Chapter 50 - Thriller Bark Pt 4 1/3

Patient AN: Ladies and gentlemen, the following chapter may very well be the finest work of our Superego, without whom we could not have hoped to have made either this or the previous chapter.

Hornet AN: I should hope so, considering this thing's 50% fight scene.

Cross-Brain AN: Just as a last note, loyal fans? We called the cliffhanger we gave you seven chapters ago cruel beyond all cruelty. But the cliffhanger at the end of this chapter is even crueler.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH—!"

THUNK!

"—AAHoh hey, I'm alive."

Glancing behind him, Leo could see that a tree had arrested his impromptu flight, with nary a scratch on the bark.

"Tough tree…" he remarked. Then the pain in his hind flippers hit. "Ow, fuck! Jeez, this guy hits almost as hard as Zoro!"

"Yaaar!"

At the sound of that voice, Leo turned his attention back to his limping opponent, crossing his blades in time to catch John's twin sabers. The impact made his swords creak ominously and sent shockwaves down his body. Shockwaves that hit the tree he was still balanced against and promptly blew out the back of the trunk.

"You've… got to be… kidding me!" the dugong ground out as he struggled to hold the zombie at bay.

Seconds passed, neither fighter gaining an advantage. John was too strong for Leo to push back, but the tree gave him something to brace against. However…

'Can't… keep this up… forever…' Leo thought. 'Dunno what's gonna break first… me… the tree… or my swords… but something's gonna break…'

In the event, the dugong was beaten to the punch by John… flexing. Yes. Flexing his pectoral muscles, where Leo noted were puncture wounds in the corpse.

'So someone turned the bastard into a pincushion…' he deduced. 'If they were alive, I'd buy them a drink… and then bury their head in the table! Though...' Leo narrowed his eyes as he noticed several other distinctly different scars moving. 'Huh, looks like he was shot, too. I wonder if the bullets are still in the holes.'

Strangely enough, it appeared that the bullet holes were opening and closing in time to his… flexing…

'Oh, you can't be serious!'

Hastily pulling his swords back, Leo dropped to the ground, and none too soon. With one final, gargantuan flex, the bullets flew out of their holes to hit the tree.

The dugong had no time to process the sheer insanity of what he'd just witnessed, because finally, he had at least something of an opening. From his prone position, he stabbed both blades up, aiming for the neck. They didn't reach; Zombie John leaned over, the blades skittering off his voluminous coat, with the tears—

"Okay, that's just not fair," Leo whined at the metal plates now visible under the coat. Further whining was cut off by a frantic roll away from the blades that tore into the soil. Tail catching the ground, he Rip Tided away, back into the trees.

"Okay…" Leo panted as he leaned around the trunk and watched John come about. "So that was probably a one-time thing. I hope. He's still stronger than me, just as fast in melee, and an immortal zombie. With armor." He sighed, hanging his head. "Thank God Soundbite isn't here, because the only possible description of this situation is that it bites." The dugong only allowed himself to remain melancholic for a moment before rapping his hilts over his skull-shell. "Okay, back in the game! Think Leo, think! Weaknesses, what are his weaknesses?"

Turning back to the shambling zombie, he noted with some surprise that it was, in fact, actually shambling, unlike the rest of the cadavers he'd seen that night. Every step dragged the left leg along the ground, despite the apparent functionality of the limb.

"So, slow to pursue. That's… actually pretty useful," Leo noted. "With Rip Tide, I can open the distance easily. Which would be useful if I actually had a ranged attack worth a damn!"

Suddenly, a peripheral glint of light snapped the Dugong out of his outrage, and that allowed a hasty duck to save him from becoming a head shorter. A poor tree that slid off its stump and crashed to the ground in front of him only emphasized the point.

This time, though, Leo attacked instead of defended once his opponent was in melee range. To his frustration, this was no more effective than it been before. Zombie John's defense was ironclad, parries and well-timed sways deflecting the attacks.

"Damn it!" he roared, clashing his blades into a crossed formation. "Cross of the—aghk!"

The ace-attack was aborted by a flap of John's coat slamming into Leo's face. Due to its armored nature, it wasn't unlike being slapped with a two-by-four. Or Nami.

Stumbling back, Leo tried to Rip Tide away again. This time, though, Zombie John reached into his coat and threw several knives that the dugong had to deflect lest he get skewered. Not only did this cut the Rip Tide short, but it also drew his swords into an entirely different guard.

"I call this attack 'Boot to the Face'!" the zombie cackled as he did just that.

Treaded soles met dugong face. The soles won, sending Leo flying again. Not very far, though. John, unslinging his coat with the ease of far too much practice, proceeded to catch his opponent in it and wrap the sleeves around his neck.

"A fit punishment for a pirate," the zombie general leered down at his opponent, his foot planted on his shell as he started to pull with all his might. "Wouldn't ya say, matey?"

Due to his position, all Leo could do was scrabble at the cloth wrapping around his neck, which was constricting his neck in ways that were decidedly uncomfortable. The lack of air, while unnerving, was manageable due to both his species' habitat of choice and Boss's own spartan training, but far more pressing was the fact that if he didn't know any better, he'd swear he could hear his spine creaking.

Unbidden, one of Chopper's more disturbing rants sprang to mind. This one had been concerning various means of execution the Marines used. And from what he remembered, the true cause of death from hanging by the neck wasn't asphyxiation, but rather—!

Leo hastily slammed all of his strength into maintaining his Shell Body, but he could already tell that it was but a momentary reprieve: after all, where his own strength was limited and waning, the revenant's well of strength was fathomless.

But still, bleak as the situation was, Leo didn't panic. Rather, he thought back to his master's lessons and focused on one rule in particular: That even if the enemy seemed invincible, there was always a weak angle to exploit.

Leo glanced back and forth along the sleeves that threatened to end his life. The knot itself was impenetrable to his flippers, as was the left sleeve... but the right? Oh, now the right was the ticket to life and liberty, tattered and torn as it was, and all Leo had to do was grab at the most off-kilter patch he could find and rip.

The cloth promptly fell apart under his flipper, and a hasty Rip Tide found him far away again, propped up on his swords and wheezing, even as his mind flew a mile an hour.

'That... That sleeve wasn't a coincidence,' Leo thought to himself as he glanced at his opponent. 'Looking back at the earlier clashes... yeah, yeah he definitely has a weaker guard on his right side.' The dugong grimaced as John slowly and calmly put his jacket back on, tutting at the missing sleeve. 'Not that that helps me, considering how a cracked aegis is still an aegis, damn it all...' Hanging his head, he shook it despondently. 'I gotta do the ranged attack, don't I.'

For a few seconds, he just wallowed in the self-pity, and then brushed it aside, standing straight again. Another blur of Rip Tide and he was positioned to the right of John, who was still as slow as ever.

As the zombie shambled towards him again, Leo raised his swords high and to the right, pointing to the sky parallel with each other. More importantly, he shut his eyes and listened.

He heard the wind rustling through the trees; John's foot scraping in the dirt and his clothes rustling together; even, in the distance, the sounds of fighting. The sounds washed over him, penetrated deep into his very soul. And, at the edge of the blades, he heard it. The air moving over the blade, making the metal sing.

'So, that's how it works.'

Opening his eyes, he saw that John was now making a beeline for him. Well, as much of a beeline as a rotting corpse with a limp can pull off. Point is, he wasn't deviating at all.

"Gulf…!" he cried out, before bringing his blades down. "Stream!"

Air and steel sang in harmony, twin blades of wind sprang into existence, merging into a singular force of destruction…

SKRANG!

Even as, before Leo's own horrified gaze, his actual blades shattered like so much fine crystal.

Still, as tragic as the turn of fate was, it didn't alter the intensity of his attack. John tried to dodge, he really did, but with a gimpy leg and quite a bit of armor weighing him down, all he managed to evacuate was his torso. His left-hand limbs, however, were hit full force. The arm, while cut to the bone, remained viable; the leg, however... well, for all that Captain John was a world-renowned pirate there were very few pirates, be they dead or alive, world-famous or a nobody, who could fight with just one leg.

Leo stayed wary for a moment, keeping a close eye on the downed pirate for over a minute before finally allowing himself to relax, the tension ebbing out of his being—and with it, the adrenaline that was keeping the pain away. "Ow! Owowowowoooow, my tail!" he yowled, massaging the aching limb. "I really need to start building up these muscles, because mine are nowhere near strong enough for this shi—!"

"Yar har har… yaaaar har har har haaaar…"

Leo tensed up as a laugh wafted through the air, and promptly scrambled for any shards of his blades he could grab. "Shitshitshitshi—!"

"Ahhh, cool yer flippers, ya grubby worrywart," John wheezed, waving his hand dismissively. "Ah'm done. Going back to the locker soon enough, of that, ye can be assured. I'm just…" He chuckled, his grin widening minutely. "Relieved, I suppose ye could say."

Warily eyeing the immobile corpse, Leo palmed one of the shards and hopped over to the zombie, making sure to (hopefully) stay out of its reach. "What… do you mean by 'relieved'?"

"Yar…" John sighed, tilting his head back to stare into the mists. "…have ye ever heard of me, lad? Have ye ever heard of 'Long' John 'Silverteeth'?"

"Weeeell…" Leo winced, glancing to the side.

"Bah, 'tis no surprise," John shrugged carelessly, his empty gaze staring at nothing. "As ye can see, I ain't exactly young. Well, anyway, lemme make it simple for ye: In case ye couldn't already tell, I was a true pirate's pirate when I was alive. I looted, I pillaged, I swashed more buckles than I could count… from Reverse Mountain ta the gates o' Mariejois, I was the scurviest, saltiest, most treacherous sea dog to ever sail…"

John's desiccated lips twisted into a scowl as he started poking at the holes in his torso. "And in the end, it all came back to bite me in the arse when I went so far as to betray me own crew. Robbed 'em blind and stowed the treasure away, where only I knew. I thought I could escape, thought I could live out me golden years in luxury…"

Leo's gaze slowly trailed down to the deceased swashbuckler's sieve of a chest. "But clearly, that didn't happen."

"Arr…" John growled morosely. "One of the most feared men o' me generation, an honest to god demon made flesh… and I was put down by me own mates, like a DAMN DOG!" the pirate suddenly roared furiously, slamming his fist into the ground. "THAT'S NO WAY TO DIE, DAMN IT ALL! THAT NO WAY TA END IT! TA, TA LEAVE THIS LIFE! I WAS SOMEBODY DAMN IT! I WAS FAMOUS, I WAS IMPORTANT, I WAS—! I was… I…" The old pirate slowly trailed off, his voice drawing down into a whisper before he let his head hang in shame. "I… was a pirate's pirate… a man's man… and they didn't even let me die like one…"

Leo's gaze lightened up ever so slightly. "Death in combat."

"The only true and noble way a man can die…" John nodded solemnly, before allowing a leer to cross his face. "Well, that or in bed at the age o' eighty with me 'Long John' in—!"

"Yeahyeahyeah, we all know that one!" Leo hastily cut the pirate off, his face all but glowing.

"Yarharhar!" John cackled in amusement, eventually trailing off into a melancholy sigh. "Arr… anyway… Ye gave me the second death I never got in life, and for that I thank thee… and I've got a few things I'd like to give ye. Not like I'll be takin' them with me anyways, aye?"

"Eh…" Leo glanced to the side at the battle raging a little ways off (and the zombie that flew screaming into the air) before giving the pirate captain a nod. "Alright, but make it fast."

The zombie inclined his head, then jerked it to the side at where his swords had landed. "First off, me blades. They're just a pair o' no-named buggers, but they've got spine and spirit. Feel free ta use mine until ya find some new mates a yer own, savvy?"

"Ah…" Leo glanced at the sabres uncertainly. "Are you… sure they won't—?"

"What, 'mind'? HA!" John barked with a dash of honest humor. "They're pirate blades, lad! They don't give half a damn about who's swingin' them, just that they're in the thick of it. 'Sides, ye've got me blessing, it's fine... and ye'r in the thick of it as is, do ye really have the time to be picky?"

"…fair 'nuff, what else?" Leo waved for the zombie to continue.

"Second," John complied with a grunt, sliding a circlet from his arm and holding it out. "Me treasure. This here mark will guide ya to it. Learned too late that I can't take it with me… but maybe ye can put it ta some good use. Better than letting it rot in some cave, aye?"

The swordless swords-dugong gave the mark a doubtful look but still accepted it without a word. After all, best to possibly have a lead on the treasure of the century to appease Nami than to wind up empty-handed at the wrong moment.

"Arrr, alright, alright, that's good... anyways, last of all…" John grunted as he slowly dragged himself into a sitting position, wincing at the phantom pains that were shooting through his dead nerves. "A final piece of advice. A true pirate… a true man…"

With remarkable speed, his good arm reached into his jacket and withdrew a flintlock pistol. "DIES FIGHTING!" he roared, his voice full of vim and vigor as he squeezed the trigger.

Or tried to, at least. The endeavor failed, due to every last inkling of strength leaving the revenant's body.

Leo smiled lightly as he slowly withdrew his extended and empty flipper to his side. "Knew that from the second I picked up the blade, sir," he whispered with respect.

John wheezed a chuckle around the shard of metal lodged in the back of his throat. "Per… fect…"

And with that, the twice-damned Silver-Toothed Pirate departed from the world again, this time with a smile on his face.

Leo heaved out a massive breath as he wrestled his frayed nerves back under control. Once that was accomplished, however, he took enough time to glance around and confirm that there were no more immediate threats in the area before regretfully turning his gaze to the hilts of his faithful, nameless katanas. He contemplated them for several seconds, then flipped them around and planted them in the earth.

"…At least," he reflected with a quiet whisper. "It was a noble end." He gave the trio of corpses one last glance before waddling off to claim his interim weapons.

Leo hefted the sabres, giving them a few test swings to assure himself of their weight before nodding in satisfaction. He then sheathed the sabres on his back.

Then a flipper rose to his forehead and all but tore away the blue cloth wrapped as a headband. Unfolding it, he then tied the entire cloth over his scalp, slightly shadowing his eyes, and looked towards where the rest of the battle was going on.

"Okay, you two," Leo breathed softly, his eyes hardened into flint and his teeth set in a glower. "Let's go and get ourselves acquainted by killing some fucking zombies."

And with a flex of his tail, he was gone.

-o-

Elsewhere in the forests of Thriller Bark, a battle cry rose above the trees.

"FUNURABA!"

'#77. Strong as hell, but slow,' Mikey noted as he ducked under a meaty tackle that obliterated an innocent tree. 'Alright… let's try multitasking.' Making use of the straight weeks of practice Boss had hammered through his shell, Mikey swiftly spun his left-hand pair of nunchucks into their holster before, in the same move, he drew his left pistol, aimed and fired at the zombie. The bullet sunk in and, to the dugong's dismay, it did exactly jack to stop the juggernaut from ponderously sweeping around for another charge. 'Also really toughohshit!'

The short, red-nosed zombie, emblazoned with the #55, had, while he was dodging, crept under his guard and was now swinging up a nasty-looking uppercut. Mindful of the rotund behemoth behind him, Mikey frantically attempted to lean back while staying anchored to the ground. To his surprise, for once his spine chose to comply, his vertebrae bending just so so that, much like a tongue of seaweed, he swayed back and was left unharmed while an uppercut whooshed harmlessly past his face.

"Huh, so that's how it works," the dugong mused as he turned the sway into a backward handstand flip that took him under another one of the big #77's swipes. Landing from that, he pushed off from the ground—

"Kekekekeke! Now, fucking monkey!"

"Who are you calling a woohee?!"

And was promptly grabbed by the monkey-like #80 in mid-air.

"Catch MAX!"

"Let go of me, dammit!" Mikey snapped, slamming his head back. Had he tried this even a few days ago, the blow would have met only air, but with his newfound flexibility, it instead found its mark with a resounding (and embarrassingly hollow-sounding) CLONK!

The surprisingly strong hands that had gripped him fell away in favor of clutching their owner's skull, and Mikey took the opportunity to Tidal Swim away from the monkey in search of Hildon. The bat-like majordomo, however, had decided to hold discretion as the better part of valor, because he was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, the orange-bandana'd dugong spotted yet another unfamiliar zombie skulking about. This one was solidly built, and seemed… older than the rest, save Hildon. The black mohawk was pretty distinctive, too.

Two facts stuck out to Mikey about the revenant: that his leg was extended for some reason or another, and that there was also some sort of round object flying through the air from him to Mikey. A round, black object that upon further analysis once it drew closer, the dugong managed to identify.

'Huh. That's a bomb.' Then the dugong's overworked brain processed that thought. "OH, SHIT, THAT'S A BOMB! TIDAL SWI—!"

KA-BOOM!

It was, indeed, a bomb, and one that exploded right in his face at that. Luckily, his new innate flexibility did a good job dissipating the shock wave of the explosion; the worst he got was some mild burns and a forceful expulsion from the sky, and the latter was something he was well acquainted with through his training. Another Tidal Swim killed his momentum, allowing him to touch down in front of the zombie that bore the sigil #47.

"Ahahahahaha!" the zombie cackled, pirouetting on one leg with the other held vertical in the air. "Prepare to be schooled, monsieur!"

"'Monsieur'?" Mikey dubiously parroted before letting his expression fall flat. "Oh, whatever. Just die again already."

A twitch of his flippers and one of his nunchucks lashed out at the zombie's skull. In response, said zombie… swayed out of the way with impressive flexibility for healthy flesh, let alone necrotized.

"Oh, come on!" Mikey snapped as he pulled back his weapon, pointing an accusatory finger at his opponent. "That's blatant plagiarism!"

"Look who's talking, monsieur!" the zombie snapped back, still in his raised-leg pose. "You're a walking plagiarism yourself! At least we have the guts to admit it!"

"You don't have 'guts', period!" Mikey snarled. "And what in Sebek's name are you—!"

A blur zipped by him, and the dugong glanced to the side to find his back flipper tied to one of the trees.

"Eh?"

In a second, arms, weaker than the Monkey's, latched onto his other flipper. A glance to that side showed the zombie with the large forehead clinging onto it with all his might.

"Eh?!"

"Hey. I think we should teach this punk what happens when someone messes with us on our turf."

"Yeah."

"Great idea!"

"Just punch them already, fucking brothers!" Hildon snapped from a nearby treetop.

"We're not brothers!" the last trio of zombies fired back before turning their glares on the captive Dugong. "But we can punch him!"

Now panicking slightly, Mikey tugged at the rope. Solidly attached, it didn't budge. He tried with the zombie clinging to him. That just dragged the zombie on the ground.

A rain of punches precluded any further attempts at escape.

"Kekekekeke," Hildon chuckled as the remainder of his zombie coterie joined him in watching the beatdown. "Ah, I love a plan well executed." Holding up his hands, over a dozen bat-themed cards appeared in his hands. "Too bad I didn't get to use more of my tricks! Ya-ha!"

BLAM! BLAM! B-BLAM!

"Don't worry," a battered and bruised Mikey intoned as four bodies dropped away from him, each featuring bullet holes in their necks and shadows soaring into the sky above them. "The fun's not done until one of us rolls out a real showstopper. And so far, you've been lacking!"

Another blur, and another bomb was deposited at his feet. Snorting derisively, Mikey gave it a hearty thwack with his tail that punted it into the trees, where it exploded harmlessly in a stream of annoyed bats. "Still lacking."

If he was worried, Hildon didn't show it. Instead, he just kept chuckling, even as Mikey kept a wary eye on the remaining zombies.

"Don't worry, fucking seal."

"I'M A DUGONG, DAMMIT!"

Once again, Hildon threw his hands out, only this time they were loaded with machine guns and bazookas. "I'VE GOT A FEW SHOWSTOPPERS READY TO GO!" The vamp-zombie roared as he opened fire.

Every single weapon fired at once in a hail of bullets and cannonballs. The former were deflected by Mikey's nunchucks, while the latter were simply dodged. Time slowed down as his brain focused solely on evading the projectiles. And it was only due to that that he saw the real attack coming: the big #77 zombie lumbering towards him and the only zombie as yet unaccounted for. Namely, #21, the one with the eyeshield on its helmet, zipping in at a speed that would have impressed Carue. Classic hammer and anvil.

But with the dugong now able to see it coming, he could do something about it. Twisting around and spraying bullets at the 'anvil' of the two, he used his other flipper to snap his nunchucks in just the right way so as to grab the fast zombie around the legs, yanking him to the ground. Another shot from his pistols sufficed to salt the zombie.

"Ya-ha!"

Then a shadow fell over him.

"Give 'em the hammer!" Hildon cackled as #77 slammed into the ground, throwing up a massive cloud of dust.

For a moment, the zombies waited, watching carefully for any sign of life below #77's big belly. When there was nothing, they let out a cheer, joined by several zombie cheerleaders that popped out of the nearby underbrush.

"Rip Tide."

That cheer was then brutally murdered in a back alley by Mikey's smug declaration. Hildon swung his eyes around to find the dugong smirking at him, even as his tail pumped out Tidal Swim after Tidal Swim to keep him airborne.

"I'll admit, I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed," he noted conversationally. "But I've still got enough meat in my noggin to figure some pretty simple things out. And d'you know what I just figured out?" He began swinging his nunchucks into a nice and menacing blur. "I salt you, and this whole setup collapses."

Hildon, sweating furiously, held his ground. For two seconds. Then he turned around and flew away as fast as he could. "I didn't sign up for thiiiiiis!" he wailed.

Mikey, idly dodging another punted bomb, gave him a five-second lead before kicking off the air after him.

'Hum, I wonder,' he thought as he pursued the fleeing bat-zombie. 'Is it possible to combine Rip Tide and Tidal Swim? Kick ten times off the air? Have to ask Boss about that…'

The time for idle thoughts was soon over as Mikey came within striking range. His next Tidal Swim was not one of the simple pushes he'd done before; his tail coiled, folding as far as it would go, the muscles in his gut and back getting in on the action. This push wasn't so much a push as it was a rocket going off. Rearing back a flipper, Mikey reached Hildon with just enough time for the majordomo to look panicked before a heavy wooden stick slammed into his face with all of the dugong's momentum behind it.

CRASH!

Or, in layman's terms, Mikey's extra strength Tidal Swim gave the nunchuck hit enough force to send Hildon flying into and through the roof of the manor, the dugong riding the body down to the floor.

At least, until Hildon slammed into it headfirst, throwing the dugong off.

Hildon was quick to jump back to his feet, but going by the way he was stumbling about and his eyeballs were spinning like pinwheels, he was most likely suffering from a severe (if purely psychosomatic) concussion. "Weeelcome to Thriller Bark," he mumbled dizzily. "Weeee hope you enjooooy your sta—!"

BLAM!

Hildon's corpse crumbled into a pile of flesh and bones without even a whisper.

"Sorry, bub," Mikey snarled, smoke wafting up from his pistol's muzzle. "We're just passing through."