Tales of the Wind

Memoirs
The wind, air. Even more so than the earth, it has touched the bodies of every single being throughout the ages. What stories would it tell? Witnessing the entirety of history, yet it remains caressing our bodies with warmth, cold, or destruction. Yes, it does not only observe, but it intervenes. A powerful force, and a gentle companion, such is the magnificence of wind.

The young boy always had a fascination for things others overlooked. A mere child, yet his mind questioned things with a philosophical view. Games and trivial things that children did were of little interest to him, as books, knowledge and dreams was all he needed. Truly, a strange one. His mother cared for the boy, and when she got ill, he returned the favor. His father, never present.

At merely six years of age, the boy knew how to cook, concoct medicinal treatments, read and write in various languages, and had a keen understanding of philosophy and mathematics. He was always the odd one in any group, but to his mother, he was just perfect. Her little guardian and genius. The mother was a herbalist, had her own shop. They weren’t rich, but had enough to go by. They lived just, perfect, until darkness befell unto them.

A storm at sea. Terrible weather, raging winds, that damned wind. The ship which was transporting them to a nearby island, in search for supplies, capsized, succumbing to the terrible weather. To their luck, a nearby Government ship rescued the few survivors, but the mother, no, she didn’t make it. The boy buried her, and strolled along the unknown island, alone, cold, hungry. It wasn’t long until more darkness befell him, some bandits, no, more than that--slave traders, came across the young, lone kid, and took him, without even knowing the child’s true worth. A child physically, but a young adult at heart, the boy knew his predicament, as such, he would fight to free himself, though not as one would think.

He fought with his mind, by showing how useful and resourceful he could be, demonstrating the skills he possessed, and the ones he could acquire in a short time. Surely enough, he was put to auction, at that damned, filthy human house. The quantity for which he was sold doesn’t matter, what matters is who took him...it was no other than a “Saint”. One of them, those who are born to rule as gods.

First order of business, a painful, steaming brand on his shoulder, after all, such a precious "item" needed to show it had an owner. The boy and the other owned "things", as they were called, were given various task. Starting the day at 4 am, ending at 12 pm, each of the owned were required utmost decency and respect for their owners throughout their entire work shift, every day, for their entire lives. They boy was tasked with learning and tutoring, keeping the family and their children educated. For this, he was treated..."better". However, should the child of the family fail to comprehend something, it was the boy's fault, and he was punished, severely, every time it happened...and it happened awfully frequently. If anything was out of order, misplaced, it was never the gods's fault, in fact, they were never wrong, always right, their word was law. It was their need for commodities, and for that hunger for superiority, that kept the boy and the others alive. But should their humor change, should their worth not be continuously proven, they'd be replaced, disposed of, faster and easier than a dinner napkin.

Two years inside this Holy Land hell had passed. Why? Why should such a caring, innocent boy be subjected to such circumstances? Was he born cursed, was this his true destiny? To be treated worse than cattle? No, the winds change. That same wind that took everything from him, gave it back, much sooner than expected.

The was the place where the winds decided to change one again for the boy. He was with the family, on a trip to a kingdom. There was no reason for their visit, other than to be treated as they knew they would. They hated seeing the vermin that inhabited the lower world, yet loved how they bowed in their presence, a mere glance to their eyes directly could cost them their lives. A line even thinner than a thread, that sensation, that feeling. The feeling of being able to have anything, to do anything, anytime, anywhere. It is intoxicating, addictive, pleasurable, exciting. Their faces became warped, turning into grotesque malformations as an entire nation, even it's king, bowed to them, trembled in their presence, obeyed their every whim. But the wind, finally shifted.

The boy merely remembered a headache, a terrible one. His eyes blurry and his ears ringing, he could barely make out what was happening around him. There was some sort of commotion. The guards had their weapons drawn, the family was agitated, looking for something. Yes, something, someone, was threatening their holy status, an enemy they couldn't see. The boy fell unconscious. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw the guards and the other slaves on the floor. They weren't bleeding, they weren't dead. But something had happened, internal strife maybe? A spy, an assassin? Who cares!? Now is the time, the wind howled.

They boy had earned "status" even among them, as such, he was merely shackled. No longer did they wrap around his neck that dreadful, explosive collar. Were that not the case, they boy wouldn't even think about escaping. He ran, and ran, and ran. He took a ship, then another, then a few more. Even as he went further and further from them, he felt them still around the corner, he concluded had to go to the ends of this planet, if that is what it meant to finally be "free" from their grasp.

Unbeknownst to the boy, he had accidentally freed the others too, though this was a fact he learned about much later on.

On his way to the ends of the earth, he came upon a place. A large, mysterious and dangerous island. The winds shifted once more. This was merely the beginning of another tough period of his life, though, having endured the "dark days", there was nothing that would break this child. This was where he'd learned to stop looking afraid over his shoulder, and become capable enough to turn around, and face whatever he needed to head on. But, this is a tale for another occasion...

Seeking
"Hmm...Hmmmm". He hummed as he closed his journal, and put it on a bag he carried on his back. The wind caressed his masked face. A blue, devilish grin adorned the mask this person wore, as it looked down on those below. Atop a building he stood, rather, he floated, by as of yet unknown means. He observed the building below, one referred to officially as a "Public Employment Security Office", as a ploy to hide it's true name, a "Human Auctioning House."

It was an island which name he did not care to learn, as the winds would soon blow him further west, deeper into the heart of the. However, the auction itself had been interrupted, by this masked man. He looked down on the building, through a large crater on it's roof, observing those below. They returned the gaze, a terrified one.

Swiftly, dozens of Marines hurried to the scene, as they were met with resistance, from the wind itself. What they witnessed shook their very cores...the auction house was surrounded, by a perpetual cyclone raging around it. The winds were powerful, strong enough to rip a human to shreds should they come near. This, masked man, had trapped those inside the auction house, preventing them from going out, and hindering the Marines from going in. The mysterious individual in question stood above the raging whirlwind, sitting, floating.

One of the Marines pointed at the man. "H-How is this possible?!" He exclaimed.

They prepared their rifles, pointing at the mysterious, floating devil. However, a swipe of someone's hand, their commanding officer, halted their advances. Fukushima Kijuro walked forward, his eyes staring on the target. "This is a surprise. The "Masked Devil" from North Blue, here, in the waters of the Grand Line?"

The "masked devil" tilted his head towards Kijuro's direction. With a swift, elegant movement of his hand, he began to descend from his position, slowly approaching the Marine unit. He addressed them, his voice, muffled by the mask. "So you know who I am then?"

"Only by reputation..." Kijuro responded, his eyes serious. "A few weeks ago, you attempted to assassinate the Saint Harold and his family, during one of their regular trips to the Gambasi Kingdom." Some marines gasped, as they had read the news of such an outrageous event. During such an event, a storm suddenly had appeared from nowhere, and it was followed by they eerie reveal and attack from the masked devil, the mysterious figure who effortlessly dispatched dozens of highly trained guards, government agents and Marines. He almost nearly succeeded in the assassination attempt, though, his plans were foiled by the appearance of a Marine Vice Admiral, one that had blended into the crowd undercover, as an added layer of protection for the nobles.

"But...who are you really, under that mask?" Questioned Kijuro. He pointed at the tornado enveloping the auction house. "A devil fruit, eh? But it can't be a logia...an ACE or Paramecia?...just...who, are you? What do you intend to do with those people, would you ask for a ransom?"

"Eeeh! Naah…" The masked man answered. "I didn't intend to hold them hostage, ya' see? It's just that after I freed all of those that were for auction, I had no idea what to do with those pieces of shit over there. Ya' know, the ones that were actually intendin' to buy humans and make them their property."

"Hmpf…" Kijuro scoffed. He knew the government had it's dark side, yet it wasn't something he was prepared, nor had the rank to intervene in yet. "Well, I can help in that decision, masked one. Stop this," he pointed at the tornado, "and come down nice and easy. I'd like for things not to get too complicated, you understand?"

The masked man floated closer to the unit, being supported in the air why a swirling gust of wind below him. "It's fine. You lot can leave, I'll figure it out," he said, waving his hand as if saying goodbye to the Marines.

"Why you...this is not optional!" exclaimed a Marine. "You think hiding behind that mask will protect you? Ha!"

"Oh this?" he pointed at his mask, then immediately fiddled with is fingers in the air. "This was just a precaution. But there's no fun in it. It's better for ya'll to put a face to the man, am I right?" he said in a jovial tone, as he placed his hand on his mask, extending it upwards and removing the mask.

Kijuro glared at the individual, his face now completely revealed and in full view. It revealed the face of a handsome young man with gray eyes, black, unkept hair, and the side of his head shaven and blonde. Tattoos covered the left side of his eye, extending all the way to the shoulder, chest, and left arm and hand. Under that same left eye, a marking with the number IX is inscribed.

Taking a few steps forward, Kijuro intended to take a closer look at the young man, though his face wasn't one he had seen previously. "Interesting. A name, perhaps, to associate with such a face?" He remarked, lifting his head as his eyes kept focused on the young man.

"Yes, I suppose so. Since this is like my debut, right?"

"Uh, boy...There's already a bounty on your head, well, rather, on the "Blue Devil's" head. You're a wanted man. 210,000,000 is what they're offering for you, dead or alive, of course..."

The young man slapped a hand to his forehead. "Ahh damn, now those geezers from Xiamen will not want me back on the temple! Aaahg!" The man scratched his head in annoyance, before giving the marines a slight smirk as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, I guess it can't be helped. It's not like I didn't intend for this to happened...Remember this face and name! Draco D. Zephyr, pleased to make your acquaintance!"