A voice drifted in on the wind, uncertain and fleeting.
"Without the 'mother' to keep feeding them, those crude puppets rebuilt by the Blacklight virus won't last long."
"Give it a week at most; their cells will burn out, collapse, and disintegrate from starvation."
The voice paused, laced with open mockery.
"If your so-called Science Division wants a specimen, you'd better hurry."
Only when the voice had vanished into the snow did Smoker jolt back to his senses and turn to Kuzan, who was brushing shards of ice from his torn suit.
"You just let him walk away?"
There was frustration in Smoker's tone.
The man who called himself Abel had held the absolute initiative from the moment he appeared until the instant he left, as though the sea itself, the whole world, were merely his private garden.
Kuzan flicked a fleck of frost from his shoulder, paused, and drawled, "So what charge in and stop him?"
"You want to try, or shall I?"
He tapped the shoulder that had just finished knitting back together; the jacket there was shredded, revealing newborn skin.
"Besides, you saw it."
"That instant regeneration, the way he pulled a weapon out of nowhere, and that last little… toy."
He trailed off, and behind his shades, his eyes glinted with deep dread.
A red-and-white sphere.
He had simply tossed it, and the crimson monster that had driven a Navy Admiral to the brink tentacles, biomass and all was sucked inside in mid-air.
The sight shattered every assumption he had about Devil Fruits, about Haki, and about the entire power system of this world.
Even a Paramecia can't be that unreasonable just because you're labeled "super-human" doesn't make you Superman.
Kuzan exhaled, helpless.
"Who knows what other little toys he's got in that pocket dimension of his."
Smoker said nothing.
They really couldn't have stopped him.
Whether it was the lunatic calling himself Deadpool or the monster named Abel, their very existence trampled common sense.
Still, the Navy would now bear the brunt of the fallout.
Iron Fang Island had fallen; the North Blue shipping lanes were in chaos.
Worse, three CP0 agents on a top-secret World Government mission had been wiped out in the disaster.
Someone had to answer for it.
The World Government would never accept such a result.
Smoker could almost see the storm waiting in Fleet Admiral Sengoku's office when the report reached Marineford.
Fleet Admiral Sengoku was going to have one hell of a headache.
None of that concerned a mere Captain, though; when the sky fell, the tall ones held it up.
He glanced instinctively at Kuzan.
"Hey, Smoker."
A lazy voice broke the silence from behind.
Smoker turned.
Kuzan sat unceremoniously on a jut of ice, his tattered white coat draped across his knees.
The Admiral-level fighter stared at the gray sky, looking thoroughly fed up with life.
"Quit daydreaming; dig out the men who are still breathing."
"If they don't thaw soon, the virus won't kill them my ice will."
"Right."
Only then did Smoker remember sealing a group of uninfected Marines in ice at the start of the battle.
He grunted and turned to go.
"Oh, and you can handle the report to Fleet Admiral Sengoku."
Kuzan's voice stopped him mid-step.
Smoker spun around, eyes wide, certain he'd misheard.
"Huh?!"
"You're the senior officer here! That's your job!"
His voice shot up several octaves.
He was supposed to brief Sengoku on what, exactly?
You want me to face the Fleet Admiral's wrath alone where's an Admiral's sense of responsibility?
"Ahh, same difference."
Kuzan waved a hand, utterly unconcerned.
He pulled a Den Den Mushi from his pocket and tossed it to Smoker without looking.
"You're shipping out to Loguetown soon; consider this early paperwork practice."
He said it with perfect righteousness.
"Think of it as on-the-job training."
Smoker clutched the dozing Den Den Mushi, veins bulging at his temples.
He took one long breath, then another, staring at Kuzan's "what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it" grin.
At last, all his rage came out as a single, gritted sentence.
"Fine!"
Head down, he stalked toward the ice statues housing the survivors, his back a picture of heroic misery.
Kuzan watched him go, his mouth curving.
"Keen youngster… energetic."
With a sigh, he lay back on the ice, hands behind his head, one ankle over the other.
Sunlight filtered through heavy clouds, yet the frozen plain felt no warmer.
Eyes closed, Kuzan replayed the scenes that had shattered his understanding gene rewriting, hive minds, cross-dimensional containment… and that name: SCP Foundation.
"Troublesome world…"
The whisper vanished into the cold North Blue wind.
Half an hour later, as Kuzan released his power, the massive ice blocks melted rapidly, exposing the frozen Marines inside.
Most still wore looks of terror; their bodies were stiff and their lips were blue, but they were alive.
Survivors hauled their comrades from the icy water, wrapped them in blankets, and hurried them below deck.
On the flagship's deck, Smoker and Tashigi counted heads.
The atmosphere was crushing.
A Marine Lieutenant Commander, his face bloodless, stepped forward with a report, his lips trembling, unable to speak.
"Out with it," Smoker rasped.
"Sir!" The officer snapped to attention, his voice cracking. "Ten heavy warships, three thousand elite Marines… confirmed survivors: one thousand two hundred forty-three."
"All the rest… KIA."
The number detonated like a shell in every mind over half the force dead.
That didn't even count reinforcements from North Blue Bases.
These were Marineford's finest, many of them seasoned field-grade officers.
A single encounter, with an Admiral present, had mauled them beyond recognition.
Tashigi pressed a hand to her mouth, tears streaming.
Vergo stepped from the shattered ice, his greatcoat frozen stiff as iron, though he seemed not to notice.
He adjusted his shades, his eyes behind the lenses quietly sweeping the area.
Both the Foundation man and the madman his young master wanted were gone.
Things were looking less than ideal.