"Davy Jones, devil of the Grand Line and the surrounding seas, at your service."
He didn't even bother to lift his hat. Normally I would have taken that as an insult and punished him for it—if he had been any other man.
Assuming Jones could even be counted as a man.
"And you have business with me," he continued lazily, "but I have no idea how you will pay for it. From what I can see, all your treasures amount to empty bottles and tobacco."
He glanced around, pretending to examine my belongings with concern.
I shrugged.
"I know such trinkets are worthless to you," I growled. "Your prices are measured differently. Don't try to make a fool out of me." I watched him carefully. "Well… assuming you really are Jones."
"That isn't proof enough?" he asked.
He poked the fire lazily with a stick and spat somewhere to the side.
I did the same, trying to rid my mouth of the bitter taste of vodka. Then I remembered the pipe safely tucked into my coat pocket.
After a few attempts I managed to light it. The old man chuckled again as smoke filled my lungs.
A moment later my mind cleared. One could say I was finally sober.
"I want to play Scythe with you."
I tossed a deck of cards tied with a leather strap at his feet and watched his reaction through narrowed eyes.
His expression changed instantly.
He looked at me with burning intensity, and his black teeth flashed in a truly devilish smile.
For a moment my heart stopped. My hand trembled slightly as I raised the pipe to my lips.
Those human gestures of his terrified me more than anything else. He imitated them too well—too perfectly. Looking at that smile, I knew it did not belong to a human face.
Only demons smiled like that when they had business with mortals.
And only demons cheated the way Jones did.
"Pirate Scythe," he said slowly.
He did not pretend to be surprised. If anything, he looked as if he had been waiting for the challenge, reading it on my face long before I spoke.
"I accept," he said. "What do you wager?"
"What do you take?" I asked calmly.
"Your soul." He smiled wider. "Something for which you bear responsibility and duty."
"That's not much," I replied.
His eyes gleamed with satisfaction, believing the price acceptable.
But the price meant nothing to me.
All I needed was for Jones to accept my terms if I won.
"In return," I said, "I want power. A crew. The fastest ship on the seas. And the resurrection of someone whose name carries the letter D."
"To pull someone from my Locker," Jones replied, "you must first find him."
He leaned back, watching me.
"The crew will be neither alive nor dead. And the ship… will breathe." He tilted his head slightly. "As for power… you already possess a Devil Fruit, don't you?"
"I'm helpless in the water," I answered.
Jones's eyes gleamed strangely.
"Would you like to hold the depths in your hands?"
"Yes." I exhaled smoke slowly. "Exactly that."
"Your soul, Ralagan," he purred with satisfaction, "is far too small a price for such favors." He leaned closer. "You know what you will gain. Now you must learn how you will pay for it."
He paused for a moment.
"I will give you years of life," he continued, "to bring souls to my Locker. Only those who died at sea." His voice lowered. "A thousand every year - that will be your duty."
Then his smile faded slightly.
"In time," he added, "I will take something for which you are responsible… and whose loss will drive you into madness."
He fell silent for a moment, as if allowing me time to think.
But he knew I would not turn back.
When he spoke again, his voice rustled in the air like the hiss of the flames.
"You will not enter the Locker yourself. And you will never reach the Immensity either." He glanced toward the sky. "For people like you… I keep a special place."
He fell silent again, studying the clouds above the Cursed Islands.
Giving me time to reconsider.
But I had thought about this for far too long to hesitate now.
And I knew Jones would not simply walk away after appearing before me.
Still, something inside me resisted.
A quiet voice whispering:
Ralagan… don't.
A final attempt to bring me back to my senses.
But the price did not matter to me. Logic had nothing to do with my decision. And the tragic vision of my future was far too distant on that night on the Cursed Islands.
The present belonged to me again.
And I had no intention of giving it up.
"You know the rules, you cursed wraith?" I asked.
"I made them," he replied.
I saw his black teeth flash again from the corner of my eye.
Then I focused on shuffling the cards.