The Hound is calling you | One Piece

Heavy hands of death

Death reanimates his life, leaving behind corpses for its own freedom, grieving for the family that healthily kills his soul.

Yet today fear is enough.

He killed someone today. And his memory was the only witness to it all.

You could smell the scent of iron sinking into your being. Unwilling to be forgotten and unwilling to let you go of your own conscious being. Whilst he could only hum a lie. For he felt nothing for what he's done. At least not for now.

The reason why it happened was quite stupid. One barked and to no surprise, someone barked back, and boom bloody and dreary was the scene that came after. And he'll take all the credit for why it happened but no one was alive to make him fess up. Starting and ending a mutiny was easy, how to make it look convincing so much so that he wouldn't look like he had any involvement with it was another. Violence is engraved into the crevice of nature that it has become wit. And in the end this wit had led to this precious young man's death.

He wanted his heart to ache and his face to weep, but he gave those who wanted this the monster they wanted.

The whole event left him looking different. He looked different enough to be differentiated from what he was known to look like. He looked different enough to him surely. Looking down at the reflection in the water. He didn't look like the him he knew. And that's good. He wasn't going to recognize himself these next few years either.

A perfect new identity in the new world.

Though there was sorrow to this moment. His mother always said he was a handsome man, and he believed her because she was his mother. He hoped he still was her handsome little boy by the next few decades. He wanted her to grieve him. Cry until she went hysteric and die from it. Maybe then she would be set free.

It was stupid how this had come to be at all. Adulting is a fickle thing he could confirm as a functioning adult who had the right amount of intelligence to know how this worked. Family was even harder to understand, considering he had one. But you have to do what you have to do to survive whether it was your body or your mind. It may not be living but when has what you wanted ever fed you?

Now stuck in the middle of the sea no longer caged by fire yet the blood remains dripping from the claws he's grasped his family with once. Hopefully, no one will arrive early to watch his send-off. Escape felt much more closer than he thought. He made his choice to leave long ago, one day he'll come back for his mother and younger siblings. He felt sorry for his mother. She would most likely be subjected to calm the howling geezer by then. Chained to a family that categorized her for what she was born as and once upon a time he was too. He wasn't going to let himself be next.

He was half of her but he wasn't going to be trapped in a similar fate. No, he was going to have the freedom his mother wanted for herself and for her children. He was a mama's boy. Most say he looks the most like his mother too even the way they act but this was the end of their similarities. He isn't going to chain him down to shackles that choked him and love it in return.

He was going to weave himself a fate far more than what was cut off her end. Today the fates was his own hands. Even if it meant cutting other's intertwined threads on the fabric of today.

With a sigh he chipped on the confectionery material of the ruined ship and took a leisurely amount of time to chew and salvage whatever he needed before he got on his modified motorcycle he sneaked onto the ship. Avoiding the fire scattered around as if it was where the stone was placed in hopscotch. Playing around the sweet surroundings drenched and destroyed by blood and thirst for it. The flour long been useless to taste.

As a stubborn apple from above hit his head, where did it come from?

Some could argue it was God's grace for a poor soul in need. But the young man argued it was from a crate of apples that slipped out. Or was it a sign to go back before the snake tempts him with the notion of freedom?

He wasn't in a panic, there was at least one hour before someone would arrive, most likely a sweet commander. By then he had enough to stage that man's death. Too relaxed, enough to hum a tune. A lullaby to lull souls into the underworld.

The plan was simple: make it look like that person was thrown overboard because of the conflict that had happened. Leaving enough evidence to prove that there was a struggle to keep himself on the ship and that he was beaten bloody to do so. Leave some blood here and throw a bit of ripped clothing there and some memoirs that, that man would surely never leave somewhere but he did due to the 'crisis'. The young man was digging a grave in the ocean with all the evidence to prove so. Claws scratching hurtfully among his grave. Yet only one will be remembered

Not long after with nothing but a bag with some essentials he was on his way. Clothes, food, some things for hygiene, a weapon and that was it. And with enough time to spare. He got on his raft, powered up the machine, and left. For once he could truly say he was a genius by creating this specimen of such a mode of transformation. But stupid for feeling some sort of grief leaving whatever he had before, behind him. Fear isn't enough for it lets itself cling onto every scar from the skin to his memories. But today fear is an afterthought of the highs of freedom. Leaving behind grief for it to become true.

As simple as it sounds he was leaving his old life behind. He killed a man today to do so.