Chapter 16: The Aftermath
The violent storm of movement on the beach settled into an eerie stillness. Only two figures remained standing: Satoru, and the pirate captain.
Around them lay the wreckage of the crew. Some had been flung into the sea to feed the fish. Others were sprawled on the bloodstained sand—their necks bent at impossible angles, limbs twisted like broken dolls. It was a scene of unflinching brutality.
"You... you monster," the captain rasped, his voice trembling. The massive cutlass in his hand felt absurdly heavy now, a useless prop against the small, blood-spattered figure before him.
A few drops of crimson, not his own, stood out starkly against Satoru's pale skin and white hair, making the calm in his pale blue eyes seem all the more chilling.
"Monster?" Satoru repeated, his head tilting slightly. "You keep saying that. It's fine. I'm used to it. I suppose I am a monster."
He said it with a simple acceptance, like stating the weather. Like Gojo Satoru before him, he had been born into a different category, wielding power that set him irrevocably apart from the ordinary. The label was inevitable.
"Let me go!" the captain begged, his bravado dissolving into pure terror. He fell to his knees, the sword dropping to the sand with a dull thud. "Please! The ship! All the treasure on my ship is yours! Everything! Just let me live! I'll do anything!"
The desperate offer hung in the salty air.
"Your ship's treasure?" Satoru mused, as if the thought had just occurred to him. "Ah, right. Pirates should have loot, shouldn't they?"
"Yes! Yes!" The captain latched onto the thread of hope, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "Gold, jewels! It's all yours! Just let me walk away!"
"But," Satoru continued, his tone flattening back into that inhuman calm, "if I kill you, the treasure is mine anyway. So..."
He raised a hand, fingers curling slightly as if gripping an invisible string.
"...please die."
The captain's eyes bulged. He felt an impossible pressure wrap around his throat, a force that had nothing to do with physical hands. His windpipe constricted. He tried to scream, but only a wet, choked gurgle escaped.
"No... don't... please..."
Tears of pure animal fear streamed down his face. In all his dreams of infamy, he'd never imagined his end would come on a sunny beach, at the hands of a child who looked like he'd just finished his morning milk.
"Die."
With Satoru's final, quiet command, the pressure twisted.
Crack.
The pirate captain's head rotated a full, sickening 360 degrees before his body went limp, collapsing into a heap beside his fallen weapon.
Silence reclaimed the beach, broken only by the gentle lap of waves against the shore.
Then, from the direction of the village, a new sound erupted—a chaotic thunder of footsteps and shouts. Satoru turned to see a crowd surging through the tree line, led by the Mayor, who was brandishing a harpoon like a man half his age.
"Hurry! Everyone! Satoru's out there! Don't let anything happen to him!" the Mayor's voice carried over the din.
The armed villagers burst onto the beach, ready for a fight... and froze.
The scene before them was not a battle in progress. It was a finished tableau of carnage. And in the center of it all stood Satoru, looking back at them, his expression as placid as if he'd just finished weeding a garden.
The Mayor's heroic posture sagged. The color drained from many faces. A few villagers gagged at the sight and the smell.
"Satoru..." the Mayor said, his voice now old and weary again. "Did you... do all this? By yourself?"
"Yeah," Satoru replied. He looked down at his hands, then back at the crowd. "Sorry. I guess it's a bit of a mess."
A chorus of audible gulps rippled through the group. They had known Satoru was strong. They'd seen him climb impossible trees and move with uncanny speed. But this... this was something else entirely. This was the raw, terrifying power of a predator.
"It's... it's alright," the Mayor said after a long moment. He took a steadying breath and stepped forward, carefully picking his way through the fallen pirates until he stood before the boy. He placed a weathered, gentle hand on Satoru's shoulder. "You're safe. That's what matters."
The Mayor had seen things in his life. This was shocking, yes, but his first concern was, and always would be, for the people of his village.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his eyes searching Satoru's small frame. The blood was clearly not the boy's own.
"No," Satoru shook his head. A flicker of genuine warmth touched his heart. Amidst the horror he had wrought, the old man's first thought was for his well-being.
"Good. That's good." The Mayor turned to face the stunned crowd. "Alright, everyone! The danger has passed! Thanks to Satoru here, our village is safe. Let's all remember that. He protected his home today."
He spoke with firm authority, steering their shock towards gratitude. "Now, let's clear this up. We need to... take care of this. And someone needs to check that ship."
The villagers, though still pale, began to nod. The initial, visceral fear of Satoru began to melt under the heat of a more familiar emotion: protectiveness. Yes, the sight was frightening. But this was Satoru. The same baby many of them had helped feed and bathe. The quiet boy who helped old Mrs. Kana fix her fence. He had done this gruesome, terrifying thing... for them. To keep their homes safe.
The shadow he cast was immense, but it was a shadow that fell between them and the wolves. And in the East Blue, that was a comfort more profound than any fear.
As the villagers began the grim work, giving Satoru wide but not unkind berth, he understood. They were scared of what he could do. But they weren't scared of him. To them, monster or not, he was still family. And for the first time since the fight began, Satoru allowed himself to relax, the cold purpose in his eyes softening into something quieter, and a little tired.
(End of Chapter)
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