Past and Present

Drip. Drip. Drip. The world echoed with the sounds of a thousand rain drops, the pitter patter washing out the sounds of the land surrounding a man with long raven hair. He walked through the valley of Bamalam Island, a spring island that sat upon the depths of the New World. A Spring Island, the island was intensely alive with flora and fauna of all kinds. Normally the sounds of the birds, the sounds of the leaves, the sounds of the nearly seven thousand people who called this island home would be the sound of the world surround. But today, today was the day of the rain.

As I Walk...
Bimore O. Jack found this fitting, as today wasn't one for revelry and sunshine, as he was a man who today would being to resume upon the journey that had taken him more than fifteen years and almost around the entire world. His feet sunk into the mud of the hard packed dirt below him, threatening to steal his shoes with every single squelch. The rain soaked his hair and body, something that would make most men shiver, but Jack wasn't a normal man. He was one of the Seven Warlords, dogs of the World Government. To many, a bought man. But himself, he was just a man who did his duty, beyond all else.

A duty that would bring blood to this peaceful island. An order of warriors called this island home, as they had done for many years. But they had grown weak, complacent in their training, ignoring their duty to be ready whenever they were needed. A complacency that Jack was honor-bound to punish.

“What’re we doing here, love?” Jacky asked, squeezing behind his wide shoulders. He stood with an air of tranquility, a man whose entire life had changed in the course of a year. Salazar seemed different from the warrior she had met on her home island. He appeared...enlightened or determined.

“If we’re gonna reach our goal, we need to become stronger both individually and as a crew. On this island, there are a famous circle of brothers known for their focus on swordsmanship.” Salazar scratched the stubble on his chin. “Either I’m training or recruiting new members. A win-win. Love, stay with the rest of the crew. You guys deserve some rest and relaxation.”

Salazar leapt off the ship and landed gently on the wet grass. He hated rain when it came to crowded towns. But the chilling sensation of water streaming down his skin was refreshing. He started towards the dojo.

Upon a hill atop the valley of death, a monastery stood silent. Just a day earlier it had bustled with the men and woman who called it home. For four hundred years it had stood upon this hill, home to an order of warriors, supposedly the best in the land. Supposedly. Now it just stood silent, as there was no one in the belltower, there was no one in the mess hall, there was nobody in the dorms. Everyone had come out to the training field, underneath the Mark of the Widow, and no one had left.

Laughter, Joy. Sweat and Blood. These were the things that had bonded those that had studied here, been forged here. Now there was just blood. Drip... Drip... Drip...

Jack did not gloat over the death of the weak, did not revel in the carnage that surrounded him. Each death was a tragedy, but one he did to satisfy the duty he had been entrusted. They had forsaken the duty to which their order had forsworn, and had refused to yield. They had all professed their beliefs in themselves and the goddess who watched this island from far off Wano, and despite all the evidence of the contrary, refused to put stock in the outsider who had just wiped the floor with their champion. They had fought back, and they had fell where they stood, as they had grown frail and weak, though they grow no longer.

So stood there Jack, somber looking in the incessant rain, the field around him stained crimson. He stared up to the sky, as the rain washed the life from his sword away, just wondering why this never became any easier. He crouched down, before closing the unseeing eyes of the woman below him, as they would never see anything again.