𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 ➳ 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐀𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐚 (one piece fanfic)

Chapter 65

"Wow..." Nanko mumbled, watching Crocodile be 'sterilized' in boiling water. "That's... a very thorough method." More like another creative torture method.

The staff assigned to his group nodded curtly, Domino wasn't a very talkative person. Meanwhile Hina stayed to supervise the boat so Nanko was left to escort the group of pirates he had brought back with him—including Crocodile, who was currently enjoying a steamy bath.

Nanko approached the 'bath', seemingly not bothered by the heat licking at his skin. "How are you faring so far, Crocoy?"

Crocodile glared up at him. His arms were crossed over his chest, his veins bulging but overall not flinching from his skin being scorched. He didn't answer, perhaps he knew his saliva would only evaporate, rendering the process more painful.

"Oh, I didn't know you had tattoos," Nanko crouched down, looking down on the boiling tub.

Crocodile turned the other way, moving his arms in the way to hide his chest, "Fuck off," he swore through gritted teeth, hissing when the temperature worsened. He heard the amusement in Nanko's voice, the bastard was enjoying this.

When the process was finally finished, the prisoners were led through the levels to be dropped off.

"Do not wander, and stay near me." Domino ordered, keeping a sharp eye on her surroundings as they passed through the first level.

Nanko hummed in answer, observing the spiked forest. He walked on the sharp grass with ease, like he was merely strolling through a normal forest. "This is-" he touched the edge of a tree, rubbing his thumb with the sticky liquid. "blood."

"Help me," a man moaned, from behind a tree, his skin torn all over, eyes shadowed behind a cloud of crimson. A hundred more hidden gazes followed them, a thousand more prayers stumbling down along their path.

Domino didn't even turn her head when she heard the pleas, her steps kept their leisurely pace. She had grown desentized to such scenes—habits were a scary thing, it could turn even hell into a mere painting if one stared long enough.

Nanko stared at them, he knew most of the prisoners he caught would be dropped off here, damned to suffer through hell. He knew what Impel Down was, he had known when he captured crews of pirates. He also knew it was the fastest way to gain trust and continue climbing up the ranks. No matter how much his chest ached, or how much his conscience argued with him, he kept on walking.

The criminals he brought deserved their punishment—he had made sure of that—he would have his own later.

When his eyes stumbled upon bits of skin, of flesh, puddles of blood, he continued looking. He had no right to turn away when he was contributing to the massacre by bringing in more flesh for the prison to tear through. He stiffened momentarily when he spotted a finger impaled on the bloody tree—a child's pinky, pinkish and soft, the spike exposing milky bone.

He knew Crocodile was looking at him in the corner of his eyes. But what had Konan not seen during the wars? Though it was a long time ago, she still remembered the churning of her stomach, the thorough disgust, the fear gripping at her heart, paralyzing her—an overwhelming powerlessness. It wasn't a feeling she could ever forget. And she also remembered how she dealt with it.

Nanko's hand fiddled with his katana, while his face dropped to a blank canvas. He felt himself detaching from his emotions, while an eerie and cold focus came over. The guilt, and the empathy receded to the background, while he tuned up the pain, the screams, the despair permeating the place—he wouldn't allow himself to forget. Move on, but don't forget.

As such, he proceeded in cold detachment, crossing through the different levels.

Nanko wasn't an innocent being—as much as Luffy believed him to be—the trail of skulls he left in his wake would one day topple and engulf him. But not yet, death was too sweet of a delivrance, he had to live on, and keep on remembering over and over, till his conscience collapsed on itself and he found himself drowning in a sea of his own guilt.

Because was there anything apart from his own self that could truly make him die? A painful, slow, and agonizing death—to be watching his sense of self die, his identity disappear, till only his—her—name remained as a witness of his life. The story of Konan only lived on through him, and he was beginning to forget. Her identity trickled down like sand through his hand, slowly but surely disappearing.

He swallowed down, the feelings, the bile, the self-loathing, and kept on walking because that was the only thing he felt capable of doing at the moment. Walking while hoping his thoughts would quiet down. But over the screams of suffering, his own thoughts seemed the loudest.

"And I'm the asshole..." Crocodile sneered, nothing but derision visible on his face.

Nanko glanced at him silently. "Regretting?"

Crocodile chuckled humorlessly, "I wouldn't have done what I did if I couldn't bear the consequences."

Not everyone reacted the same way, some pirates already began pleading, while some others looked like their souls flew away. Not many could confidently hold their grounds in the face of a guaranteed life of suffering.

"Enough chatting." Domino whipped the floor, the noise bringing attention back to her. "From now on we're entering the lowest level where only the most dangerous criminals are held."

Nanko hummed, his fingers drumming against every hard surface his hand came across. The scent was getting overwhelming while the sounds weren't much better. He needed something, anything to get his mind away.

Everything happened in a second, a foreign wave of bloodlust and the sound metal sinking in flesh.

When Domino blinked again, Nanko was still looking forward, his hand lowering calmly. She whipped her head around to the direction his hand had been pointed at. A dark cell where a deranged man was supposed to be held in. She walked closer in a hurry, flinching when she saw the man grinning, not seeming to feel the foreign weapon stuck deep in his shoulder—a kunai.

He had a very familiar face. Shiryu, the former head Jailer of Impel Down.

Nanko turned around slowly, eyes a bit blurred. He smiled, out of habit more than anything. "... My bad." There was no sincerity in his words.