Today was officially Grade A worse than anything Luffy stupid had managed in the past, and Varin had been through a lot.
They'd found Luffy and Chopper easily enough, which should have been the end of it. Should have been a simple retrieval and departure. But of course, Foxy had decided that wasn't dramatic enough, so he'd gone ahead and fucked with some random islander, pushed them into a situation that made the rubber moron's blood boil hot enough to accept a Davy Back Fight right there on the spot.
And Luffy, being Luffy, had nearly agreed to terms that involved five hundred crew members per side as the stakes. Five fucking hundred. It had taken Vivi literally strangling him unconscious before he could finish accepting those terms. The princess had impressed Varin in that moment, even as his internal wolf was screaming at the injustice of the entire situation. At least she had the sense to negotiate it down to something manageable. Three crew members per side. Survivable odds, at least theoretically.
The rules, however, were absolute bullshit. Any crew members taken during the Davy Back Fight could only be retrieved through another Davy Back Fight, but only if it's the same Davy Back Fight. Taken crew members had to immediately swear loyalty to the victorious captain. Taken members could never again be used by the losing crew. And most egregiously of all, no weapons. Universal rule, apparently. He'd nearly bitten through his own tongue when they'd announced that particular stipulation. Because most pirates, hell, most people, used weapons while exploring the sea, Devil Fruits weren't exactly common, and most people didn't, or couldn't, fight with fists.
Now, as if the universe was personally testing his ability to maintain composure, Porche had wandered over to where Vivi was standing, all false friendliness and sugary tone, asking if she could pet the "adorable wolf."
"What a cute doggy," Porche had cooed, her hand already reaching out before Vivi could respond. "What's his name?"
"Fluffy," Vivi had said, and Varin had felt something inside him die at those words. Fluffy. She'd named him Fluffy. He was approximately the size of a horse, composed mostly of muscle and barely contained rage, carrying the hunger of an ancient mythological predator in his chest, and this woman with the ridiculous outfit and the smile that didn't reach her eyes was calling him Fluffy and reaching out like he was some kind of lapdog.
Varin's lips had pulled back from his teeth before he could stop himself. Not a snarl exactly, because he was supposed to be a dumb dog, but close enough that Porche had noticed. Her hand had faltered for just a fraction of a second, uncertainty flickering across her expression as she seemed to reconsider whether approaching a massive grey wolf was actually a good idea.
It had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed not to lunge for her throat in that moment.
Instead, he'd simply stood there, his massive head turning slowly toward her, his eyes glowing faintly with the kind of intelligence that clearly didn't belong in an animal's gaze. For a long, suspended second, the air between them had crystallized into something dangerous. Porche's hand had frozen mid-reach. Her smile had become fixed, less friendly, and more nervous.
Then Vivi had placed her hand on his head, gentle and grounding, and the moment had passed. "He doesn't like strangers much," Vivi had explained, her voice light but carrying an undercurrent of something protective. "Best not to approach without permission."
Porche had laughed nervously, her hand dropping back to her side. "Right, right. Just wanted to see the pretty doggy. No harm intended."
She'd wandered off after that, and the crew had been separated for the first game before Varin had time to properly settle his temper. The first challenge was a boat race, which meant they had to construct a functional vessel from whatever materials they could scavenge on the island within a time limit. Random barrels, driftwood, rope, whatever washed up on the beach or could be torn from the surrounding ruins became potential building materials.
Nami had taken charge immediately, her navigator's instincts kicking into overdrive as she assessed the available supplies and began delegating tasks. Usopp had scrambled around pulling together wood and rope with the kind of desperate energy that came from knowing failure meant losing crew members. Robin had worked methodically, her Devil Fruit powers letting her speed up the construction process by manifesting multiple hands to hold pieces in place while others were secured.
The Foxy Pirates had done their own construction on the other side of the beach, and Varin had to admit their boat looked slicker, more professionally built. Which was suspicious in itself, given that they were working with the same random assortment of island debris that the Straw Hats were using.
Varin had positioned himself on a higher vantage point, his wolf eyes tracking everything. Just a dumb dog watching the proceedings, nothing more. But his mind was running through calculations, noting the way Foxy kept glancing at his crew, the subtle signals passing between them, the smugness that sat too comfortably on the captain's face.
The boats had launched into the water after the time limit expired, and for the first few minutes, the race had seemed genuinely competitive. The Straw Hat's boat was surprisingly functional, cobbled together from pieces that shouldn't have worked but somehow did through sheer determination and creative problem-solving. Nami steered while Usopp worked on keeping the sails functional and Robin maintained the structural integrity of their construction.
Then something had changed. Varin had seen it clearly, the moment that shifted everything. A pink beam, faint and easily missed if you weren't looking directly at the water, had shot from somewhere near Foxy's position and struck the Straw Hat boat Not destructively, but with enough force to cause a visible impact on their forward momentum.
The Straw Hat boat had slowed down. It wasn't damage that broke the hull or disabled the rudder. It was something else, something that worked on a level that shouldn't have been possible with just physical force. The water resistance had increased somehow, like the boat was suddenly pushing through something thicker than regular ocean. The crew's expressions had shifted from confident to confused as their vessel suddenly felt heavier, slower, like they were dragging something massive behind them.
Nami had cursed from the helm, her hands gripping the wheel tighter as she tried to compensate for the sudden change in handling. Usopp had looked up from his work, confusion written across his face as he tried to figure out what had gone wrong with the boat they'd just built. Robin had remained calm, but even she had glanced back at the pursuing Foxy Pirates' boat with something that looked like suspicion.
Varin's wolf eyes had tracked the source of the beam back to Foxy himself, who had stepped back from whatever vantage point he'd been using and was now watching the race with that same cheerful expression plastered across his face. The captain hadn't looked guilty or uncertain. He'd looked satisfied, like a man who'd just watched his plan execute exactly as intended.
It had happened again as the race progressed. Another pink beam, this time hitting the water just in front of their boat, created some kind of resistance that forced them to slow down further. And then another, and another, each one perfectly timed to keep the Straw Hat vessel just far enough behind the Foxy Pirates' boat that victory remained tantalizingly out of reach.
Varin had watched the crew's frustration build with each passing minute. Nami was steering a boat that didn't respond properly anymore. Usopp was trying to adjust sails for a vessel that seemed to be fighting against its own momentum. Robin was working to keep the structure intact despite whatever force was being applied to it from outside.
And no one else seemed to notice what was happening.
Sanji had been standing near Varin, watching the race with the kind of intensity that suggested he wanted to throw himself into the water and swim after them just to help. Zoro had been stone-faced, arms crossed, his expression unreadable, but his body language suggested he was already calculating how to physically get himself onto that boat if the race went the wrong direction.
Luffy had been grinning, completely oblivious to anything except the spectacle of the race itself.
But Varin had seen. His senses were too keen, his awareness too developed from years of having to notice threats before they became lethal. The pink beams were coming from Foxy's direction with enough regularity to suggest this wasn't accidental or circumstantial. This was a deliberate tactic, a form of cheating so subtle that most people would have dismissed the slowdown as either bad luck or poor boat design.
The Foxy Pirates' boat had crossed the finish line first, of course. Foxy had celebrated with his characteristic theatrical enthusiasm, arms spread wide as he accepted the victory like he'd personally built and sailed the boat himself. His crew had cheered, masks grinning with exaggerated expressions that suggested they'd all known about the cheating beforehand.
When the Straw Hat crew had limped their boat across the finish line, still respectable but definitively second, Varin had watched Foxy's smile widen into something that looked less like joy and more like hunger. The captain had announced that they, or rather Porche, wanted Chopper because he was fluffy and cute. Which set off the reindeer, even as he walked over to the side of the Foxy pirates
"So, next game then? Shall we?" Foxy said, completely unbothered by Chopper's emotional breakdown, standing before the remaining Straw Hats as he'd just won something that actually mattered. The captain was already reading through the list of participants for the second challenge, his enthusiasm apparently undiminished by the first victory. "Let's see, we'll need three combatants for the next game, the straw hats chose, one Sanji, one Zoro, and Varin? Wait, who's that one?" Foxy asked. "I don't recall seeing him during the boat race. Is he part of your crew or just some local wildlife you picked up along the way?"
Before anyone could answer, Chopper's voice cracked through the air, raw and desperate in a way that made everyone on the beach go still. "I didn't come out here to sail for some stupid fox!" the reindeer doctor screamed, his voice breaking with the kind of genuine anguish that only came from someone who'd just realized the magnitude of what he'd lost. "I came out here to sail with Luffy! I don't want this! I don't want to be here if I'm not going to be with Luffy! I don't want to sail anymore!" The words poured out of him like a dam breaking, years of dreams and carefully constructed plans falling apart in the span of a single game. His entire body was shaking, tears streaming down his face as he stared at his captain, at the people around him, at the reality of a future that no longer looked like what he'd signed up for.
"Shut the hell up, Chopper!" Zoro's voice cut through the emotional chaos like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. The swordsman's expression was stone, his eyes cold in the way they only got when something serious was happening underneath all the typical crew stupidity. "Act like a pirate for once in your life!" The command came with weight, with the kind of authority that suggested Zoro had dealt with this kind of breakdown before and had no patience for it now. But it was Varin's movement that truly captured everyone's attention.
The massive grey wolf stepped forward, completely ignoring the hundred-plus Foxy Pirates crew members who suddenly tensed, hands moving toward weapons, eyes widening as they registered the casual threat of his motion. Varin positioned himself directly in front of Chopper, his enormous form casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the smaller reindeer entirely. The action itself was a statement; I'm standing between you and every single one of them, and I don't care how many there are. A ripple of shock moved through the assembled crowd as the wolf opened his mouth and spoke. "You chose this life, Chopper," Varin's voice rumbled out, low and gravelly and absolutely human despite coming from a creature that was supposed to be an animal. Several of the Foxy Pirates' crew members actually took a step back, hands falling away from weapons as they processed the impossible thing they'd just heard. "Not Luffy. You chose to sail. You chose to join a pirate crew. And you knew we might lose. That's how this works."
Zoro stepped up beside Varin, his stance mirroring the wolf's, as he rested his hand on the hilts of his swords. "We lost, Chopper," the swordsman said flatly. "But we're going to win you back next game. So shut the hell up with the whining and get your head on straight."
Chopper's tears didn't stop, but they shifted from despair into the kind of crying that came from being understood, from having someone forcibly remind you of what you actually were capable of. The reindeer's small fists clenched at his sides as he stared up at the massive wolf standing before him like some kind of ancient guardian. "What would you do if you were chosen, Varin?" Chopper asked, his voice small and broken and desperate for an answer that would make sense of this situation.
Varin was silent for a long moment, and the tension on the beach seemed to crystallize into something physical. Then he laughed, a sound that came from deep in his chest and carried an edge that made even the Foxy Pirates crew members who hadn't moved yet go very still.
The wolf's form began to shift. Bone cracked and reformed. Muscle surged and expanded as the transformation took hold, the massive grey form giving way to something even larger. Where the wolf had been standing, there was now a figure that was easily nine and a half feet of pure muscle and scar tissue, skin pale against the sunlight, claws still visible at the ends of massive hands. Varin, in his human form, was absolutely massive, the kind of presence that changed how space worked around him simply by existing in it.
He leaned over Foxy, his shadow falling across the tiny captain's face, and spoke with a voice that demanded attention. "You asked who Varin was, I'd say it's a pleasure, but I'm tryin' not ta' kill ya'" he said quietly, and the quiet somehow made it worse, somehow made the threat of the words infinitely more dangerous than if he'd been shouting. "To answer your question, chopper, I don't give a shit about some rules of some long-dead pirate and his games. Nothing forbids me from slaughtering the ones that took me and going back to my old crew."
The implication hung in the air between them. He wasn't saying he would do it. He was saying that the only reason he wasn't currently painting the beach with Foxy's blood was that he'd made a choice to follow the rules of a game played by people who thought they had authority over him. The moment that changed, the moment someone pushed too hard or made the wrong mistake, all of that restraint would evaporate like morning mist.
Foxy's smile had frozen on his face, the cheerful expression now looking deeply uncomfortable as he processed the reality of what was standing before him. The captain of the Foxy Pirates had believed his crew was strong, had believed his position was secure, had believed that the rules of his game would protect him.
He was only now understanding that the only thing protecting him was the goodwill of a man who was demonstrably capable of ending him and everyone around him without significant effort.
"So," Varin continued, straightening up slightly while still looming over the fox captain, "I suggest you keep this game interesting, because I'm losing patience with your bullshit. I've suffered far too much nerve damage in the last week to deal with you. He turned back to Chopper, and his expression softened just fractionally, enough to show the reindeer doctor that the threat hadn't been directed at him, had never been directed at him. "We're going to win the next game," Varin said simply. "And we're going to win the one after that. Because we're pirates, and this is what we do. Put some faith in us, lad; what's a pirate to a god?" he said, giving the reindeer a wink as he turned away, showing his back to the entire enemy crew in a very clear symbol of how little a threat he viewed them.
It didn't take long after that for the arena for the Groggy Ring to be set up on a massive circular track, the kind of space that suggested whoever had originally designed these games had understood that power and size were just as important as skill. Varin stood in the center of the ring, a spherical helmet placed firmly on his head that made him look absolutely ridiculous. It was bright orange, oversized enough to let his head breathe inside it, and marked him clearly as the "ball" that his teammates were supposed to protect while simultaneously trying to knock the opposing team's ball into their goal.
Zoro and Sanji stood on either side of him, both of them clearly already running through strategies in their heads, though Sanji looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh at the helmet situation.
Then the Foxy Pirates' team emerged from the opposite side of the arena. The first opponent was Hamburg, a massive man who had to be a good sixteen feet tall, maybe more, with the kind of shoulders that suggested he could probably bench press a small ship without much effort. His body was built like a walking mountain, all muscle and density, and he wore a confident expression that suggested he'd spent a lot of time making people regret challenging him in any physical competition.
But Hamburg was apparently the smallest of the three. The second opponent was even larger, a towering figure that had to be close to twenty feet, with a build that suggested less refined strength and more just raw, overwhelming physical mass. His arms were the size of tree trunks, and the way he moved suggested that subtlety and finesse weren't exactly his strong suits.
The third was the problem. The final member of the Foxy Pirates' team was a creature that Varin could only describe as a fish-adjacent monstrosity, some kind of hybrid that combined features of multiple beings into a form that was easily twenty-three, maybe twenty-four feet tall, and its skin glistened with a sheen that made it clear, it was hard to get a good hold on it, and of course, this one was the other ball.
"Oh, I see you've noticed," Foxy called out cheerfully from his position overseeing the game. The referee, one of Foxy's own crew members, naturally, stood nearby looking absolutely neutral about the entire situation in a way that screamed he'd been briefed on what was about to happen. "My Groggy Monsters. Quite impressive, aren't they? They've been trained specifically for this game."
Zoro's expression didn't change, but Varin could see the slight tightening at the corners of his eyes that suggested the swordsman was reassessing the situation rapidly. Sanji let out a low whistle that was cut short, like he'd thought better of expressing his surprise out loud.
The game began. And it started poorly and got progressively worse. The Groggy Monsters weren't just large; they were coordinated despite their size. They moved as they'd actually practiced this, which meant that every time Varin tried to position himself strategically, they were already cutting him off. The spherical helmet, which was supposed to make him easier to grab, instead made him a target that was impossible to miss.
The first grab came from Hamburg, who simply charged straight at Varin with the kind of directness that suggested he didn't believe in complicated strategies. Zoro intercepted him, his body sliding between Varin and the charging mountain of muscle, and actually managed to stop Hamburg's momentum for a fraction of a second before the impact sent him sliding backward across the arena floor.
A club appeared in Hamburg's hands from absolutely nowhere, a massive thing made of what looked like reinforced wood with metal bands running along its length. The referee watched this happen and simply made a gesture that suggested he'd seen nothing at all, absolutely nothing worth noting, moving on with the proceedings.
"No weapons allowed," Sanji snarled, his body immediately shifting into a fighting stance.
The referee made another gesture that clearly communicated his complete and utter disinterest in the situation. "If he doesn't notice them," Porche's voice called out from somewhere near the Foxy Pirates' side, her tone dripping with false sympathy, "then they're not really weapons, are they? That's just how the game works."
Varin's eyes tracked the club as Hamburg raised it, his mind calculating trajectories and impact angles. The spherical helmet would protect his head, probably, but Hamburg was clearly aiming for his body, for the legs, for anything that would slow his movement or compromise his ability to evade. The second Groggy Monster, the one Varin had mentally labeled as "the mass," now had a staff in his hands, the kind of length that gave him a reach that Varin couldn't match without being able to fight back directly.
And the fish hybrid was pulling something that looked disturbingly like two massive pan lids.
The problem wasn't just the size or the weapons. The problem was the reach. The fish hybrid had a reach advantage of a good ten feet on Varin's normal fighting distance, and the pan gave it even more. Hamburg's club added another dimension of danger because the man knew how to use it despite its size. And the mass, the second one, had the kind of weight that meant Zoro and Sanji would struggle to keep it off Varin indefinitely.
Varin dodged left as the club whistled through where his head had been, the wind from the impact alone enough to make his eyes water slightly. The fish's pan came around; Sanji kicked it aside with barely enough time to spare, and the massive creature didn't seem bothered at all by the near miss. It just brought the pan back around for another attack, clearly expecting this to be effective simply through overwhelming force and repetition.
The real problem crystallized in Varin's mind as he processed the geometry of the arena and the positions of the goal zones. The Groggy Monsters weren't trying to be efficient. They were trying to wear down the Straw Hat side through sustained pressure and sheer physical dominance. And with three massive combatants armed with weapons that "officially didn't exist," they had the advantage in that strategy.
Zoro was already bleeding from a cut on his arm where Hamburg's club had grazed him. Sanji had taken a hit to the ribs that was making him wince slightly with each breath. And Varin was somehow both the protected asset and the one most in danger, locked in a spherical helmet and forced to move around a circular arena while three oversized creatures tried to drive him into the ground.
"This," Varin said, as he ducked under another swing from Hamburg and dove between Zoro and Sanji to reset their positioning, "is exactly the kind of cheating bullshit I was warning about."
"Tell me about it," Zoro growled, his expression settling into the kind of focus that suggested he was done being diplomatic about the situation. "Let's just win this and be done with it."
"That's how you wanna play then?" Varin growled as he looked at the three before him, his entire body coiling with sudden purpose. The frustration that had been building through the entire game crystallized into something sharp and focused. "Fine by me."
He jumped over the middle giant's weapons; this one was wielding the two swords with explosive force, clearly he wasn't trained, just swinging them around and letting his strength do the work. Varin's form launched upward with more power than his current position should have allowed. But instead of just clearing the obstacle and moving past it, Varin used the half-giant's arm as a ramp, his claws digging in as he ran across the creature's limb like it was solid ground.
The thing was, his claws right now were far too small to inflict anything more than superficial damage. In his human form, they weren't the weapons they could become. But superficial or not, they still carved lines of red across the creature's arm as he dragged them downward the entire length of the limb.
The cry that came from below was genuine and immediately loud, a bellow of pain that echoed across the arena with the kind of quality that suggested Varin had just turned the entire calculus of the fight on its head. The creature, Pickles, which was apparently its actual name and which Varin had already decided was a stupid designation for something this large, thrashed its arm downward, trying to dislodge him, but Varin had already cleared its body entirely and landed on the opposite side of the arena in a crouch.
"Oh, I see," Varin said, his voice carrying the kind of dangerous calm that made Sanji take a step backward despite him being on Varin's team. "You didn't say we couldn't hurt them. You just said weapons aren't allowed. My claws are part of my body, aren't they? So technically, they're not weapons."
The crowd fell silent. The referee's expression shifted from bored neutrality to something that looked dangerously close to panic, his eyes flicking toward Foxy like he was looking for guidance on how to handle a situation that apparently hadn't been covered in his briefing.
Foxy's cheerful smile froze on his face for just a fraction of a second before he seemed to recalculate what was happening. His eyes narrowed as he watched Varin, clearly reassessing the situation with the kind of intensity that suggested he'd just realized he might have miscalculated something significant.
"Now, now," Foxy called out, his voice still carrying that same theatrical cheerfulness but with an undertone that suggested he was already thinking about how to regain control of the situation. "Let's keep this game friendly, shall we? No permanent injuries."
"You said any ability is allowed," Varin replied, moving toward Pickles with deliberate slowness, like he was giving the giant time to process exactly what was about to happen. "My claws are an ability. Part of my physiology. You can't separate them from me without cutting off my hands, and I'm not going to do that."
Zoro let out a short bark of laughter from where he'd been defending against Hamburg's continued assault. "About time someone pointed out how stupid their rules actually were," the swordsman growled, driving Hamburg backward with a series of kicks that pushed the massive creature toward the edge of the arena. "Come on, Sanji. Let's make this interesting."
Sanji's grin became absolutely feral. "Gladly. Been wanting to test something for a while now."
The fight shifted in that moment. What had been a desperate defensive struggle became something significantly more aggressive. Varin moved toward Pickles with predatory grace, his claws now fully extended despite the size limitations. The creature tried to swing its swords defensively, but Varin moved under it with surprising speed for his bulk, his claws raking across the creature's torso in a pattern that suggested he'd done this kind of thing before.
Pickles screamed again, this time with more panic than pain in the sound. The creature attempted to back away, but the arena's circular design meant there was nowhere to run, only forward or into the goal zone, and that would mean it had gone out of bounds.
Hamburg, meanwhile, was having significantly more difficulty with Zoro. The swordsman had apparently decided that if weapons were going to be used, he might as well use his own body as a weapon in ways that were technically still compliant with the rules. His kicks came with the kind of force that suggested he'd been holding back during the earlier part of the fight, and Hamburg's club was suddenly far less effective when the person you were fighting was inside your guard and using your own arm against you.
Sanji had turned his attention to the fish hybrid, and the cook's movements had shifted into something that looked almost artistic despite the violence. His kicks were rapid and precise, targeting the creature's joints and weak points with the kind of knowledge that suggested Sanji had spent considerable time studying anatomy. The creature's pans became less of a weapon and more of a liability as it tried to use them to keep Sanji at a distance and failed repeatedly when the cook simply kicked through the motion before it fully developed.
The crowd's energy shifted from excitement to uncertainty. This wasn't supposed to happen. The Groggy Monsters were supposed to be overwhelming. They were supposed to be unbeatable through sheer size and the advantage given by weapons. But the Straw Hat crew had apparently decided that if the rules were going to be bent, they could bend them too.
"Stop!" the referee called out, but his voice carried absolutely no authority, no weight. He looked toward Foxy again, clearly waiting for instructions on how to proceed when the gamekeeper's plan had started falling apart in real time.
Varin pressed his advantage, moving toward Pickles with the kind of focus that suggested he was no longer thinking about the game or the rules or anything except the fact that this creature had been part of a team that had tried to cheat him into defeat. His claws found purchase again, and the creature's cries of pain became almost musical in their desperation.
The fish hybrid finally seemed to understand that it was losing, because it suddenly pivoted away from Sanji and toward the Straw Hat crew's goal, clearly making a decision to try for a last-minute score rather than continue defending its current position. But Sanji was faster. The cook's leg came up in a kick that intercepted the creature's movement at the exact moment it needed to, driving it sideways toward the arena's edge. The creature's massive weight worked against it, momentum carrying it toward the boundary with the kind of inevitability that suggested the outcome was already determined.
"No!" Porche's voice came from the sidelines, clearly understanding that one of the Groggy Monsters was about to be forced out of the arena.
The fish hybrid crashed against the boundary line, its massive form sliding across the edge before tipping backward and falling completely out of the ring. The moment it touched ground outside the arena, the referee had no choice but to call it.
"Second round," he announced, his voice tight with clear displeasure at how the round was proceeding. "Straw Hat Pirates."
The crowd erupted into confusion. Some people cheered. Others looked shocked. The Foxy Pirates crew seemed to be processing the idea that their carefully planned advantage had just evaporated because the Straw Hats had decided the rules weren't actually unbreakable if you interpreted them creatively enough.
Hamburg, still fighting Zoro, suddenly looked significantly less confident. The swordsman's intensity hadn't diminished in the slightest, and the massive creature seemed to be processing the reality that it was no longer guaranteed victory. Its movements became more desperate, less controlled, which only played into Zoro's advantage.
And Pickles, bleeding from multiple superficial wounds and clearly terrified of what Varin was about to do next, decided to retreat. The creature backed toward its own side of the arena, still maintaining its weapons in a defensive posture but clearly no longer willing to engage directly with the wolf-touched man who'd figured out exactly how to hurt it.
Varin watched it retreat, his claws still extended, and felt something settle in his chest. This was more like it. This was how fights were supposed to go. Not with everyone playing nice according to rules that only one side was willing to follow, but with everyone understanding that victory went to those willing to push hardest and think fastest.
"Well," Foxy's voice called out after a moment, still cheerful but with an edge that suggested his certainty was beginning to crack, "that was certainly... unexpected. Shall we continue with the next round?"
"Hold off on that," a voice said, and the entire arena went still in the way that only happened when something genuinely unexpected occurred. Everyone looked around, trying to place where it came from, but the voice had come from above.
"Up here. On top of the big oaf," the voice called again, and Varin felt his annoyance spike, because sitting perched on Big Pan like the massive creature was nothing more than a convenient vantage point was Loki.
"Have you got a crush?" Varin called out, his tone flat in a way that suggested he was already done with whatever this was about to become.
"Hey, wait a minute," Foxy interrupted, his voice climbing higher as he seized on what he perceived as an advantage. "Hiding crew members is against the rules. I believe that means you forfeit the games by default."
"Shut up, moron," Varin growled, not bothering to look at the fox captain. His eyes were locked on the figure perched above him. "He's not a crew member. He's an annoyance. And a divine pain in my ass."
"Awe, you finally got that," Loki said, his voice carrying that familiar thread of amusement even as his words were cut off by a violent coughing fit that echoed across the arena. The cough produced something dark and wet that arced through the air before hitting the ground. Blood. Fresh and vibrant against the sand of the arena floor. Varin's eyes tracked it, processing what that meant, even as his mind tried to reconcile the image of an injured god with the Loki who'd been tormenting him since before Alabasta.
"Yeah, I don't have time for this," Loki said, and there was pain in his voice now, actual pain, not theatrical or performative but genuine exhaustion and suffering bleeding through every word. He vanished from Big Pan's back. Then he was in front of Varin. The reality of his injuries became immediately clear. Loki looked terrible in a way that went beyond dramatic. A chunk was missing from his left shoulder, the kind of wound that suggested teeth or claws had done the damage and done it thoroughly. His entire body was actively bleeding, not from a few minor cuts but from what looked like systematic dismemberment in progress. His shirt hung in tatters, and as the wind shifted, Varin caught sight of something that made his predatory instincts scream in recognition.
The god was holding his own intestines in with one of his hands. His ribs were visible, some of them visibly broken, the fragments catching the light as he breathed in shallow, pained increments. This was the moment. This was the opportunity Varin had been waiting for since the beach at Whiskey Peak when Loki had worn her face like a mask and laughed at his rage. The god was vulnerable. The god was wounded. The god was practically begging to be finished, standing there barely held together by sheer force of will and apparent stubbornness.
Varin didn't hesitate. His hand shot forward, already reaching for his Haki, already channeling the dark armament into his claws. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it properly. No half measures. No mercy. Just the thing that had used her memory against him was finally getting what it deserved. But the attack never landed. Loki's hand came up with surprising speed for something in his condition, and it caught Varin's wrist before the claws could make contact. The impact sent Varin sliding backward across the arena floor, his boots scraping furrows in the sand as the god's remaining strength was channeled into that single defensive motion.
"Not yet," Loki gasped, each word clearly costing him something significant. "I need you. To help me escape this mess. So I'm going to borrow you for a bit. Two hours. Maximum. Maybe."
His grip on Varin's wrist tightened with the kind of focus that suggested the god was concentrating every remaining ounce of his power into this single action.
"And don't do anything stupid," Loki continued, his eyes boring into Varin's with an intensity that contradicted the broken state of his body. "Because the person you're about to meet is stronger than I am."
That was all the warning Varin got. The world lurched sideways. The arena disappeared. His crew's voices screaming his name seemed to come from a thousand miles away, growing distant and muffled until they were nothing more than echoes in a space that was rapidly ceasing to exist.
Then there was grey. Nothing but grey for a moment that stretched into forever and then collapsed into an instant. The ground beneath him was solid stone, ancient and worn smooth by time and water. Above him, the ceiling disappeared into darkness so complete it seemed to have weight. Underground. Definitely underground. The air smelled like stone and old air.
Varin's senses locked onto the breathing before anything else registered. It was loud. Rhythmic. Coming from directly behind him. The breathing of something massive. Something that breathed the way mountains breathed if mountains could move and think.
He turned. "By Odin's beard, you're big, mate."