Title: The Emerald Curtain
Author: KobaltWolf
Rating: T
Warnings: Minor language and violence
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own One Piece or Naruto. They are the property of their respective owners. However, I do own any OCs that might appear
Summary: After his fight with Ichigo, Ulquiorra is dumped in the world of One Piece. Now he's been mistaken for a pirate by Marines, while Whitebeard's 2nd Division Commander seeks vengeance against him. Can Ulquiorra find a way home, or will he die trying?
Hello, peoples! Sorry this took so long, but it was a relatively long chapter, the longest I've ever written actually. And I'd just like to make it clear that this story is set BEFORE the actual One Piece storyline. Ulquiorra landed on Little Garden about 3 years before the plot line, so at the beginning of this chapter, nearly a year has passed, making it 2 years before the start of One Piece.
~/~/~/~
11 months, 23 days, 4 hours, 54 minutes, and 09 seconds After Arrival on Kami- forsaken, Freakin' Prehistoric Jungle:
Uno!
A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.
Dos!
He braced his abdominal muscles.
Tres!
A twig snapped.
Cuatro!
The tree fell.
Cinco!
He breathed.
Seis!
Air split.
Siete!
He lunged forward.
Ocho!
The sword sheath flashed above his head.
Nueve!
The rock split down the center.
Ulquiorra placed the sheathed sword back into his belt, and smirked ever so slightly. He'd once more achieved the ability to slice a rock with only a sheathed sword, after only—he frowned—nearly a year. The Espada massaged his temples. Why was this training taking so long? He'd learned it before in Hueco Mundo over a much shorter length of time, yet after eleven months he'd barely increased his reiatsu to. . . .39.562% of his former power. Not even a five percent increase! Of course, he reasoned, there is little sense of time in Los Noches, meaning that I could have spent years perfecting a single action while believing it to only be a month.
Yes.
He nodded to himself.
He'd go with that.
BOOM!
The Arrancar glanced to the northwest as a shockwave ripped through the island. His eye twitched. Couldn't those morons hold off on their hourly battles? Daily was acceptable, but every hour? Ridiculous. Since his arrival, they'd already accumulated approximately 8,525 battles. Of which, he'd had to endure every single one. The pair had shared the reason for their hourly battles about five months ago during one of the three-man parties the two Giants insisted on him attending.
“OI, ULQIORRA!”
The mentioned gasped as Dorry pounded him on the back. “What, do you want.” He practically spat the words.
The Giant ignored him as he continued. “Don' space ou' on us, kid! Th' party's jus' gettin' started!”
Ulquiorra raised an eyebrow as he clenched his fists. “There are only three (questionably) sentient beings on this island. The 'party' cannot get much bigger.”
“Aw!” Brogy slapped his hands on his knees. “Don' b' such a stick in th' mud, kid!”
“I am not a kid.”
“T' us ya' are! GEBABABABABA!”
“GYEGYAGYAGYAGYA!”
Trash.
BROOSHH!!!
“Ne, ne, it's been an hour 'lready?”
Gracias a dios—
BOOM!
—maldita sean.
The two giants stood in the clearing, weapons clashed. Then Dorry lunged.
Ulquiorra observed calmly as the beings raged before him, knocking over tree after tree and rocking the island with earthquakes. Twelve minutes and 15.34765 seconds later, the pair plopped down on either side of him once more, their hostility forgotten.
He sighed. “Why must you fight on every volcanic eruption? It is extremely irritating.” The Espada wasn't a fool. He'd noticed that pattern after two days.
The pair glanced at each other over the Arrancar's head. “We didn' tell ya'?”
“No. You did not.”
“Well, ya' see,” Brogy made an abstract gesture with his hands. “A long time 'go, me an' Dorry landed on this islan'—”
“Proceed to the point.”
The giant's shoulders slumped, but both had realized long ago that it was pointless to argue with something that wouldn't give. “There's a contest an' th' hourly volcano eruptions are th' startin' signal.”
“Hn.”
However, even though Ulquiorra understood why the battles occurred, they were still infinitely infuriating. The Arrancar could not find rest even between the mini wars. Life on the island known as Little Garden had been eventful to say in the least. One of the most notable dates had been 9 days, 7 hours, 34 minutes, and 47 seconds into his stay.
I am going to murder them.
Ulquiorra was twitching. Again.
The two idiots were dancing around the bonfire they had created, arm in arm, each swigging coconut milk and belting out pirate drinking songs. “. . . .yes, sh'was quite pretty! I sat down wit'her thar, and bough'a quart o'rum. YO'HOOO! Bu' I'm a pirate, lady lass. . . .”
It droned on. Such idiocy.
Fidgeting with his uniform's collar, the Espada sighed. The annoyances were only enhanced by the blistering heat wafting from the ten foot high flames towering before him. Back in Hueco Mundo, neither heat nor cold bothered him, due merely to him being composed of reiatsu particles (he was technically dead after all). However, it seemed that that rule did not hold true in this Grand Line. He had suffered through the latent humidity of everyday Little Garden, but this was unbearable.
His finger lilted towards the jacket's seam.
He could not be expected to stand this! It was absolutely ridiculous.
With that thought in mind, Ulquiorra began to unfasten the top of his uniform, and in short time, gratefully shrugged it off.
“. . . .an' cannot b'expected, t'stay 'til the morn'! YO'HOOO! 'Cuz I'm a pirate, lady l—”
The Arrancar blinked at abrupt cut-off—not that he wasn't grateful for it—but it was certainly not included in the song. Glancing up, his eyes widened minutely.
Dorry and Brogy stood frozen, eyes the size of saucers and jaws dropping down 3.29 yards, as they stared at him, their color abruptly vanishing. “HE'S DEAD!!!!!!” Ulquiorra started as Brogy's wail reverberated through his skeletal structure. “OH, KAMI, HE'S DEAD!!!!! WHA'RE WE GONNA DO?!?”
The small humanoid didn't have time to flee before he found himself hanging mid-air like a rag-doll by the leg of his (admittedly poofy) pants. “EL ESTUPIDIO BASTARDOS! I AM NOT DEAD!!!!” he screamed as Dorry waved him wildly in the air.
His exclamation only made things worse.
“GYYYAAAAHHHHH! GHOOOOST!!!!!!!!”
Ulquiorra choked on his tongue.
“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”
Reeling backwards, Dorry chucked the so-called 'ghost' with a shout, catapulting the Arrancar in to the sky. “VOY A MATARTE!!!”
Things went downhill from there, including Ulquiorra trying to slash off Brogy's head and Dorry attempting to “banish th' baneful spiri' tryin' t'mock o' dear d'parted f'iend.” (He accidentally left out the 'r' in 'friend'.)
~/~/~/~
“Sumimasen.”
Ulquiorra clenched his jaw.
In front of him, Dorry and Brogy knelt, skin turning purple and green as their bruises swelled, looking, for all intensive purposed, like a pair of kicked puppies. The fire was long-since extinguished, probably after Dorry fell (was punched) onto it, but the dying embers still hissed angrily.
He angled his head upward. “Keh.”
“Bu' ya' can't blame us!” Brogy protested. “Ya' have a freakin' hole thra'r chest!”
Snorting, the Arrancar glared at him. “That is normal.”
“NO, IT'S NOT!”
“Hn.”
~/~/~/~
It wasn't as if Ulquiorra had told them of his past. No mortal had any business in hearing that. The cover story? It was a severe scar he had received in a battle with a man with hair the color of a fiery sunset (more like a clementine. . . .) He didn't expect them to believe it, maybe he was hoping they wouldn't, but the gullible mountains ate it up. Suddenly, he was the “revered warrior o' th'holey scar.” Shaking his head slightly at their idiocy, the Espada contemplated whether they were more akin to the island's dinosaurs than he'd anticipated. After all, they both had brains the size of peanuts.
BOOM!
He blinked, as close as he could come to showing annoyance, and turned away from the sound. Shockwaves and shouting were not what he desired. The coastline would be a much more likely location for his daily search for ships. He strolled forward in no great hurry, for there would be no consequences if he were to arrive at a point later than another. In fact, nothing on this island had consequences. It was rather boring. Dorry and Brogy affirmed that pirate ships landed on Little Garden every few months, but it had been nearly a year and none had shown themselves yet.
He had employed the time well though.
Each day consisted of seven hours of sleep, three meals (20 minutes each), eight straight hours of training, two hours of meditation, one hour of scanning the horizon for ships, and five hours for gathering information from the two giants. When he had still been in Hueco Mundo, he had required neither food nor rest, having been able to acquire the nutrients and strength he required from latent reiatsu. However, in this new world, it seemed that his physiology had become more similar to a. . . .a. . . .gigai. It was the closest existing term to the idea he wished to express.
With this training regimen, he had not only managed to increase his reiatsu capacity, but also regain some degree of his hovering ability, being able to 'fly' for short amounts of time. Yet, he gripped Murciélago tightly, Resurrectión was still beyond his ability. Two months, 23 days, 17 hours, 46 minutes, and 3 seconds into his marooning, he had attempted to release, only to incinerate a quarter of the island, presumably due to his now uncontrolled reiatsu. He hadn't attempted since.
The Arrancar emerged on a rocky bluff facing eastward, the direction any pirate ship traveling to Little Garden would be most easily spotted, and calmly sat down in the lotus position. The day would be like any other: he would waste an hour staring at an empty ocean and then return inland to listen to Dorry and Brogy's lessons on the geography, history, and people of the world.
The sea was clear that day, meaning increased Sea King sightings. The monsters would pop up every now and again, swallowing some unfortunate cetacean or other creature, and then dive back down into the depths of the ocean without so much as a pause. In some ways, they reminded him of Hollows, not caring what was hurt in their quest to soothe their constant hunger. But they were much larger than the average hollow, the smallest of them having the body mass of Gillians.
Speaking of the sea monsters, there was one now, approximately halfway between him and the horizon. It was a small one. Very small. And seemed to be floating. Possibly dead? That seemed unlikely. A dead Sea King would be swarmed almost immediately by sharks, gulls, and other carnivorous or omnivorous scavengers.
His emerald eyes narrowed.
So what was it? It was quickly drawing near, leaving a thin white trail behind it. Curious, he made use of the enhanced, almost hawk-like vision that all Arrancar possessed, and slowly, his lips quirked upwards in his version of a grin.
A ship, a pirate ship, was about to land on Little Garden.
~/~/~/~
“Congratulations, boys!” Rori Miras, Captain of the Feather Hat Pirates, howled, waving his red-feathered, three-tiered cap in the air. “We made it passed Cactus Island!”
The thirty-something crew roared its approval, pounding their feet on the deck.
Rori grinned. “The next island's already been spotted. Looks like a summer type, so prepare for sun-bathing and feasts!” He punched the air as the ship rocked with cries of enthusiasm.
Turning back to the helm, the Captain inhaled deeply. They had successfully navigated Whiskey Peak, though barely. Many good men had fallen, but they were now on their way! He could practically smell the adventure.
~/~/~/~
We will pause the story now in order to paint a picture for you, the reader, of Rori Miras. Hailing from the West Blue, he was rather new to the pirate lifestyle, though he was no stranger to life, having recently celebrated his 41st birthday. But even being a rookie pirate, he had already accumulated a generous 29,000,000 belí bounty, no small feat. After obtaining a crew of strong, hard-working men, he had set out to the infamous Grand Line, ready for adventure, or at least he thought he was. At the first island of his chosen route, Cactus Island, he lost nearly a third of his crew, and he himself narrowly escaped with his life. Many more harships were thrown his way as well. Sea Kings were numerous in the Grand Line, as were their attacks. He had managed to vanquish all that targeted his ship, the Red Heron, with his signature feather throwing daggers, but the patches on the poor vessel were already becoming layered.
Rori himself was not particularly slim, and his muscular structure wasn't very pronounced. He regularly changed his outfit, the only constant being a long, dark scarf around his neck. His scruffy red hair and beard added to the picture of one who would pass for a wild, yet caring, father, not a fearsome pirate. But he did care for his crew. They were his body and soul. Without them, he couldn't, just couldn't, exist. And if they were injured or killed, it'd would take a heck of a lot for him to forgive their assailant. But he, like everyone else, did have a price. An honest man like him couldn't deny that.
His nickname “Feather Hat” was derived from his signature weapons, an array of thin throwing knives covered with tiny, flexible spikes, giving them the appearance of feathers. When they came into contact with a target, not only did they slice, they tore, ripping at the opponent's flesh. He had become very adept with these weapons, having also developed a high-level sniping ability.
But we really should get back to the story.
~/~/~/~
“Drop the anchor!” Miras ordered, an excited smile on his face. Who knew what this island held! It looked to be full of adventure.
The Red Heron shook slightly as the crew complied, lowering the iron anchor to the bottom of the small inlet.
“Oi, Captain!”
Rori glanced down.
“Permission to get off this boat?”
The Captain chuckled lightly. “'Course! And I'm coming with you.” Displaying agility not of his age, the red-haired man leaped off the railing, landing easily on the grassy shoreline. His crew followed with a merry clatter. “Now, men! First things first. We gotta find food, some fresh water—”
“Pirate.”
“Nani?” 'Feather Hat' whirled around on the balls of his feet, brows creased as he shot a feather from his sleeve at the place the intruder should have been, judging from the volume and trajectory of his voice.
CRACK!
The intruder stood in the shadows, leaning against a tree, and didn't even flinch as the strange-looking knife embedded itself mere millimeters from his. . . .helmet? Without even a pause, he continued as if he had not just been attacked. “I require your ship.”
Rori stood speechless for a moment before beginning to chuckle amiably. “You. . . .” He trailed off as the stranger emerged from the shade, and his eyes widened.
He had a hole. Through his chest. “Kami—”
“I have no desire to wait for you to pray to your deity,” the man—no—teenager stated emotionessly, hands in the pockets of his pants, chest bare. “You will surrender your vessel now.”
Get a hold of yourself, Feather Hat! Rori tensed his muscles. This kid was no ordinary kid if that strange helmet. . . .and. . . .and. . . .hole were anything to go by, not to mention the strange, black tear-stains. “And why would I do that?”
“Because,” the black-haired teen cracked his knuckles ominously. “If you do not comply, I will slaughter you.”
He spoke it with such conviction, that the Captain was inclined to believe it. No! He clenched his feather daggers. He was Feather Hat. He had a 29,000,000 belí for Kami's sake! This kid was marooned on a jungle island with, as far as he could tell, no backup. And that hole had to hurt. There was no way he could lose. And so, Rori Miras, Captain of the Feather Hat Pirates, replied with equal conviction, “Go to hell.”
~/~/~/~
Ulquiorra Cifer casually flicked the red-haired man's blood from his hand as he strolled over the victims of the mini-massacre. The battle had been short and pointless. There had been no contest and, consequently, no hope for the arrogant man. Pausing as he came to the pirate captain's prone body, he bent down, plucking the man's scarf from his neck and wrapping it around his own, shielding his Hollow hole from prying eyes.
Standing back up to his full height, he looked at the ship in detail for the first time. One glance told him that it was in need of solid repair, but he'd take what he could get. Besides, he'd fix it at the first given opportunity.
The Espada stepped into air, materializing a reiatsu platform from his own energy in order to keep himself aflight, and calmly sauntered onto his new ship. Composed of oak and cedar, it was a rather large in his opinion, but he was no sailor. In fact, his knowledge of sea-going vessels was nearly non-existent. And this fact brings us to a hiccup in Ulquiorra's plan: he had absolutely no idea how to sail a ship.
Now, he'd thought of this problem before, but, since a ship was his only way out, he had decided to 'cross that bridge when he came to it' as humans said.
However, Cifer's lips twitched upwards in satisfaction, it seemed he wouldn't have to worry about that.
“HYYYYAAAH!!!”
A streak of silver flashed in his peripheral vision
Why isn't he dodging?
Ulquiorra blinked as he felt steel collide with his Hierro. No matter though.
Nandato—
CRAAACK!
The katana (for that was what it was, he concluded) splintered with a shrieking sound, unable to bear the stress of being banged upon something harder than steel, and the offender gasped audibly. Without even turning around, the Arrancar's hand shot out, gripping him by the neck and lifting him in the air, bringing him around to come face-to-face.
The Espada subtly raised an eyebrow.
This boy was the one who challenged him?
He hung, struggling with Ulquiorra's iron grasp while simultaneously glaring venomously. The boy was obviously still enduring puberty, a suffering stage of the human male he had been informed of by Szayel, but had gained lean muscle through what the Arrancar presumed to be years of manual labor. He was probably a cabin boy of some sort, dressing in a loose, white linen shirt and dirty brown breeches, both stained beyond repair, with his stringy, mouse-colored hair tied back in a low ponytail. All-in-all, he looked rather nondescript, though his death glare was rather impressive. It reminded him of Kurosaki.
The boy chocked as his captor's grip tightened.
Emerald eyes flashed. He could not afford to lose his ticket of this island. With a flick of his wrist, Ulquiorra tossed the boy to the ground, returning his hands to his pockets.
The younger of the pair clutched his throat as he coughed violently, trying to expel the crushed and cloistered feeling in his esophagus, not to mention the bile. The man above him waited patiently until the boy's spasms diminished to speak.
“You will assist me in piloting this vessel.”
The teen growled, though it came out more as a strangled gurgle. “L—like hell I will.” He cursed his stuttering voice as he forced himself to his knees.
The man blinked. “Refusal is not an option.”
Teme. Furious but mute, he stared up at his attacker.
“Now, assist me.” It wasn't a request. The elder turned on his heels, stalking towards the helm. In a flash of strength, the boy shot forward, arms stretched out, ready to topple the murderer of his crew—only to be knocked back down by the killer's foot, not even a sideways glance thrown his way.
“Continued resistance is futile.”
From his position of on the floor, the boy felt bile rise in his mouth. This bastard. This damn bastard just came in and killed his crew, his family, and then tells him that if he doesn't help—well, that he will help. No matter what he wants.
“Assist me.”
The boy made no move to help.
“Assist me.”
Just a glare.
Ulquiorra's eyes sparked with emotion. His hand shot out, hoisting the boy to his feet. “You will assist me, or you will die,” he spat, or as close to spitting as he could come.
Silence.
The Espada's patience had reached its limit. “Bala.”
BOOM!
“NO!” the boy barked, lunging away from the elder's grip as the Red Heron's railing was smashed and ripped apart by the red energy.
Ulquiorra's eyes widened slightly. He cares for the vessel? Unconsciously, his lips twitched upwards. There was no possible scenario where he would willingly stayed on this horrific island. If threatening to destroy that which the boy cared for achieved his goal, so be it. “Continued refusal will result in the destruction of both you and this ship.”
The younger's lips parted as he stared, horrified at the Arrancar. “You would harm the ship? It's obviously that it's what you want—”
“Without the proper skills to sail it, this vessel is unusable, and therefore obsolete. Destroying it would make no difference.”
His lids fluttered in disbelief. “But the ship has done nothing! Don't treat it like some thing to be disposed of!”
“But that is what it is.” This was pointless.
“No!” The boy gestured some abstract form in the air. “It's more than—”
Ulquiorra had closed his eyes, raising his hand to point towards the mast. “B—”
“WAIT!”
He lazily slid open his left lid, cat-like pupils dilated.
The boy's head and shoulders hung low, his eyes hidden from sight. “I'll help you, teme-sama.”
~/~/~/~
The boy glanced out of the corner of his eye at his captor. The man was reclining against the wall of the cabin, the Captain's cabin, his striking emerald eyes thankfully closed. He didn't like that stare. It was so—so—there was just no substance. It was like he was there yet wasn't, but it was cruel all the same, too. Cruel in the way that it tortured you to look at, so similar in appearance to your own, but lacking so much. The boy couldn't stand it!
He tightened his grip on the Red Heron's ship-wheel. Don't worry, Heron. I'll get us out of this. And we'll go back and bury them. All of them. . . . His face set.
He didn't know that name of his captor. He had many names for him, but none of them were the man's given. And he doubted whether the stranger would appreciate any of the others. Whoever the man was, he was very odd, almost alien, what with those tear-stains and freaky pupils.
He must've eaten a Devil Fruit.
The boy had heard of them. Never seen one though. Back in the West Blue, such things were mere fiction. But what he'd seen in the Grand Line had proven their existence beyond doubt. Just two islands and I'm already permanently scarred. He smirked dryly.
Speaking of islands. . . .
The boy turned towards his captor (or kidnapper, whichever you prefer), mouth set in a hard line. “Oi, teme-sama. Where does the log pose point?”
“. . . .the what?”
~/~/~/~
Gracias a dios – thank god
Maldita sean – damn them
El Estupidio Bastardos – . . . .do I really need to translate that?
Voy a Matarte – I'll kill you
Sumimasen – sorry
Teme-sama – Lord Fool/Bastard
Comments? Ideas? Please review people! And, as in last chapter, here's some extra snippets of information to clear up some points in the story.
Uno: Again, Ulquiorra is relatively emotional during this chapter, especially during flashbacks. This is simply due to having become accustomed to the two Giants and having gained some emotion due to his experiences with Ichigo and Orihime.
Dos: Like Ulquiorra concluded, he seems to be progressing slowly because he is not accustomed to the human passage of time.
Tres: He lacks his Resurrectión because I am trying to keep him from becoming super-powered. If a character becomes too invincible, the storyline disintegrates. Yes, he will eventually gain back most to all of his powers, but it will take a long time.
Cuatro: Yes, Rori Miras is an OC. He will not make any more appearances other than possibly during flashbacks, but his presence will not disappear. The boy (not giving you his name yet) will continue to honor him and try to avenge him regularly. Ulquiorra's new scarf and the Red Heron itself will also be a reminder of his presence.
Cinco: The boy is actually the first member of Ulquiorra's crew, though he is obviously unwilling. Ulquiorra's methods to gain his assistance may seem cruel and heartless, but the Ulquiorra is very heartless at this point. Orihime has affected him to a great degree, but it will take a long time for the Espada to truly understand the effects of his actions and even longer for him to change them.
Seis: Like Ulquiorra mentioned, his physiology has changed dramatically. It is more like he is in a Gigai than actually being composed of Reiatsu. This means that all people can see him, regardless of lack of spiritual pressure.
Siete: The explosion caused by Ulquiorra's attempt to release was caused by his uncontrolled reiatsu, like he theorized.
Ocho: Dorry and Brogy could both probably sail a ship, they were pirate captains after all, but they would be unable to board the Red Heron because of their size. This makes them a very unlikely candidate for sailors on the ship, or even simply Ulquiorra's tutors.
Nueve: Yes, Ulqui has no idea what a Log Pose is, and the boy doesn't have one because the Captain kept it with him at all times. So, basically, they're lost. :P
Diez: Ulquiorra will eventually run into Luffy and the crew, but it will take a long time. He'll meet Portgas D. Ace far before his little brother.
