More Than Blood

God no More
Three days had past since Tabart was completely embarrassed by his enemies on Spicy Pot Island. The World Government did their very best to cover up the humiliating defeat that they suffered at the hands of Abel, who Tabart managed to unearth as the former captain of the Hunting Pirates, Vryrch Seth. However, they refused to release this information out of fear of sending the world into a frenzy. If anything, because of it, Abel was now highly regarded as a target worth pursuing. Therefore, Tabart wasn't blamed for any of the events that went down; in fact, he was commended for surviving. But, he didn't feel good. Not in the slightest.

He had been spared, not through his individual might, or expertise, but because Redland Gut decided that he could use Tabart. That was why he was allowed to live, and that was why he trudged through the wet forest of Gerbraltar Key throughout the entire night. As midday broke, the thunderstorm has long since receded. Instead, it was replaced by a gentle breeze accompanied by the scorching sun. Even if Tabart hadn't used the forest to defend himself from the elements, he was certain he would have dried from the sheer ferocity of the sun. Therefore, he commanded the leaves and trees to shade them from their rays, until he finally exited the dense field of oak. There was a gate; it had to be the village he was told about when he arrived a day ago.

He approached the gate, stopping at the command of someone's voice. It was hoarse and coarse as if worn by decades of nicotine and chemicals.

"Who are ye?" the old man inquired, stepping from his cover, holding a rifle in his hand. He squinted, gasping out of surprise. "I-I-I know who yer are!! You're one of dem, warlords!! Those World Government peeps! What the fuck are ye doing here?"

Tabart exhaled. "I'm here to meet with...."