Chapter 147

The sky wasn't just weeping; it was throwing a tantrum. Rain hammered the Red Force's decks like a million tiny drummers, turning the polished wood into a treacherous, shimmering mirror. The wind howled through the rigging, a mournful counterpoint to the drumming. Confined below decks, the usual boisterous energy of Shanks' crew had curdled into restless fidgeting. Lucky Roux polished the same spot on his favorite carving knife for the tenth time, his stomach rumbling louder than the storm. Bonk Punch tapped a restless rhythm on his namesake instrument, the notes discordant and irritable. Monster and Gab engaged in a silent, intense staring contest near the galley door. Building Snake meticulously re-coiled a rope that was already perfectly coiled. Yasopp disassembled and reassembled his musket with blinding speed, his eyes darting around the cramped space. Limejuice traced imaginary routes on a damp chart, sighing. Hongo sharpened surgical tools with unnerving focus. Benn Beckman, leaning against a support beam with his ever-present cigarette unlit, observed the mounting tension with the weary patience of a man who'd seen this play out before. Shanks himself sat on a barrel, idly spinning a gold coin on his knee, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips as he watched his crew slowly lose their minds to confinement.

"Bored!" Monster finally boomed, slamming a massive fist onto the table, making mugs jump. "Need smash something!"

"Smash the rain?" Gab suggested, peering out a porthole at the deluge.

"Not smashable!" Monster grumbled.

Jelly Squish, a beacon of azure-blue cheer against the grey gloom, wobbled near a pile of spare hammocks and bedding fetched earlier in anticipation of the storm. "Ooh! Fluffy clouds inside!" he chirped, poking a plump down pillow. "Bloop! Like happy clouds!" He experimentally bounced on it, his gelatinous form jiggling wildly. "Bouncy!"

Yasopp's eyes, sharp as ever, locked onto the pillow. A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. "Fluffy clouds, eh?" In one fluid motion, he snatched a pillow from the pile. "Catch, Lucky!"

THWUMP!

The pillow hit Lucky Roux square in the face, feathers puffing out around his head. The massive chef froze, a glob of drool hanging from his lip where he'd been contemplating a snack. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered the pillow, his eyes narrowing. A low growl rumbled in his chest, deeper than the thunder outside. Then, with a roar that shook the beams, he launched himself at Yasopp, pillow raised like a club. "YOU ASKED FOR IT, SNIPER!"

Pandemonium erupted.

"PILLOW FIGHT!" Bonk Punch bellowed, gleefully abandoning his instrument and grabbing two pillows, swinging them like flails.

Monster roared with laughter, snatching up an entire rolled-up hammock and swinging it like a battering ram, sending Gab scrambling. Building Snake, with surprising agility, used his coiled rope skills to lasso pillows from the air. Limejuice abandoned his chart, using his spear-handle to vault over a barrel and deliver a precise pillow-swat to Bonk Punch's head. Hongo, ever pragmatic, began constructing a small pillow barricade behind an overturned crate, ready to provide "medical aid" (mostly dodging).

Benn Beckman sighed, the sound almost lost in the sudden cacophony of thuds, laughter, and squawking feathers. He didn't join immediately, instead methodically selecting a single, firm pillow. He then proceeded to move with unhurried precision, deflecting wild swings from Monster with a casual flick, his pillow connecting with uncanny accuracy – a gentle thok to Limejuice's knee as he vaulted, a soft whump to Gab's backside as he tried to sneak up. It was less fighting, more strategic annoyance deployment.

Shanks threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich and warm, cutting through the chaos. "Now this is weathering a storm!" He grabbed a pillow himself, casually deflecting a wild swing from Lucky Roux aimed vaguely in his direction.

Marya had initially retreated to a quieter corner near the ship's library nook, observing the eruption with detached curiosity, her arms crossed. The sheer, nonsensical violence of fluffy objects seemed beneath her usual concerns. But as the battle lines blurred and pillows flew like downy cannonballs, a spark ignited in her golden eyes. A challenge. Structure amidst chaos.

While the others brawled in the open, Marya moved with Mihawk-like focus. She assessed the terrain – stacks of crates, barrels lashed to the wall, a heavy sea chest. Silently, efficiently, she began her campaign. Pillows weren't weapons; they were bricks. Hammocks were bulwarks. She wedged pillows into gaps, stacked crates with geometric exactness, draped hammocks over barrels to create covered firing positions. Her pillow fortress rose in the corner, a marvel of defensive engineering. Each pillow was placed with deliberate intent, each seam aligned. She used a rolled chart as a support beam, a spare sailcloth as a roof. Within minutes, she stood behind a formidable rampart, a single, perfectly fluffed pillow held like a commander's baton, her expression one of calm, calculated readiness. It was Kuraigana Keep, rendered in bedding.

Jelly, meanwhile, was a force of pure, giggling entropy. He didn't just throw pillows; he became them. Seeing Yasopp expertly winging pillows across the room, Jelly got an idea. "Bloop! Pillow... CANNON!" With a concentrated squish, his entire arm morphed and expanded, taking on the shape of a giant, wobbly pillow-mitten. He scooped up three pillows at once, stuffed them into his morphing limb, and then, with a delighted squeal, contracted.

FWOOMPH-SPLATTER!

Not a single pillow, but a concentrated volley of down and feathers erupted from Jelly's cannon-arm. It wasn't aimed; it was unleashed. The explosion engulfed Lucky Roux and Bonk Punch in a blizzard of white, sending them coughing and spluttering. Feathers stuck to sweat, beards, and in Lucky Roux's case, his open mouth. "Gah! Feathers! In mah stew-pot!" he spluttered.

"Direct hit! Bloop!" Jelly cheered, bouncing with glee, leaving glittery footprints on the feather-strewn deck. He became a primary target. Pillows rained down on him. But Jelly just giggled, his body jiggling violently with each impact – Blorp! Thwap! Splurch! – absorbing the force. "Tickle-tickle!" he squealed, the kinetic energy building within his bouncy form. Then, with a final "Wheee!", he released it, bouncing the pillows harmlessly away with comical farting noises, sending feathers flying anew.

His bouncing path, however, was chaotic. He ricocheted off a barrel (Blorp!), caromed off a startled Building Snake ("Oof!"), and wobbled precariously towards Marya's meticulously constructed fortress.

Marya saw the blue blur approaching. Her stoic expression tightened minutely. She braced, pillow held defensively. "Jelly. Halt." Her voice was calm, commanding.

But Jelly, caught in the euphoria of bounce and feathers, saw only a wonderful blue, fluffy mountain. "Bouncy castle! Bloop!" With an ecstatic giggle, he put on a final burst of wobbling speed and launched himself, not at the fortress, but into it, morphing mid-air into a perfect, giggling sphere – a gelatinous wrecking ball trailing glitter.

CRASH-SPLATTER-FLOOMPH!

Precision met pure, unadulterated chaos. Marya's geometric masterpiece didn't just collapse; it exploded. Crates tipped, the sailcloth roof billowed down, pillows erupted in a geyser of feathers that filled the air like a sudden snowstorm. Marya emerged from the wreckage, not hurt, but utterly transformed. Her long black hair was liberally coated in white down, a single feather stuck comically upright on her head like a misplaced antenna. Her usually impeccable clothes were rumpled and dusted white. She held the tattered remains of her command pillow. Her golden eyes were wide, not with anger, but with sheer, stunned disbelief. Feathers drifted slowly down around her.

Silence fell, broken only by Jelly's muffled giggles as he wobbled happily amidst the ruins. "Soft landing! Bloop!"

The entire crew froze, staring at the devastation and the feather-dusted daughter of Hawkeyes. Then, Shanks' laughter boomed out again, louder than the storm. He wiped a tear from his eye, pointing at Marya with his pillow.

"By the seas, girl!" Shanks gasped between laughs, his single eye crinkling. "That fortress! The angles, the precision... Mihawk-level strategy, no doubt!" He gestured grandly at the feathered carnage and the beaming blue wrecking ball. "But against that?" He shook his head, grinning broadly. "Your dad would've taken one look at the giggling cannonball, sheathed Yoru, and surrendered in three minutes flat! Tactical withdrawal, absolutely justified!"

Marya stared at Shanks, then down at the giggling Jelly, then at the feather coating her sleeve. A slow, incredulous shake of her head started. Then, the corner of her lips twitched. It fought against her usual reserve, a battle between dignity and absurdity. The twitch became a tremble, then blossomed into a full, rare, and utterly genuine smirk. A soft, almost disbelieving huff of laughter escaped her – the sound feather-light but unmistakable. She plucked the feather from her hair, looked at it, then flicked it towards Jelly, who caught it with a delighted "Bloop!".

"Surrender," Marya repeated, her voice dry but amusement finally warming its edges as she surveyed the fluffy ruins of her strategic genius. "An... unexpectedly sound assessment, Uncle." She brushed a clump of feathers from her shoulder, the stoic mask cracked, revealing the young woman momentarily delightfully outmaneuvered by pure, glittery, giggling chaos. The Legendary Pillow Fort War ended not with a bang, but with a blizzard of down and the rare sound of Mihawk's daughter laughing.

*****

The morning sun painted the deck of the Red Force in molten gold, the sea sighing gently beneath her hull. Most of the crew was scattered: Lucky Roux orchestrating breakfast aromas from the galley, Yasopp meticulously cleaning his rifle near the forecastle, Bonk Punch and Monster engaged in a rhythmic drumming contest that echoed off the waves, Limejuice charting courses, Building Snake splicing rope with monk-like focus, Hongo organizing medical supplies, and Gab practicing knots. Benn Beckman, ever-present, leaned against the mainmast, polishing an apple on his vest, his sharp eyes missing nothing but granting the stern deck a semblance of privacy.

Shanks stood in the cleared space near the taffrail, Gryphon resting casually against his shoulder. Opposite him, Marya held Eternal Eclipse, the obsidian blade seeming to drink in the sunlight, the crimson runes along its length pulsing faintly. Her stance was a mirror of Mihawks's precision – feet perfectly balanced, weight centered, blade held with economical grace. Yet, Shanks saw the subtle differences – a tighter grip born of the sword's cursed weight, a fractional hesitation before committing to a feint that spoke of Mihawk's relentless perfectionism warring with her own developing style.

"Your footwork," Shanks remarked, his voice conversational but carrying easily over the gentle sounds of the ship. "The pivot on the back foot, the way you shift weight for that diagonal slash... that's pure Mihawk. Efficient as a scalpel." He gave a small, approving nod. "He taught you well, Marya."

Marya's golden eyes, usually so observant, flickered with a complex mix of pride and defiance. "He taught technique," she corrected, her voice cool. "The application... that's mine." She launched forward, Eternal Eclipse a blur of darkness aimed not at Shanks, but at the space he would occupy if he dodged left – a move Mihawk would deem inefficient against a perceptive opponent.

Shanks grinned, effortlessly sidestepping the true intent and bringing Gryphon up in a smooth parry. Steel rang, a clear, sharp note that momentarily silenced Bonk Punch's drum. "There it is! That little spark of improvisation! Elisabeta had that too," he said, his tone warm but laced with a hint of old sorrow. He pressed his advantage, Gryphon moving with deceptive speed, forcing Marya into a defensive sequence. "Never could predict her next move either."

The casual mention of her mother, coupled with the relentless pressure, ignited a spark of frustration in Marya. Her black void-veins pulsed visibly beneath her sleeves. Eternal Eclipse seemed to hum in response, the air around its edge shimmering faintly. She pushed back, her movements gaining an edge of raw power Mihawk would have cautioned against.

"Good!" Shanks encouraged, sensing the shift. "Don't just mimic! Own it! But remember..." His own demeanor shifted subtly. The easygoing uncle vanished, replaced by the Emperor whose presence could still a storm. He didn't unleash a wave, but a focused pulse of Conqueror's Haki, an invisible battering ram aimed not to overwhelm, but to test her resolve, to see if she could hold her own will against the pressure.

CRACK-SHIIIIINK!

Eternal Eclipse reacted violently. It wasn't Marya who flinched; it was the blade. The obsidian surface seemed to fracture like thin ice, not physically, but spatially. Jagged, hairline rifts of pure darkness, smelling of zephyr and cold vacuum, spiderwebbed out from the point where Gryphon had met it moments before. The air screamed as reality tore. One rift snapped open inches from the mainmast, another licked dangerously close to a lashed-down crate of oranges.

"Whoa!" Shanks jerked back, Gryphon held defensively, his eye wide with alarm. "Marya! Rein it in!"

Marya stared, horrified, at the unstable tears in space. She felt the sword's panic, its cursed power resonating wildly with the Emperor's Haki. "I... I can't!" she gasped, trying to wrestle the blade's energy back, her knuckles white. The rifts pulsed, threatening to widen, to swallow chunks of the deck. Benn Beckman straightened, dropping his apple, hand instinctively going to his pistol. Yasopp froze, his cleaning rag forgotten.

"Bad sparkles!" a cheerful voice chirped. Jelly Squish, drawn by the strange sounds and smells, had been wobbling nearby, trying to catch sunbeams refracted through his azure body. He saw the flickering black rifts. Not understanding danger, only perceiving unstable energy, he bounced forward with a determined "Bloop!"

He didn't aim; he simply launched his gelatinous form towards the largest rift near the mast, his body morphing mid-air into a wide, flat, wobbly disc – a living, blue shield. "Shiny shield time!"

THWUMP-WOBBLE... HUMMMMMMMM.

Jelly splatted against the spatial tear. Instead of being severed or sucked in, his mercury-infused body jiggled violently, absorbing the chaotic Haki shockwaves radiating from the rift like a tuning fork finding resonance. The shimmering darkness stilled. The terrifying hum deepened into a stable, almost harmonic thrum. The rift didn't vanish, but its jagged edges smoothed, held in check by the gelatinous pressure, glowing faintly with a stabilizing blue light where Jelly made contact. He wobbled precariously, plastered against the tear in reality like a bizarre, living patch. "Oof! Strong sparkle!" he grunted, his voice vibrating.

Seeing the effect, Marya acted. Focusing not on suppressing the blade, but on redirecting its energy away from the rifts Jelly was stabilizing, she slammed Eternal Eclipse point-first into the deck timbers between her feet. The remaining unstable energy discharged downwards with a muffled THOOM, shaking the ship but contained, leaving only scorch marks on the wood. The other minor rifts, deprived of the sword's amplifying resonance, snapped shut with tiny pops.

Silence descended, broken only by the sea and Jelly's wobbly humming as he maintained pressure on the stabilized rift. Feathers drifted down from the rigging, shaken loose by the tremor. Benn slowly lowered his hand from his pistol, his expression unreadable. Yasopp slowly picked up his cleaning rag.

Shanks let out a long, slow breath, lowering Gryphon. He looked from the scorch mark, to Marya breathing heavily, her grip still tight on the quiescent sword, to Jelly plastered comically against the now-harmless spatial anomaly.

"Bestest sword-shield!" Jelly declared proudly, turning his head with a squelch to beam at them, his body still vibrating slightly. "Stopped the ouchy sparkles! Bloop!"

A genuine, relieved chuckle escaped Shanks. He walked over to Marya, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. She flinched slightly, but didn't pull away, her gaze fixed on the deck. "That," Shanks said quietly, his voice thick with unspoken emotion, "that raw reaction... that's not just Mihawk's technique, or even Elisabeta's spark. That's you, Marya. That power, that will... it's terrifying and magnificent." He squeezed her shoulder, his gaze distant, haunted. "I couldn't protect Elisabeta from the paths she chose... from the shadows she chased." His hand unconsciously touched the simple pendant he always wore – a twin to the one Mihawk carried. "Seeing that power in you... it scares me. Not for the world, but for you. The burden it carries... the choices it forces." He met her golden eyes, his own filled with a complex brew of pride, sorrow, and fierce protectiveness. "Don't let the legacy, mine or Mihawk's or even Elisabeta's, cage you. Forge your own path. But know this," he added, his voice regaining its warmth as he glanced at the wobbling Jelly, "sometimes the best shields come in the most unexpected, bouncy packages."

Marya looked from Shanks' earnest, guilt-shadowed face, to the obsidian blade in her hand, then to Jelly, who gave her a wobbly thumbs-up. The stoic mask remained, but the rigidity in her shoulders eased a fraction. She gave a single, slow nod, a silent acknowledgment of his words, his fear, and the absurd, glittery reality of her unexpected "sword-shield." The path ahead was hers, paved with inherited burdens and unpredictable allies, both sharp and squishy.