Chapter 1

The Celestial Dragons are the gods of this world.

That's it, it's just a fact.

It's something no one questions, accepting it as a facet of life.

And one of these "Gods" is on his way back to Mariejois, home of the World Nobles.

Saint Everton Oxworth VII is lounging on the deck in a regal chair, the sun being kept out of his eyes by the body of a Cipher Pol agent standing silently next to him. He gave a content sigh, but if you were to ask the crew members that heard him, they would tell you it was like listening to a dying walrus.

The ship, one of those new-fangled paddle-wheel ones without the sails, was plotting a course back to Mariejois from the widely acclaimed resort paradise of San Faldo. Heck, the only reason Everton was going back was because he had to attend the Reverie, which was basically the only duty that any other World Noble actually had, and Everton was not willing to receive the same punishment that Saint Charlos did a few years ago. One day without any servants is so horrific and cruel, but if the Elder Stars say so, there is very little someone can do. Even among the Gods of the world, their authority is unmatched.

Not that Everton would expend any of his precious and infinite wisdom to think about those kinds of issues, his mind was occupied with far more important matters.

'What should I have for my post-lunch meal? I remember that one chef was really good at cooking that red-clawed-bug-thing, sadly I did have him killed when he dared to serve the illustrious me a bug. It was good though.'

Sadly for the illustrious one, his deep and thoughtful musings were interrupted when the ship tilted just enough for him to shift away from his perfect resting spot, and a small ray of sun hit his eye. His face pried itself open revealing two tiny blue eyes with a beady and glazed look in them.

"Ahem."

The CP Agent going rigid for a mere fraction of a second before turning and bowing slightly to Everton and asking, "Do you require anything, my most beloved liege?"

"Nothing much, go dispose of whoever can't keep the boat steady, and then shoot yourself for not blocking the sun and interrupting my most important rest time."

The CP Agent was racked with cold sweat, a detail that Everton took no notice of, before steeling his voice to get rid of the nervous stammering before asking, "Where would you like me to shoot my lord?" He prayed that the World Noble in front of him would be merciful.

"Hmm, fair question I suppose. For your loyalty, I only want you to shoot one of your knees, shouldn't be too bad. You still have to block the sun though, or there wont be a next time." Everton said with the laziness and finality someone would have when being asked if they should throw away some trash.

The agent breathed a secret sigh of relief, "Right away, sir." He went and shot the captain, summarily giving the first mate a promotion, and then positioned his gun to fire through his knee in the perfect spot that wouldn't cripple him. It would hurt like a sonuva bit*h for a long while, but it beats dying. He limped back to his old position, blocking the sun, and making fully sure that not a ray of light would interrupt the sleeping dragon he was tasked with serving.

-0-

The day passed slowly, eventually becoming slightly too cold for Everton to be comfortable, and was escorted back to his cabin by an agent with a limp. It struck him as odd that the agent would be limping, but matters of the lesser people are not for him to care about. Finally reaching his glorious bed that, realistically, must have cost the yearly budget of some cities to build, he unceremoniously flopped onto it, and quickly fell into a dream about swimming through piles of gold Beri coins. Unbeknownst to Everton and the rest of the crew, a hurricane of deadly proportions was swiftly gaining on them, as if it was alive and seeking revenge against the people on the ship.

-0-

Deep asleep caused by the exhaustion from sleeping all day, Everton was only awakened when a clap of thunder so loud that it threatened to tear the sky in two and sounded out seemingly right next to him. Blearily opening his eyes, he finally realized that the boat is rocking a little too hard for his liking. About to summon the nearby agent to dispose of whoever can't keep the boat steady, the similarities to what he said before were absolutely lost on him, the ship suddenly bucked, sending Everton into a roll, in what would be likened to a bowling ball being rolled around, and slamming him against the hard wooden walls and floor. In shock due to being unable to even register the pain and the audacity of someone treating their god like this, he was able to hear the panicked whispers of people outside his door, -'Who's going to deal with him!?'-

-'Not me! I already took a bullet to the knee, I'm not sticking my neck out again!'-

It was at this point where Everton was finally dragged out of his stupor to do what his people did best, scream.

"WHO IS RESPONSIBLE!? HUH!? I WANT AN EXPLANATION AS TO WHY YOU PEOPLE THINK IT'S ACCEPTABLE TO TREAT YOUR GOD IN SUCH A MANNER!!! I WILL HAVE ALL OF YOU SKINNED ALIVE AND DROWNED IN THE OCEAN. THEN WHEN I GET HOME, I WILL HAVE THE REST OF YOUR FAMILIES KILLED AND FED TO THE SLAVES!!!" Everton roared with more power than people thought possible, spittle and other unknowable things started dribbling out of his mouth, pooling in the base of his thick glass helmet. His screaming eclipsed the roaring thunder overhead, and the newly promoted captain sensing his inevitable future, steered the boat towards a swiftly forming whirlpool and sending a prayer to his family.

Everton's insane screaming had started as words and devolved into animalistic screeching and grunts, before feeling the boat start to tip over, causing him to fall over. His anger was quashed as he lifted his head and saw the whirlpool that the ship was being sucked into outside of his large window. He didn't even have time to form a thought before everything went black.

-0-

<Report, Agent. Have you recovered the target?>

"No, Sir, but I am afraid that we have run into a snag."

<...>

"Sir?"

<You'd better pray that this is the best excuse I have seen in my long career, or nothing will save you from the hell you will be inviting upon yourself if it isn't.>

Gulp. "T-the Vivre C-Card has stopped working, S-Sir."

<Did it burn?>

"N-No, Sir, it simply stopped moving."

<... Are you sure?>

"Absolutely!"

<Hmm... You might have a chance. If it's any consolation, I will protect your family in the event that they don't care for your failure.>

"... thank you, sir..."

*Ka-lick!*

...

...

...

... Why me?