Huff... Huff...

Heavily panting, the esteemed 'Black Mage' of Diceopia sat just backstage. Beatrice, aforementioned 'Black Mage', was suffering from one of her usual nervous sittings just before her acts. She often times, in her early days, would it and panic up until the very moment she went on. Bea was never very used to the idea of a crowd, judging her, looking for any errors she may have made in her act. "Alright Bea, you can do this. It's no different from any other show. You get paid no matter what," she would tell herself. It would always appear with her that she was in it for the money and almost nothing else. She would take check over her props, everything that she needed was present.

"Introducing, one of our fan favorites, Beatrice 'Black Mage' Strauss!"

She would tense up a bit, was the stage set up correctly? Would the crowd cheer? Was there another magician spouting off her tricks to the crowd? She hated that guy. No, he was escorted off the island. Good! She panicked as questions would run through her head, but she still managed to force herself to step around the curtain, and she would simply think, 'I want the crowd to like my act.' As she finally revealed herself on stage, a smile arched slightly upon her face. Everything was correctly placed, and the crowd was already going wild. "My people! My people! Prepare to be astounded, by my Black Magic!"

She stood center stage. She had everything she needed for a decent performance, she just needed to kill a minute and a half with her amazing skills in the art of fooling the eyes of her audience. Beatrice found her place in life once again. On stage with a screaming crowd of fans, that was where she truly enjoyed herself. She would wink a bit, appearing to give off a charisma that one wouldn't expect from the scenery before this moment. "Don't blink or you'll fall off beat, mmkay all~!?" she would say with a giggle. Suddenly, Beatrice took a twirl around, waving her arms in a graceful manner. This would cause the crowd to notice the suddenly missing doves in their individual cages. Suddenly she would smile getting suspicious looks from the crowd, clearly believing that she had grabbed them. Thanks to her sleight of hand skills, she had placed them elsewhere on her body.

She would pull her sleeve down, "Nothing up my sleeves. Black Magic: Fire!" Beatrice blasted a wave of red mirror cards from each hand, appearing to blast two waves of fire from her hands due to the reflection from the sun. The Black Mage would smile as almost the entire crowd flinched a bit, letting the cards fall to the ground in a slightly fluttery fashion, "Why would you all flinch? Did I... bewilder you all?" She would say that last part with a seductive smile and wink combination, enchanting the crowd. Bea would bend over a bit as she did this, using the eyes prying on her facial expression as she said that, to attach several threads many of the cards and raised her hands up in a manner that showed that she was levitating her cards up a bit, using a thread for each one, yet the threads were invisible to the eyes of the crowd! Yes she was working the stage, a time when she could really shine. Her youthful days were spent doing something so complex and it paid off in the end!

"I'll show you all a spell! My newest one!" she would declare, "Black Magic: Summon Creature!" Beatrice would raise her arms allowing room for the Doves to fly out of her sleeves, while still holding up the cards a set of 3 doves flying out of each sleeve. The crowd would cheer as she would get the light, "Thank you! Thank you! I live for the cheering crowd! Sadly that's my time!" The cards would fall to the ground in a fluttering manner and she would wave as she would move gracefully off the stage. As soon as she hit backstage, she would sigh, kneeling slowly to the ground, holding her stomach, "I did it. Haha! Ugh." The backstage was never her friend.

A small room, though immaculately messy. The room of a teenage boy, with man-sized clothes strewn around the room; the soft pad of bare feet on cold stone floor seemed to echo around the deathly quiet room. A great, lumbering figure fumbled blindly towards the darkened sheets covering a large glass door leading onto a seagull-poop-encrusted balcony high above the streets of Lougetown.

The great, shambling monstrosity made its way across the obstacle course of a room with all the precision of a bat playing volleyball – clambering over the pile of worn socks, narrowly avoiding planting a foot in the mouldy cheese sandwich that had claimed the centre of the room as its territory (it generally wasn’t happy about such incursions into its territory, but it had trouble expressing that due to being mute, stationary, unintelligent mould) and attempting to deftly leap over the pile of decaying newspapers festering at the north edge of the room, failing miserably and instead settling for a half-assed shoulder charge, followed by a dull “thud” and a loud groan as the beast-like being rose to its feet. Stepping toward the thick layers of material that separated it and the outside world, it grasped a hold of either sheet, thick fingers digging in as the curtains were suddenly and violently torn apart. In one swift movement the figure thrust its way through the glass doors, their fragile forms only just managing to stay solid under the undue stress – they’d have grounds for a lawsuit if glass could hire solicitors!

Bathed in light now, the being rose to its full height, towering above the glass barricade between the balcony and a not-so-sure-death drop of at least twelve feet. The sun, much to its dismay, illuminated the grooves and contours – the valleys, the sloping hills, the peaked mountains, the annoyingly exuberant and gravity-defying hair that made up one very naked Allon Morgan. His arms stretched back behind him, causing his not-at-all famous Pectorals of Justice to jut out from his body. He quickly arced those arms around, planting them solidly upon his well-toned hips, thrusting his hip a few times.

The sound of extremely violent barfing filled the morning air.

“Good morning, world!” came the booming voice of the naked man, before he turned sharply on his heels and stomped away back into the room. At that point, every being on the planet let out a sigh of relief. Within the room, Allon began to pose for his mirror, admiring his own manly form. The mirror quickly shattered. Ignoring the universe’s signs, Allon randomly grabbed bits and pieces of his outfit from the many scattered piles in the room, throwing them on in any random order. He slipped on his pants, shoved his overly large feet into his boots and quickly pulled up his underwear…

He caught a glimpse of himself in the shattered remains of the mirror. They shattered again.

But not before Allon noted what had happened – his underwear… over his pants. “This… This…” stammered Allon, his knees beginning to buckle as sweat formed on his brow, his muscles tightening in anticipation. “This is surely a sign…” he mumbled, his eyes wide with amazement as he let the reality of his delusion sink in. “I have become… a true… Hero of Justiiiice!” – with a battle cry loud enough to make even the hardiest of newborn babies wail, Allon quickly propelled himself off his balcony and down onto the street below. As he whizzed through the air, it occurred to him that perhaps not all superheroes fly. It occurred to him that perhaps he should keep his identity secret from the world. It occurred to him that maybe now he’d finally need to appoint one true sidekick.

As Allon was busy letting things occur to him, he landed on a visiting Captain.

It was a one-in-a-million thing, really. The Captain could’ve avoided the falling idiot, but as he saw the shadow descending upon him he had one of the stupidest thoughts of all time – “Perhaps I’m about to be nailed by a world-record breaking seagull turd!” When Allon’s boots made contact with his head, he began to realize that his brain was quite clearly trying to kill him. His brain, however, disagreed, and decided it’d be best if everyone just forgot it’s involvement in the recent collision. Crashing into the ground head-first, the Captain was stunned. He felt the weight of a human body briefly press down on him, before suddenly it vanished. Even in his dazed state he was able to look up and see the man standing before him, his hair billowing in the complete lack of a breeze, arms placed triumphantly on his hips, red-and-white underpants adorning the crotch of his pants.

“Aha!” exclaimed the assailant, “You’ve been injured, I see!” He clambered to his feet, shooting daggers at the man – the least he expected at this point was an apology. Instead, he got more IQ-destroying verbal diarrhoea from the muscle-bound idiot that had fallen from the sky, “I shall make it my sworn duty to find the criminal and bring him – or her – or it - to justice!”

A vein bulged on the Captain’s head. “It was you, you idiot!” he exclaimed, jabbing his finger towards the half-naked Allon standing before him. A complete lack of emotion welled up inside Allon, getting ready to burst as he completely ignored his superior officer’s accusation “Yes, I, the amazing and fully-fledged Hero of Justice, shall locate the terrible fiend this very second!” The Captain reached out a hand to snag Allon, but found himself holding nothing but air as Allon began to rather hurriedly retreat from the scene – quite the adept escape artist, that one. “Hey!” called the Captain, “You crazy fool!” He took off after the man, his injury slowing him down.

Meanwhile, Allon was hot on the trail of clues. Well, he called them clues – any sane person would likely have called them “things he randomly picked up in an alley”, but to Allon they were vital evidence. An empty can of cat food, the cat he’d found licking that can, a discarded newspaper, a rare and expensive diamond he’d found lodged in the mortar of a wall, a brick from the wall that had inexplicably fallen down and a relic proving the existence of Merfolk and Skypeian hybrids that a hobo had sold him. “Hrm…” mused Allon as he pounded his way through the streets of Lougetown, “This is all the evidence! I must be able to discern the culprit with the items I’ve got gathered here!” As he continued to blast through the town with all the stealth of a figure skating slug, he was quickly attracting a crowd.

As the Captain rounded the corner to the Marine HQ, he spied a crowd of Marines and townsfolk alike that all seemed to be staring up at the sky. His eyes wandered upwards, and landed on a form he knew well – the muscled half-dressed self-proclaimed “Hero” standing atop the HQ’s most wall-like wall. “Oh for goodness…” he mumbled, pushing his way through the assembled crowd to stare up at the idiot – surely he wouldn’t be dive bombing anyone again?

No. This time, he made an announcement. Posing atop the wall, he began to announce to his fanbase the results of his two-minute investigation into the case. “Ladies and gentleladies of the court, I would like to present to you my verdict!” the crowd looked on blankly as the borderline rouge Marine continued his meaningless announcement, “After many seconds of intensive observation, I had deduced the perpetrator of this crime! Ipso-facto and thusly, allow me to illuminate the key defenestration of my judicial observations of this cucking stool!” Swept away by the completely meaningless, misused and misunderstood legal jargon, the crowd began to ooh and aah as Allon liberally peppered his inane speech with random and jerky hand movements. After many hours of conversation, one thrown potted plant, a rash of pickpocketing within the enamored crowd and copious amounts of eye-rolling from the somewhat bemused Captain, Allon finally delivered his verdict.

The crowd fell deathly silent as Allon prepared to announce the true criminal. With all the suspense-building talent of a reality-show judge, Allon waited too long, needlessly broke up words and finally bellowed the true identity of the criminal to the crowd!

“It was me!”

There was a stunned silence for a moment as everyone tried to remember what the hell had engrossed them so just a few minutes prior. This was followed by the appreciative roar of a hundred booing and hissing individuals, accompanied by more than one thrown can. “Yes, yes!” basked Allon, letting the sheer hatred seep into his skin, allowing his misguided thoughts to twist them into cheers and reassuring comments, “You, my loyal, adoring fans, are the true heroes! Except you’re not…. because I am… but the sentiment is what couuuuuuuunts!”

“You’re suspended!”

“Haha!”

with a sharp click, the spotlights turned on, lighting up the center of the warehouse, revealing to the people watching the handsome young man in all his flashy attire. Behind him sat a number of tables, each covered with a black cloth to cover what lay on them. Kazeko Hitomi, the Flash Rogue, gave his usual confident smirk as his eyes scanned the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Thank you all so much for coming. Such a turnout this evening definately warms my heart, and I promise I won't disappoint you! So, why don't we just skip all this and just get right down to business. I'm sure you're all eager to see what I have on offer!"

He walked to a table, throwing off one of the sheets, revealing what appeared to be a normal guitar. He picked it up, slipping the support strap over his head as he plucked a few chords.

"How many of you like music? This appears like a regular guitar, able to make a quick buck, or serenade someone you love. However, when you flip the switch here..."

He flipped a switch on the base and began playing, holding the end upward. A spray of bullets fired up into the ceiling, piercing the tin roof, causing the patrons to step back in surprise. Kazeko stopped playing and gripped the guitar by the neck, slipping it off of himself.

"And if some punk gets up and close?"

He flipped a switch on the neck, and a black shot out along the length of the base. With a mighty swing, he swung it into the ground, causing a light crack, but no damage to the guitar itself.

"Any takers?"

There was a sudden uproar of bidding. A ranged and melee weapon that could be easily hidden. Definately something useful. Kazeko smirked as he listened, carefully picking out the bids.

"Sold to you for 34,000,000!" he crowd, throwing the guitar into the crowd towards the buyer, who caught it and held it tightly, "Now, for our next item!"

He went to the next table, pulling off the sheet to reveal a large broad sword, the blade wide, long, and looking rather heavy. However, surprisingly, Kazeko picked up te weapon, swinging it effortlessly in one hand.

"Looks big and nasty, but this thing can be swung around with your hand tied behind your back. Don't get me wrong, this thing can cut up your enemies real good, but that's not the best part!" he turned and prepared te sword, looking in the direction of a canon set up and pointed right at him. A man stood beside it, ready for the order. "Fire!"

The man fired and Kazeko swung. The bladeade contact with the cannonball, but instead of the ball breaking, or the blade, the ball was sent flying back at top speed. The man dove out of the way as te ball struck the cannon, breaking it. Kazeko grinned, swinging the sword around.

"Sure. Some swordsman claim they can slice a cannonball in half, but what's more effective than sending it back to them? With powerful magnets, this thing sends your opponent's attacks right back at them. And not just cannonballs either. Bullets, harpoons, even the enemy's blades. This can be both and offensive, and defensive tool, with just a swing of the blade. What do I have for it?"

The shouts for bidding resumed again, Kazeko smirking as he stood and waited, listening for good eons, before he suddenly shouted.

"Sold for 45,000,000! Thank you kind madam!" he laughed, handing her the sword. He loved nights like this, people appreciating his work, getting the respect and awe it deserved. But it wouldn't be enough, not until he made the most powerful weapon in the world. But still, seeing this made him the happiest man alive.

"Now folks, something you've all been waiting for, something to make everyone and you quake in fear!" he strolled over to a large form covered by a sheet, "It's the king of cannons! The doomsday gun that lays waste to everything! It's the FKK! The Fucking King Killer! with a joyful shout, he pulled the sheet, revealing the crown jewel for the night.

Yes, it was moments like this that made Kazeko truly happy.

Yami’s eyes fluttered open ever so slowly and for a second he thought he might be blind. Worry momentarily flickered across his features, but eventually his eyes grew used to the pitch blackness. He couldn’t remember just how many days he had been in here, a cell. It had seemed like ages ago that he was on the seas carving his name into history with the magnificent blade he had crafted. In this dank place where silence reigned there was no telling time. He had no windows to peek from, no way of telling whether the sun was in the sky or if it had gone to sleep for the night. Sound did not seem to reflect against the stone walls and he was forced to have only his thoughts accompany him. Yami couldn’t help, but wonder if the guards had just forgotten him there. It felt like it had been so long since he saw someone, anyone.

Yami sat there for what seemed like an eternity, lying in his own filth as he waited to simply pass out into oblivion once more. However, just as exhaustion tempted him with sweet unconsciousness he suddenly heard the clanging of a door. His eyes swung open as the clamber of boots on cobble moved closer and closer in his direction. He found himself crawling towards that noise, like prey to the trap. When the source of the noise stood before him Yami knew that the trap had been sprung, just as it was always meant to be. There standing just on the other side of his bars was a massive man. The Fleet Admiral, for that was who the man was, peered down at him with an uncaring glare. Strong muscles seemed to ripple under the uniform of the Admiral showing every reason on why this man had been given control over every fleet in the marines.

With a derisive wave of his hand two marines moved past the admiral and into the cage that held the once dangerous pirate. In shackles they dragged Yami down the long hallway, the last mile of his life. With a swing of the door they were suddenly outside. The pirate’s eyes squinted as it fought off the bright shining light threatening to blind him again. His hesitation in the face of the sun earned him a rather hard tug from his captors as they continued to drag him towards his fateful destination. Already he could hear the jeers of the people. The marines kept the citizens at bay as people spit and cursed in Yami’s general direction. For everyone look of hatred from the people though there was one of awe from someone else. Though the admiring citizens were not nearly as vocal as the angry ones they did exist.

Another eternity seemed to pass by before Yami stood before a raised platform. In that time he was hit by a cabbage, a radish, and what could have been something much worse. His gaze lifted up and up and up as it took in every inch of the raised dais. At the top of this summit lay a guillotine, its blade gleaming in the light. Yami only got a second to take in the sight of the blade before the march continued and he was forced up the steps and onto the ramp. His journey did not end until he stood at the very top of the dais with the entire city laid out before him. He could see now that there wasn’t just dozens of citizens gathered, but hundreds, maybe even thousands. So many had come to see him die and mixed into the crowd where den den mushis. His death was being broadcasted worldwide so that countless others could watch wherever they were.

”Yami Ame for crimes against the World Government and the people of the islands you have been sentenced to death! As a pirate you must be made an example so that all others like you will realize their place in this world is over. Prepare to die.” The Fleet Admiral himself had given the speech and with that Yami was knocked onto his knees before the guillotine. His head was ceremoniously put on the chopping block as everyone lay silent in waiting. ”Do you have any last words?” Yami had been waiting for that question. ”I have, but a few. I am Yami Ame the MOST FAMOUS MAN IN THE WORLD! If you want my fame if you want to surpass my legend then come and try. I have gained all that I am in the Grand Line. Go there and seek your fortunes, go there and seek your freedom, go there and seek your fame! I am Yami Ame and I am immortal!” All eyes were on him. His words rang like a bell through the hearts of every single person watching. The marines did not wait for another word the blade was let go its descent cutting through the wind. Yami’s last thoughts were, ‘I did it! I am the most famous man in the entire world. This is the happiest day of my life.’ And then there were no more thoughts….

LIGHTS! CAMERA! OPERATIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIOOOOOOOOOOON! Hello! Dear readers! It is I, the narrator of this fine little vignette! As you can see we have ourselves a wonderful little scene set up right now. A man, strapped naked to a table. The screams of a child and her mother echoing through a dimly lit operating room. A man we all know and love/loathe forming from the shadows in the peripheral.

"HULLLLLLOOOOOOH! How are you today good sir? Fine I hope? I am Johan, I am going to be your serial killer/surgeon/nightmare/traveling yogurt salesman today. On that note, would you care for yogurt?"

"Where the fuck am I!? Where is my daughter!? Where is my wife!? Tell me or I'll-"

"Tut tut sir, that is no way to talk to a man who just offered you yogurt, do you not agree? Yes I certainly do."

"FUCK YOU!"

"Daddy help!"

"VALERIA!"

"Rude. Interruptions abound. Can this be my time, for once, here?" Johan said, smashing yogurt into the man's face with a sigh before walking over to the sink and washing his hands.

"Look, I understand you are upset, but if you keep this up then I can assure you that none of you will survive. I had intended for one of you to survive, not sure which. Granted your wife won't survive. I popped her eyeballs out and replaced them with very fragile glass baubles filled with mercury. I wanted to see how it would effect her when I punched her in the face. She went down like a sack of shit. I am sorry for you-pfft HAHAHAHAHAHA No I am not! I did it! HAHAHAHAHA! Oh Johan, you are a card."

"You are a sick fuck! I am going to fu-"

Johan didn't let another word escape the man's mouth as he reached his hand forcefully into the man's mouth and grabbed the tongue with his index finger and thum before wretching his hand back and ripping it from its root out of the man's mouth. The man let out a loud cry in agony, spurting out blood and vomit from the pain. The mad doctor simply smiled, watching as the man went unconscious.

"Silence in the operating room. THAT GOES FOR YOU TOO BRAT!" Johan barked in a rare instance of rage, now in the moment of the operation before he used his smelling salts to wake the man once more.

He kept the man awake for each agonizing moment of the surgery. As each fingertip was snipped off and force fed down his bleeding maw. As his teeth were smashed and shattered with a hammer, splintering his gums and shredding his mouth. As his toes were broken off and thrown at his daughter. As every single muscle and sinew on his legs and arms were peeled off the bone like a bannana and then tied together like one would tie a shoelace.

The worst, however, was when the man was injected with a male performance enhancer and forced to rape his own eight year old daughter, who was spurting for life with a hole stabbed into her jugular as Johan held onto it to prevent her from bleeding out.

And when it was all said and done and everyone was dead Johan would be asked, what was it for?

"What was it for? Why, my dear friends, it was for fun! And what is more fun, than learning, yes?" And with a darkness to his voice he smiled "Do you not agree?"