Chapter 9
Putting down his cup roughly on the counter, Castiel asked for his eighth drink. He wasn't much of a drinker, as it was an expensive hobby. But today, smoking wasn't enough for him. So, here he was, drinking his worthless life away.
Cass's condition finally stabilized today. But she was still made to sleep so her body could continue to rest. It had only been a couple of days, but he could see how her body had shrunk. Or maybe it was because of those damn big machines set up around her that made her look so damn small.
Small and fragile. Just one mistake from the doctors, and her life would be over. Just one thing going wrong, and it would be over. He couldn't watch her anymore. To see her like that was the most painful thing that could ever happen to him.
But he couldn't sleep, because every time he closed his eyes, he could only see her and how her time was running out. So, he drank. Neat whiskey, the cheapest one. It was disgusting. And it was the only thing keeping him sane right now.
He could see the sun setting through the window, realizing it was already the third day he hadn't been able to sleep. Soon, he would have to return to the Marines as his injury was getting better. But he didn't feel like it. Well, he didn't feel like anything.
What was the point? The point of anything? He had never felt so damn worthless as he was feeling right now. His life was just so damn pointless that he could just shoot himself in the head. There was nothing to like about this world, nor about his life.
He just wasted it all up. He couldn't even be an ignorant fool who didn't know how the world government worked. He could stay quiet and do as he was told. Like a little toy soldier, he was. And for what?
All he could do was remind himself that Cass was alive. That she was still fighting, and he would do anything to give her a chance. But another thought quickly entered his mind, too. What if it was his fault? What if he was the one taking her life away?
After all, while he kept living, seemingly with no one able to kill him, she was hanging by a thread, barely holding on. It was bullshit, but such dark thoughts entering his mind were normal in the mental state he was in right now.
"I am sorry, sir."
Castiel looked up, his hazy eyes watching as the barman backed away from him. He only now realized, as he looked around, that the bar was quite empty. He turned his head to the exit. The heavy wooden doors were in front of him as he turned his body to them.
He was sitting not that far away from the doors, so how could he not have seen everyone leave so quickly? He should have at least heard it, since the doors were heavy and creaked like hell. Yet he missed it all?
"There is a rifle under the counter, sir," the barman said before turning away and leaving through the kitchen.
Castiel didn't get up from his seat as he reached for the bottle and poured the last bit of it into his cup. He could hear heavy footsteps outside now. He could even imagine the guns aiming at him right now.
Yet all he wondered as he drank his last cup was how they were going to do this. Would they burst through the door? That way, they wouldn't need to look for him for long, as he was sitting straight behind the doors. Or would they shoot it all up from outside, or maybe burn him alive with the bar?
His answer came as he heard countless guns loading up outside. He quickly finished his drink, and, as disgusting as it was, he was glad it would be his last one. And then, an explosion rang out. There was just one thing he didn't expect.
He thought he would see a cannonball flying at him. Or maybe fire engulfing him. Certainly not the doors flying off their hinges and hitting him. He didn't know if it was because he was so damn drunk or because of the shock, but he felt nothing as he collapsed under the door on the ground.
He could hear bullets whistling over the bar. The tables, the shelves, the bottles, and everything else were quickly shredded into pieces. The wood and glass flew into the air, and all Castiel could do was try to get that damn heavy door off him so he could let those damn bullets hit him, too.
After a few minutes of struggle, Castiel finally managed to get up. By now, there was nothing but dust and smoke in the air around him. Broken glass and liquor covered the floor. He looked out at the exit, waiting for the next round of bullets.
But there was nothing, and as the dust settled, he could only see a dozen or so people outside with their pistols and rifles aimed at him. He didn't mind seeing his own death, but he was impatient.
So, when they just stared at him like he was some ghost or something, Castiel lifted his hand. He pointed his index finger at them, surveying them and waiting for them to end his joke of a life. But they just stood in place, not moving a finger.
"BANG!" Castiel yelled out.
And rather than moving their fingers and pressing the triggers of their guns, they just screamed and ran away. Castiel wasn't even surprised. He could only sigh in disappointment and walk out of the crumbling bar as onlookers stared at him with strange expressions.
"Tch, so annoying," that was all he could say as he lit up a cigarette and took a long puff of it.
It was complete and utter bullshit. But he wasn't too angry right now. No matter how easy it would have been if he had just been killed here, it wouldn't change much right now. Because Cass would still be in the hospital, still hooked up to all those machines keeping her alive.
Though if they were going to interrupt him, at least they could finish their work. It was ridiculous how bad the criminals were on his damn island. Even after setting up a trap for him, they couldn't finish him off.
"Sir!" Just in time, when everything was already over and those responsible were long gone, the Marines arrived. "Are you alright? We came as soon as possible after we heard of the commotion."
Castiel looked at himself at that question. Apart from getting hit head-on with a very sturdy and heavy door, he was perfectly fine. After dusting himself off, he couldn't find any hidden wounds. Though he probably would feel far worse tomorrow morning when the alcohol wore off.
"I am fine," finally, Castiel replied. "I am going home. Deal with this."
"Sir! Yes, sir!"
Hopefully, tomorrow they won't bother him. He probably wouldn't be feeling too great to hear them scream so damn loudly. And when did he earn such feverish respect from the other Marines? He didn't think he had done much for them to even know about him.
…
The target was careless. He didn't even bother to put up any defenses against stalkers. She didn't know why such a sum was offered for such an easy target. Well, he was a Marine, a rising star within the Soja Kingdom.
But in the end, he was just a little pup. Whether he grew to be a wolf or not was decided by her. As an assassin, she could gauge the strength of her targets. And she couldn't see much in this little pup. So, it was easy money for her.
She wasn't concerned about the rumors about him. So what if he escaped death a few times? Even a couple of days ago, he managed to survive the attempt made on him. It was only because a bunch of nobodies did sloppy work that all it was.
Just looking at him, walking without a care in the world, just because it was a somewhat populated street. He didn't even have a weapon on him. She was barely able to contain her bloodlust to finish such a foolish pup right now and right here.
But she was a professional. She had a plan, and she would stick to it. Even if the target was easy pickings, there was no room for any mistakes in her line of work. So, she watched him, and when he entered a certain street, she went ahead of him.
When death came to her targets, she loved to watch them realize it. The look of pure despair, it was elating. And she always wanted them to see who would kill them. It was the only quirk she allowed herself.
And just like that, the little pup walked right into his death. The street he walked into didn't have any way out. The only way was going forward or backward. She prepared her knives as he continued walking toward her. Just five steps away from her, she revealed her weapons.
The curved knives shone under the sunlight. Oh, the look on his face as he realized what she was and what she was going to do was delightful. The surprise, and then acceptance of his fate. The delight in his eyes as she threw her knives at him.
Wait, delight? It was too late before she realized it. Her curved knives were special. Even though she threw them straight at him, they curved their trajectory. Everyone seeing her actions would dodge to the side, while the more foolish would step back.
The knives would curve to the right and left, respectively, before joining back. There was no escape, unless they didn't move at all. Just like her target did just now, the knives went around him, missing him completely.
"Argh!" There was a scream as a person was hit behind him.
"Seriously?" That was the last thing she heard, apart from his sigh, before she saw him step forward and punch her in the face.
…
Usually, Castiel would have given this woman a second chance to kill him, as he expected her to fail with her first attempt. But someone behind him got hurt, and there were people around him who could get hurt next time.
Fuck. As much as he told himself that he didn't care about any of them, as he didn't even want to think of them as real people, when the time came to test his beliefs, he failed miserably. Just hearing the pained scream of an innocent bystander made him move.
Well, he did want to pretend to be some kind of hero in Cass's eyes. So, he couldn't allow innocent blood on his hands. Though that wasn't very honest of him, as he had already let people suffer because of this fake justice.
He wasn't in a good mindset to even think about this heavy stuff. So, he punched the assassin who came for him one more time for good measure, letting her fall to the ground unconscious as he went to check on the person who had been hurt.
At least the bystander was only hit in the leg with one of the knives. What a stupid design those knives were, curved like a boomerang. Either way, rather than insulting the assassin and her weapons, he tore a sleeve from his shirt and tied it around the injured leg to stop the bleeding.
After making sure that the injured person was fine, more or less, he returned to the assassin. The woman had a broken nose from his punches and was completely passed out. So, he tied her up and waited for the Marines to come.
It had only been two days since the last time someone tried to kill him. As happy as he was that people were coming for his life without him doing anything, he was disappointed at how lackluster their efforts were.
Well, maybe it was understandable. After all, it wasn't the Grand Line, nor the New World. It was just one of the Blues. There weren't many truly dangerous people around, especially on this island and kingdom, just a bunch of thugs and crooks.
He would not find his destined death here. Now, he had realized that. But he was too conflicted to leave his home. To leave his sister. He couldn't do that until she woke up, until he was sure that he would be fine without him.
And only then would he be able to leave. He couldn't do anything here, nor for her. Just watch her as she slowly got worse and worse. That medicine that the doc spoke of. He had to get it, no matter what. And if there weren't any on this island, there must be somewhere else.
A.N. As always, thanks for reading and supporting me, so I can continue writing without any concerns, and if you want more, up to seven more chapters, you can support me on pa treon. com \ ironwolf852.