The Enraged Army [Minion Island Contestation Arc Part 2]

If one could lose a battle, yet still win the war, then the opposite had to be true as well. At least that was the thought worrying Yumiko the most at the moment. Her fight against the pirate scouting party had been a little too decisive. Dead men told no tales, but neither did unconscious ones. Gritting her ever sharpening teeth, she hurried across the snowy landscape. White fur was slowly creeping further and further across her skin. Likewise, her flowing hair was steadily losing its dark color to match the pale nature around her. As the partial transformation took hold, her pace increased drastically. Her sprint grew faster and leaps longer. The hunter was on the prowl.

Swiftly spiraling around a tree like a climbing squirrel, the half-weasel woman stopped at the top to study her surroundings. The air tasted sharp, nipping at her sensitive nose. Gunpowder, alcohol, blood... So many scents drifted in the air. She cast a worried glance towards the ruined town, where her superior was terribly outnumbered. Despite all the squinting, she couldn’t quite see that far... A fresh scent yanked her out of the worried thoughts. There... Towards the lavish mansion standing upon the highest hill... Someone just stepped outside for a smoke. That horrible stench drifted far. Her entire body tensed, coiling like a powerful spring...

Blink and she was gone.

A chill wind howled up the steep slope. It beelined towards the scent. Right by the mansion’s entrance, an unkempt man with a jacket bigger than his lanky body was taking slow drags from a poorly rolled cigarette. On his back was a rifle longer than he was tall, equipped with a scope that was closer to a telescope. The dark bags under his eyes told of many sleepless nights. So maybe he was simply too tired to react much when a creature half-weasel, half-woman appeared right in front of his nose. Not even the blade pointed at his throat got more than a disinterested glance.

Yumiko’s eyes narrowed as she summoned her most authoritative tone. Just like instructed in the Marine codex... A deep breath, puffed chest and... “Where is thy base, pirate? Speak.” The pirate took a long, pondering drag of his cigarette before letting out a weary sigh. “...You’re looking at it, dumbass.” The flat answer felt like a smack from a paper fan. Surprise made Yumiko’s steely posture waver. She hurried to correct it. “Oh, uh... T-then where is thy leader?” Another long drag, another sigh. “Take one fucking guess, buddy.” The marine warily shifted her gaze between him and the mansion he was... uh... guarding? He didn’t look much like a guard, but...

“In... in there?”

Finally the man bothered to nod, if only for the sarcasm factor. “Bingo. Good job, detective. Figure it out all by yourself?” He lazily dumped the remains of the cancer stick against the brick wall. The cold frost sizzled against the dying heat. “Look, I don’t give a shit why you’re here...” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “But the boss ain’t seeing nobody, especially not snooping little mongrels like you.” He stepped past the blade and leaned closer. “So how about you grab your friends... Pack your shit... And get. Lost.” However, his hostility cleared the doubts from the swordswoman’s mind. “I shall not.” She brought the sword to the man’s neck again. “By the power granted to me by the World Government, thou and thy leader are under arrest.” This time, she would not fail.

The two warriors stared each other down. Tense seconds ticked by. One wrong move could prove fatal. Knowing that, the foul-mouthed rifleman took the initiative. “Fine. Your funeral...” With a calm, decisive motion, he stepped back and pushed the door behind him open. Gesturing inside lazily, like he was scoffing at the whole idea of physical exertion, he continued. “The boss is waiting upstairs. Just follow the red carpet.” His words felt as honest as they could coming from a pirate. Even his aura lacked any killing intent... Or fighting spirit for that matter. Clearly he thought fighting was not worth the effort.

Behind the door was a dim hall. Once it had served as the foyer of the fine mansion. Now dirt and dust covered the floors. The few lights that had not been broken weren’t working. Thick shadows lingered at the edges of the lone light coming through the doorway. Coming from outside was like stepping into a sudden night. The white snow was replaced with blues and grays. Fallen statues and defaced paintings served as reminders of a more cultured time. Only the red carpet on the floor offered any guidance, like a lonely path through a grim forest.

Understandably, the swordswoman hesitated at the entrance. This had to be a trap... Well, obviously an invitation to a mansion overrun by pirates was a trap. But what kind of trap? Her nose twitched, only to wrinkle at the mess of scents assaulting it. Eugh, the manor was teeming with life that loved booze, smoking and other... scandalous... activities. She had to pinch her nose as she took a step inside. Robbing herself of such an important sense allowed her other senses to sharpen. She could feel what couldn’t be seen... People... There were dozens of signatures around the hall. At the very back of it, near a staircase, was something sinister. She squinted, barely making out the shape of something huge lounging on a sofa.

Yumiko managed to take two steps inside, before the floor beneath her feet suddenly sunk. A hole opened beneath her feet. Reminiscent of a gaping maw, it swallowed her and the carpet whole. A scream that couldn’t exactly be called stoic or brave fled her lungs. “Wha-AAAAAAAAH!” Her back hit a slope of icy stone. Tangled in the carpet and stunned by shock, she fell deep into the darkness. More adventurous people might’ve found the brief slide exciting, but her growing bruises protested the ride, especially the sudden stop at the end. Her fall was barely cushioned by something squishy accompanied by something crunchy. She didn’t want to know what she had just landed on, but she had a solid guess nonetheless...

Once the echoing shriek faded away, the lazy sharpshooter stepped inside as well and peered down the trapdoor. “Wow, I can’t believe she was actually dumb enough to fall for that...” Another voice rumbled from the shadows, a deep, throaty growl brimming with authority. “Naive.” One word was enough to make the pirate quirk a quizzical brow. “What?” The voice continued, feeling like a chill sweeping across the room. “She was merely naive. Overly trusting. Honor is deeply rooted into samurai culture, for better or worse.” A single eye gleamed and a hefty hand pointed at the hole on the floor. “Seal the hatch. And put something heavy on top of it. Vinnie reported that she can fly.” A massive silhouette turned away to scale the stairs.

“Glide.”

The response was met with a puzzled pause. “Excuse you?” Perhaps feeling a little snarky, the sleepy pirate clarified. “See, flying is when you have your own propulsion, like flapping wings or spinning propellers. What she does is gliding. Falling in style, basically.” Another puzzled pause accompanied by the most incredulous stare a single eye could muster. “...Just seal the damn hatch.” As the thumping steps ascended the stairs, the snarky pirate shrugged and motioned the nearest goons closer. “Well, you heard the boss. Bring me hot wax, another carpet and one of those stupid statues.” His personal effort started and ended with closing the trapdoor. “She can starve to death down there like all the rest...” It was spoken with chilling indifference.

Beneath the floorboards, in the total darkness, the fallen Marine was ever so slowly trying to climb out of the trap. It was proving to be the hardest challenge she had ever attempted. Water and time had together carved a perfectly smooth tunnel deep into the earth, through solid granite. Years of thin ice had been packed into an icy slide. Watery film coated it, making it slippery beyond belief. It was the perfect funnel. Practically anything could fit down, but nothing could climb back up again. Even her sharp claws were slipping against the sloped surface. Every motion was a strained struggle against gravity. Each successful move brought her a couple of inches upwards, while a single mistake could send her several inches backwards. Her muscles were screaming from exhaustion, but she had not... come this far... to give up now.

Yumiko had gotten about half-way up -or at least she hoped she had- when things turned from bad to worse. Something stomped down hard. The whole tunnel trembled. Her eyes widened. “No... Nonono...” Her claws slipped from the vibrations. “Noooooooo!!!” She was sent plummeting all the way down. No amount of flailing could even slow down the descent. After a brief ride that made all her struggling trivial, she slammed back to the bottom with a painful thud. Squishy things splashed and splattered her. Again. Something cracked from the impact. She prayed to Fūjin that the nasty sound didn’t come from her poor tailbone...

Groaning weakly, the weasel woman struggled onto all-fours again. She could no longer hold her breath, so the worst part about this dungeon hit her. Hard. The stench... Oh, Gods... It was beyond her worst nightmares. She already disliked the scent of blood, so this was a hundred times worse. Years of rot, mold and old blood mixed together to form a pungent cocktail. She unloaded a colored cough, clutching her stomach. While struggling to compose herself, she was utterly unaware that help was on its way. In fact, she was standing right under the very hole where help would be arriving. Probably very quickly. And uncontrollably.

Yumiko barely even registered the approaching sound, the scraping of steel against ice and stone. As far as she knew, it was just her ears still ringing from the fall. So she was like a pin at the end of a bowling lane for what came next... With a heavy thud, something, someone tumbled into her in a rather undignified manner. Strike! She was bowled over without much resistance, being both shorter and lighter than what hit her. “Gah!” With a startled yelp, followed by a moist splat, she hit the floor for the third time today. This time face first.

When Anton called out, only the echo of his own voice answered him. The eerie silence lingered, before being shooed away by a feeble bubbling sound coming from... near his feet? Underneath them actually. Something splashed. Sharp eyes could make out the shape of a hand. His soft foothold shifted weakly. A mess of red muck trembled, trying to raise its hairy mess of a head. Her head. “Mas... ter...” Only managing to utter the broken word, she collapsed again.

Lights out.

Good night.

...Well, to be fair, even if the wounded marine had stayed conscious, she wasn’t going anywhere with her superior standing on top of her like that. Luckily, Zoan types were known for their hardy constitution and quick recovery. The swordswoman would be back on her feet eventually. She just... needed a moment. Maybe with Anton’s help, she might recover quicker. Then the trapped duo would need to find a way out of this grim dungeon of death.

But that would be a whole ‘nother challenge...