Chapter 31

All good things must come to an end, a lesson Marshall had learned the hard way.

While he wouldn't have said things had been going smoothly for him and his crew, the problems they'd encountered had been well within their abilities to solve. What his crew couldn't handle, he did, and though that might have kept them alive, it deprived them of a crucial piece of knowledge: the feeling of suffering a crushing defeat. It was a feeling he knew well, having felt it for the first time back when the Sun Rats destroyed his home, and he never forgot it, that feeling of helplessness and despair.

His crew was different; every obstacle they encountered they were able to overcome, if not through their individual strength than through teamwork. It wouldn't work forever, he'd cautioned them, but when something kept working, it was hard to think that it would suddenly fail. He upped their training in response, his instincts roaring in the back of his mind that something was coming. He worked with them all, training them one-on-one and in groups, hoping it would be enough even as he had the sinking feeling that it wouldn't be.

All he could do was teach them enough to keep them alive, his instincts growled. He didn't cut himself any slack, training to the brink of exhaustion right alongside them, which was likely one of the only reasons they didn't mutiny.

Every night he ran through his routine on autopilot, unconscious before his head hit the pillow. Even in his dreams, the feeling of looming danger persisted and he woke up more determined than ever to up his own and the crew's training, pushing them further than before. He needed to make sure they all survived, he wouldn't accept anything less.

Wilde was the one who'd come the closest back on Enyo, but even then Marshall was sure the feeling hadn't quite sunk in. He didn't know about Feral, but it was possible that the swordsman had experienced it, the feeling of losing so completely that the only thing you could do was pray to Davy Jones that you live and thank the seas if you do.

When the other shoe dropped, he wasn't surprised. Terrified yes, but not surprised.

It just figured that it would be one of an Emperor's crew who would teach them that lesson.

The battlefield was a sea of blood and flames. Rising smoke stung his eyes, the scent of blood and burned flesh choking him. Every breath he takes is edged in agony, courtesy of his broken ribs. The taste of iron on the back of his tongue is made worse by the fact that a great deal of it belonged to his crew.

It had happened in an instant; they had landed on an island to take a rest, but it turned out someone else had the same thought. The encounter likely wouldn't have been so bad if the other party, the other pirate, hadn't been Charlotte Compote, one of Big Mom's daughters. She hardly looked anything like she would in the future, tall and toned and dressed in a shirt and pants instead of a dress with not a fruit hat to be seen, but the personality...that he recognized. She was young but strong. Before his crew could do more than tense they were down, blood flowing from various wounds.

Vertara was snarling, fangs bared and bloody foam dripping from her mouth as she struggled to push herself up with her unbroken arm, eyes red and wild. Feral was beside her, face a mask of fury as she held her sword in one hand and the long cut in her stomach with the other, the only thing keeping her insides where they belonged. Olivia was unconscious, the deep slice on her shoulder pouring blood despite the way Wilde was attempting to put pressure on it, his breath wheezy and each cough leaving drops of blood on his lips, his broken leg stretched out behind him. Trax's left eye was a mess of blood, the tiger sporting a gash along his side that dyed his fur a deeper red. Rune had fallen unconscious in shock, a hole in his hand like someone had driven a knife through the back of it and a long, curling scratch that went from his right shoulder down to his left hip and bled sluggishly.

The only reason he escaped with only broken ribs was because he got his haki up in time.

"So you're still alive?"

He looked at the blue-haired woman, his eyes meeting hers, and he bared his teeth in a silent threat, his haki coiling through the air to clash with hers as he responded.

"Yes, I am."

The following fight was quick and brutal, if it could even be called a fight.

All he could say was he survived and managed to carry his crew back to the Coddiwomple where he tore through the infirmary, setting up IVs and doing everything he could to keep them alive. He set bones, staunched bleeding, stitched wounds...for eight frantic days he tended to them, not daring to close his eyes in case they took a turn for the worse and barely pausing to grab something he didn't need to cook to eat.

Days of no sleep eventually caught up to him, but he refused to rest until he was sure his crew was out of danger.

It was only when their condition had improved that he allowed himself to relax, slumping back in the chair he'd all but lived in for the last week. As he did so, a wave of dizziness hit him and he remembered that oh yeah, he had been bleeding pretty heavily, hadn't he?

A bit of rest couldn't hurt, he decided, the last of the tension draining from his muscles. Eyes drifting closed, he made himself comfortable and allowed himself to drift off. His last thought before falling asleep was that between the marks from the battle and the bloodstains, his coat was probably a total loss.

(Much later, after getting some much needed rest and waking up in an infirmary bed to his crew's concerned faces, Vertara presented him with a coat free of stains, the garment looking as good as new.

"My people know a thing or two about getting blood out of fabric," she said quietly, and if her smile was a bit shaky, no one mentioned it.

He was also cleanshaven, he discovered when he rubbed a hand over his chin, which was odd because he knew he hadn't shaved since before the battle. He mentioned that over dinner and after a brief silence, Rune confessed, "I wasn't very good at it, but all of us know how particular you are about shaving, so I just...decided to help, since you couldn't do it yourself."

Touched, the only thing Marshall could say to that was, "thank you.")

(Some time later, Wilde mentioned how impressive it was that he had managed to get the Coddi out to sea between taking care of them and his own injuries, and it dawned on him that the Coddi had to have moved herself because he hadn't.)

It took some time, but his crew made a full recovery, none the worse for wear save for a few new scars. Trax had it the toughest; the tiger was now blind in his left eye and had to move carefully until he adjusted to the change. Feral helped with that, training with the tiger until his movements were as smooth or smoother than they'd been before, no matter how much Olivia snapped that they weren't recovered yet, damn it!

A big change that came after their defeat was that there was no more complaints about his insistence on training.

If anything, he became the one most often calling for them to take a break. One time he even went out on deck during Wilde's watch to find the thief practicing with his powers, the Coddi outlined in motes of light and looking downright unworldly. He wordlessly turned and went back inside.

Vertara told him that she was attempting to gain control over her berserker mode. "My people are much more powerful in that state, but the downside is that after entering it we're unable to tell friend from foe and indiscriminately attack everything around us," she sighed.

"So like the Minks Su-Long form, got it." He nodded. They brainstormed for awhile before he had to go fix lunch, Vertara looking thoughtful.

Rune and Olivia put their heads together, pooling their knowledge of poisons and anatomy. He knew they worked out some kind of training regime, but decided that as long as it worked for them, he didn't want to know.

The one who surprised him the most was Feral; barely a day after Olivia said it was okay for her move around, the swordsman walked up and looked him right in the eyes. "I want you to train me." She growled, knuckles white where they gripped the scabbard of her sword.

He was so thrown by Feral actually speaking that he just stared blankly until she got impatient and repeated her demand, voice rough and gravelly from disuse.

He agreed, but much to her frustration added that it would be later when she'd healed up more because he'd heard Olivia yelling at her that there would be no training until your guts weren't in danger of falling out, by Davy Jones!

...Not that he thought his stalling or Olivia's warnings would do any good. If Feral was anything like Zoro, he expected nothing less than finding her passed out in a pool of blood at least three times before she healed up even stronger than before.

It had been a hard lesson, but his crew had needed to learn it.