I hope you enjoy this rewritten chapter and I welcome any feedback or ideas you might have for future chapters. Your thoughts mean a lot as I continue shaping this story.
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One hour ago, the air was laden with dust and the faint odour of smoke from neighbouring festival fires. Torn canvas fluttered fiercely in the wind, scattering spurious rays of sunshine across piles of empty crates, broken shackles, ropes, and half-burned lamps. The air smelt of perspiration, smoke, and terror, with the festival's muffled clamour drifting weakly through the openings like an eerie warning.
A tall man with wide shoulders and a square jaw looked coldly and precisely around the tents. As if continuously charged with static, his hair sprang up at sharp angles in a jagged mane of electric blue. He had an almost theatrical appearance because of his patchwork tunic, which was rich burgundy and muted gold with mismatched and haphazardly sewed sleeves. His voice clipped and methodical, each syllable bearing the weight of authority and calculation, he added, "Two children… missing."
A guy with sharp, thin features laughed as he leaned leisurely against a shattered post, his hair twisted into little horns that protruded at unusual angles and twisting like molten copper. One sleeve of his discoloured green velvet suit was completely gone, and the cloth was sewn together and tattered with vivid yellow threads. "Hey! Little things that are weak. The Celestial Dragons probably only let them out to test their endurance. "Sheep to be slaughtered," he replied, his words brimming with sarcasm.
A tiny, uneasy man shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, his eyes bleak and wide. Strands of his silver and violet hair flopped over his face like shattered icicles, a jumbled mess. Every time he moved, the bottom of his huge vest, which was two sizes too big, flared like a bell and was tied awkwardly with a bright red belt. His voice was strained, trembling with every syllable of fear as he said, "S...should we report it?"
With eyes resembling sharpened steel, the towering man's face was covered in scars and imperfections,
"and cause ourselves problems? They instructed us to release some weaklings."
We follow our instructions. A faint hint of the coiled tension festered under his calm face, his gloves clenched at the sides, his fingers clenching against the rough burgundy fabric of his suit.
Trying to control his quivering hands, the young guard with silver-violet hair swallowed hard. "I just thought; what if they get lucky?"
"Lucky?" The voice of the tall, blue-haired man was sharp. "They won't be saved by luck. Weakness doesn't persist. Eyes sharp, his eyes swept over the structure, catching every shadow.
Other slaves gathered nearby, their pale complexion and slender bodies trembling in exhaustion. Eyes darted around, lips twitching and mumbling under breath like fallen leaves rustling in the wind. One muttered, eyes wide with fear,
"Did you see… where they went?"
A little twist of the head revealed the sharp angles of face shadowed by unkempt, tangled hair and another whispered supplication.
The tall man's jaw tightened. For a fleeting moment, a memory flickered across his features, past escapes he had failed to stop, punishments he'd narrowly avoided. His fingers clenched around the hilt of his whip, knuckles white, betraying the calm mask he wore for the others.
The molten-copper-haired man let out another horrid chuckle...
"Relax, Captain. Let's see how this little show plays out. Should be entertaining, at least."
The silver-violet-haired apprentice flinched at the laughter, wishing he could sink into the floorboards. Around them, whispers of the other slaves trembling constantly... trembling due to the heartless laughter of the guards.
The children huddled behind a toppled stall, crouching low so no one could see them. The air smelled of smoke and cooked meat, and dust swirled around their feet as the festival chaos rolled on.
Argento's eyes scanned the square, trying to pick a path that might take them to the coast. He wasn't sure what the safest route was... every shout and sudden movement caused his panic to spiral further and further out of control, but he knew they had to move.
Below them, the crowd surged. Panicked slaves ran in every direction, scattering carts and barrels. Festival-goers shouted over the noise, some pointing toward the fleeing children. Nobles leaned from balconies watching the chaos unfold, their jeweled robes glinting in the sun.
Veyra pressed herself closer to Argento, her voice soft and shaky. "Do… do you think they'll see us?"
He crouched beside her, quiet and deliberate, keeping his own fear tucked away. His eyes darted between the crowd and the obstacles, noting every cart, barrel, and gap they might use to stay hidden. He whispered back just enough to reassure her.
A merchant nearby shouted at a panicked slave, knocking over a basket of fruit.
"Hey! Watch it, you bastard!" he yelled, waving his arms in protest, his voice cutting through the crowd.
They stayed pressed low behind the stall, hearts pounding, waiting for the right moment to move. The square was chaotic and hiding became the only choice they had.
"Move! Don't let them get away!" a sharp voice barked from behind them.
Argento grabbed Veyra's hand. "This way! Quick!"
The children bolted from their hiding spot behind the stall, dodging overturned baskets and broken crates. Veyra stumbled, nearly losing her balance on a loose stone. "Ah!" she squeaked.
"I've got you! Just... Just keep moving!" Argento whispered, tugging her along.
Behind them, the clatter of boots grew louder. "Torin! Over here! Don't let them reach the hill!" one of the hunters shouted, his tone urgent, full of practiced aggression.
"They're too close!" Veyra gasped, clutching Argento's sleeve.
"Stay with me! Don't panic!" he urged, nudging her just enough to keep her from tripping over a jagged rock.
A panicked slave surged past, knocking over a small cart. "Ahh! Watch out!" Argento yelled, ducking as a wooden shard skidded across the ground.
"Lysa! Left flank!" another hunter barked, and the girl darted forward, weaving between carts with sharp, precise movements.
"Do we have to run through there?" Veyra whimpered, pointing at a patch of uneven dirt and small cliffs.
"Yes, we do. Jump carefully," Argento said, guiding her timing. "One… two… now!" He lunged, landing safely and pulling her after him.
Smoke and fires from nearby stalls made visibility worse. "Stay low!" he instructed, pressing her to the ground as flames flickered nearby.
Veyra's breathing was fast, shallow. "I... I can't keep up…"
"You can! Just listen to me. One step at a time!" His voice stayed calm, almost steady, though his chest thumped with fear too.
Another panicked merchant barreled past, shrieking as crates tumbled. "Move out of the way!"
"Keep going! Don't stop!" Argento shouted, nudging Veyra over a fallen beam.
The hunters were closing in, yelling commands and scanning every alley. "We've got them! Don't lose them!" Torin's voice rang out, cold and sharp.
Veyra clung to him, trembling. "I'm scared…"
"I know," he whispered, tightening his grip.
Argento and Veyra staggered up the slope, their small bodies slipping over loose rocks. The distant shouts of hunters mixed with the panicked cries of slaves.
Argento paused for a breath, leaning against a jagged stone. His chest heaved, but he pressed on, guiding Veyra with a hand at her back, steadying her each time the ground threatened to betray them. Smoke from fires in the festival square rose in curling wisps, drifting upward to the hill and blurring the movements of the hunters below.
A sudden roar from a falling cart in the square below made them flinch. Branches scraped their arms and faces as they pushed through the underbrush. The smell of sweat, and dust clung to them, but they didn't stop. The sounds of the hunt below gradually faded as the elevation grew, replaced by the creaking of trees and the rustle of leaves under their small feet.
At last, they reached a flat stretch near the top. Argento dropped to his knees, pressing Veyra down beside him. From this position, they could see the festival square in its entirety, a chaotic sea of fleeing slaves, shouting merchants, and hunters moving with sharp efficiency.
The hill provided cover, giving them a moment to breathe. Loose branches and uneven terrain hid them from immediate detection, and from this height, they could plan their next move...
The distant noise of the celebration below was carried by the wind as it swept across a different hilltop. A lone figure stood at the edge.
He was frowning. His face crowned by a white beard and moustache. And dreadlocks which hung over his shoulders, which was further highlighted by a black cap, all indicated his old age. He wore a black suit together with a purple-colored tie, his face had a jagged scar over his left eye.
However, something appeared to be lurking beneath the surface, a gigantic creature with the body of an ox and the limbs of a gigantic spider who's presence made the air itself feel heavy.
A voice spoke to him, smooth and arrogant, yet with an evident edge of power. "Saturn," it muttered, and the man who just looked all powerful stiffened slightly.
"I am here," he said, his voice low and calculated, bearing the weight of both obedience and calculation.
"You understand the stakes," the voice said, coldly and clearly. "Everyone on this island must be eliminated." No compassion. Let no one live."
He didn't flinch. "Yes… I understand. Every merchant, peasant, and observer. "All will be eradicated, as ordered."
"Good," the voice said. "I'll be watching. This is not a recommendation, Saturn. The world's equilibrium rests on your compliance."
"I will carry it out," he murmured, his fists squeezing slightly, the weight of the duty resting like steel upon his shoulders. He diverted his focus to the festival grounds below, where the commotion was just beginning, with the dim glow of flames and torches forming long, twisting smoke. "No one will remain."
His jaw tightened. He lifted a hand and spoke sharply into a small transponder snail tucked beneath his sleeve. The words were crisp, a single line of instruction...
"CP‑4, CP‑6 and CP‑8: commence full-scale extermination.... All people are to be neutralised; only the Celestial Dragons are to remain unharmed."
There was a brief pause, almost a puff of wind, and then a reply, clipped and official. "Yes sir!"
Breathless and shaking, a few minutes later a messenger scampered up the slope and knelt down.
"CP units are moving... they're sealing the square as we speak..."
On the far side, the first bell rung, weak and pathetic in comparison to what was about to happen. Within minutes, white-clad CP agents started to emerge at the square's outskirts. These were small, professional units rather than the tattered, militia of the hunt. They walked in silence. Their jackets spotless and shining against the smoke and filth. No yells of victory, no cheers. Just the sound of leather and the gentle shuffling of cloth as they positioned themselves.
One of the white-clad CP Officers spoke, "CP2 in place on the north perimeter," speaking into a Den Den Mushi, in a quiet, businesslike manner. "This is CP4... the east is secure... Keep the square contained. Engage only when directed to do so." Another white-clad CP Officer spoke...
Men in white weaved between stalls and backed into alleys, closing choke-points, shutting escape routes. The hunters were not consulted... The captains who had been hunting for sport were not consulted....
One of the white officers, gloved and unreadable beneath a visor, spoke quietly into a Transponder Snail. "Execute.. Execute every man, woman and child. None shall leave the square."
From the hill Saturn watched on, a frown constantly in place.
The instruction carried a finality that silenced even those who had shouted most loudly minutes before. Hunters were shoved from their positions in the stampede; a few threw themselves at the CP Agents hoping that a miracle would occur and they'd manage to escape... but no such thing happened. Every Man, Women and Child were attacked... Not dead yet, but unless something wildly unpredictable were to happen their time was limited.
"Masts," Veyra breathed, voice barely more than a thread. Her hand found Argento's sleeve and squeezed.
The silver gleam of sunshine on a restless sea caught Argento's attention as his sight moved over the ocean. Seventy ships, their black, uniform hulls cutting through the seas with a structure which appeared to be intentional, Flags flew wildly, scarlet sails, a sprinkling of white flags catching the sunlight in shards of bone. From this height, the fleet looked endless, a tide of endless ships filled with pirates.
The main ship was so large that it dwarfed the others in size. The ships bearing the emblem of one of the most dreaded pirates in the New World... Rocks D. Xebec.
Argento's eyes flicked elsewhere. To the east, a different formation appeared: a line of Marine ships cutting through the waves with discipline.
Officers stood stiff on deck with their guns gleaming like steel fangs as their white hulls gleamed in the sunlight. The order of their movements stood in stark contrast to the pirates in the first group... In anticipation of the impending clash, eighty ships of the line, which is comparable to a buster call, appeared.
Argento pressed himself close to the ground, the coarse grass scraping his arms, eyes sweeping across the chaos of the sea. Three directions stretched before him, three options to survive...
High above the square, the Elder surveyed the ocean, pale light catching the streaks of his white dreadlocks and the deep lines of his scarred face. His eyes, sharp and cold, followed the distant fleets.
"God Knights," he said, voice low and absolute, "you will coordinate with the Marine fleet. Let them believe, let every foolish Marine believe, that every living soul on this island is a pirate, a criminal deserving death. No exceptions are to be made."