steel.
Xebec was gone. Eris was gone. The chaotic tide of the battle had swallowed them, a clash of titans that was tearing the very island apart, separating Aster from them in a cloud of dust and stone.
Aster was alone.
He was in a burning jungle. He was holding his one-year-old brother in his left arm, and the Supreme Grade axe, Crimson Abyss, in his right.
He ran.
He was no longer a warrior. He was no longer a prodigy. He was a child, his mind screaming in panic. His only thought: protect Teach.
A shadow detached itself from a burning tree. A man, laughing, his clothes torn, a cutlass in his hand. A Roger Pirate, his eyes wide with the joy of battle. He saw Aster. He saw the baby. He saw fun.
"Well, well, what's this?" the pirate laughed, lunging. "A little rat, carrying a snack!"
'LEFT! ASTER, HE'S-'
Aster tried to move. He was too slow, his body unbalanced by his brother's weight. The pirate's blade, not even coated in Haki, slashed deep. It tore through Aster's clothes, opening a long gash across his right shoulder.
"AGHHHHHHH!!!!"
Aster screamed, while the pirate laughed, his guard lowering, preparing for a final, easy kill. "Did that-"
He didn't finish.
In that half-second of pain and rage, Aster's training took over. His Soul Heat ignited, his Armament flared, and he swung Crimson Abyss in a desperate, one-handed, upward arc.
It was not a "move." It was a reaction.
He poured his pain and his fear into the black blade, and the cold Inferno flame woke up. The axe-head connected with the man's chest.
It was not a clean cut. The Haki-infused, flame-edged axe hit the man's chest, causing him to pause.
Then the pirate's laugh turned into a wet, choked gurgle. A spray of blood exploded from the wound, spattering Aster's face.
The pirate, his eyes wide with shock, fell backward, dead.
Aster just stood there, his small body trembling, his chest heaving. The blood was hot and sticky on his skin. He didn't understand. He... he just... killed. A life that he had taken. He frantically looked around.
Chaos. Death. Blood. Everywhere.
His breathing quickened.
But he turned and ran.
He ran, and he ran, and he ran, cutting through the forest, his small feet slipping in the mud and ash, the hot, salty taste of blood still in his mouth.
...Aster... kid... slow down... breathe... Flamey's voice was a distant, muffled, panicked sound in his head. It was like he was underwater. The sound of his own, ragged breath was too loud. The thump-thump-thump of his heart was a drum, drowning out the world.
'Why?!!'
He yelled it in his mind.
'WHAT DID WE DO? WHAT DID WE DO TO DESERVE THIS?'
His breathing became even more uneven. Tears streamed from his wide eyes, cutting clean paths through the splattered blood on his face.
But he ran.
He did not stop.
He could feel it. The 'song' of the island was a nightmare, but these songs... they were new. They were close. They were behind him.
Laughter. Footsteps.
They were running behind him.
He didn't stop. He could fight. He had just killed a man. But not now. Not with Teach in his arms. His brother was wailing.
'Run... Run.... Run,' Aster kept repeating the mantra.
He was panicking. All those years of training. The Haki control. The 'absence' drills. The focus. Gone. All of it. Vaporized.
Replaced by the fear of losing his brother's life.
Replaced by a scared 4 year old.
They were coming. He could hear them. "Over here! The little bastard's fast!"
They were coming for his brother. They were coming for him.
'RUN... RUN... RUN!!!!'
Just then, his foot hit a rock.
Time... stopped.
His mind went blank; only a single word echoed in his mind.
'No.'
He crashed. He hit the ground hard, his body tumbling in the mud and ash. But he held on, his entire body curling around his brother to take the impact.
But Teach was small. He was slippery. The force of the fall tore the baby from his desperate hands.
Teach flew, sliding a few feet away, landing in a patch of wet, black mud.
Aster panted, his face in the dirt. He tried to move. He couldn't.
The Soul Heat was gone. His stamina was empty. The gash in his shoulder burning. His small, over-exerted body had finally failed.
He heard his brother's terrified cry from the mud.
"No. N0. NOOO!"
"MOOVVEEE!" he screamed, his voice broken.
He tried to push himself up. His arms wouldn't obey.
"MOVEEE, YOU WEAK BASTARD!" he shrieked at himself, tears following down his face.
"REMEMBER YOUR PROMISE! YOUR VOW! MOOOOOOVVEEEE!"
But he could not. He was spent. He was weak.
He was a failure.
He couldn't lift his arms. They had numb. So... he used his mouth. He bit down on the grass and tried to drag himself, pulling his useless body an inch, toward his brother.
Then they appeared.
Two shadows fell over him.
Two pirates from Roger's crew stood over him, laughing. They weren't even looking at Aster. They were looking at the crying, mud-covered baby.
"Well, well. Look what we got," one of them said.
The other one, a big, bearded man with a battle-axe on his back, stepped over Aster's body and reached down, grabbing Teach... by his hair.
He lifted the one-year-old baby into the air. Teach screamed, his little body flailing, his cry a sound of pure, helpless terror.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Aster yelled, his voice raw and broken.
"GET YOUR HANDS... OFF MY... BROTHER!" he roared, still trying to crawl, his fingers digging uselessly into the mud.
The two pirates just laughed. "Rocks's spawns, eh?" the big one said, dangling the screaming baby. "Disgusting. Guess we should clean up the trash."
He pulled his axe.
Aster's mind was burning. His body was burning. His soul was burning.
The axe lowered.
'Plea-'
Slice.
.
.
.
Silence.
.
.
.
His brother... his small brother... his little, annoying, drooling brother... went silent.
The pirate tossed the small, lifeless body aside. The... head... separated, rolling in the mud, its momentum carrying it until it came to a stop, its small, open, dead eyes staring right at Aster.
The world... paused.
The sounds of the distant battle... vanished. The sound of the pirates laughing... vanished. Flamey's panicked screaming... vanished.
There was nothing. Just... silence.
Aster just stared. At the head. At the tiny, perfect, familiar face, now streaked with mud.
He nudged it with his nose.
"Teach...?" he whispered. "Teach... wake up. It's... it's not funny. We... we have to go. Mom's... Mom's waiting..."
But there was no answer. The eyes just... stared.
He nudged it again. "Please... wake up..."
And the world, his mind, his soul, broke.
"No."
"No... no... no... NO..."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"
It was not a sound. It was an unmaking.
A pressure, a force, a thing that Aster didn't even know he had, exploded from his small, broken body. It was not his father's corrosive, cold, black Haki. It was not his mother's silver, silent Haki.
It was a raw, pure, grief-stricken, unrestrained CONQUEROR'S HAKI.
It detonated, a wave of agony and rage.
The pirate who had killed Teach, the one standing closest, his eyes went wide. He didn't even have time to scream. His mind was shattered, his will erased. He dropped.
The wail, the psychic scream of a child's soul breaking, spread through God Valley. It was a wave every Haki-user on the island felt.
Roger, in his clash, faltered. Garp, his fist raised, hesitated. Eris screamed. Xebec, his blade locked with Newgate's, roared.
But the Haki was gone as fast as it came. The explosion, the last of his will, had taken everything.
Aster's rage vanished. His strength vanished. He was... empty. He just looked at Teach's head. And he sobbed.
He was no longer a warrior. He was no longer a King's son. He was a broken kid.
"Please... wake up..." he whispered, his body shuddering with sobs. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Teach... I'll... I'll play with you... I'll play all the time... just... please... please..."
The second pirate, the one who had been further away, the one who wasn't knocked out, groaned, his Haki strong enough to withstand the blast. He got up to his feet, his head ringing.
"You... you little... you little demon," he snarled, pulling his own sword.
"You knocked out Jonas! I'll... I'll gut you!"
He raised his sword.
Aster saw him. He didn't care. He just... accepted it. He closed his eyes, ready to leave this world.
'I failed.'
NO! ASTER! GET UP! GET UP, YOU IDIOT! MOV--
But then a flash of blue and while appeared.
A man. A Marine.
He jumped in front of Aster, his arms spread wide, his back to the pirate.
SHLIIICK.
The pirate's sword, meant for Aster, plunged deep into the Marine's back.
Aster's eyes, the eyes he had closed to accept death, snapped open. He stared.
The Marine, his body trembling, looked down at Aster. He was young. He was a lower-rank Marine, not an officer. And he... he smiled.
"Sorry... for not being... there, earlier, kid," he coughed, blood spattering Aster's face. "I... I couldn't... save the other one..."
"But I swear... upon my... Marine... honor... I will... save you."
"YOU BASTARD!" the pirate roared, ripping his sword out.
"NOW!" the dying Marine screamed.
A squad of Marines, five of them, burst from the trees, their faces full of rage. They had seen it. They had heard the cry. They had seen the beheading.
"SAVE THE KID!" one of them roared, and they jumped the pirate.
It wasn't a clean fight. The pirate was strong, a New World veteran. He cut one Marine down. He stabbed another. But the Marines... they laughed. They were laughing as they fought, a wild, desperate, Garp-like laugh. They were dying, but they were winning. They tackled him, they stabbed him, they held him down.
"TAKE THE KID! GO!" one yelled, as the pirate's sword ran him through.
The lead Marine, the one who had first shielded Aster, was on his knees. He was dying. But he reached out, his hand grabbing Aster's torn shirt, and he pulled him. "Run..." he gasped.
Another Marine, his arm broken, his face a bloody mess, scooped Aster up. "I've got him, Sir!"
Aster, in a deep shock, couldn't move. He couldn't speak. His vocal cords were torn from his scream. He just... stared. He wanted to stop them. He wanted to go to his brother. He had to... Teach... he might still... he might...
He wanted to go to his mother. To his father. To... to beg for forgiveness...
He was too weak.
"My... brother..." was all he managed, a soundless, bloody whisper, before his lights, finally, went out.
The Marine holding him looked back at the tiny head in the mud. He looked at his dying comrades, who were finishing the pirate. He looked at the unconscious child in his arms.
"I know, kid," he whispered, his own voice breaking. "I'm sorry. But... we'll save you."
He turned to his last, remaining, wounded squad-mate. "Move! We have to move! We protect the kid! That's the new mission! We protect the kid with our LIVES! No innocent dies with the Marines around!"
"YES, SIR!"
They ran, two low-level Marines, carrying a small, unconscious boy, disappearing into the chaos of the jungle, not knowing that they had just saved the future.
Not knowing that their sacrifice would give rise to the bane of all pirates, the one who would one day be known as the Flames of Judgement.
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