The words were a death knell for Vesta's hope. "Marya, no! Don't!" she screamed from her prison on the glowing staff, her voice raw. But her plea was lost in the cacophony of dissolving melodies and the silent menace of the Grim Reapers. Each Sing Sing soldier that was erased by the spectral entities wasn't just a defeat for Uta; it was a chisel strike chipping away at her will, driving her deeper into the welcoming, corrosive embrace of the entity that fed on her despair.
Marya, her form a nexus of cosmic death, took a step forward, the fractured realms in her eyes fixed on her cousin. "You have to stop! You are running out of stamina!" she called out, her layered voice straining with an urgency that was profoundly human.
It was too late. Tot Musica was in full control. The demon king's form, a nightmare of jagged, dissonant lines and multiple, hateful eyes, solidified completely, its attention locking onto the one being who posed a true threat. It consumed the last dregs of Uta's strength, a parasite draining its host dry. Marya saw the flicker of her cousin vanish from Uta's eyes, replaced by a hollow, puppeteering malice. With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the abyss, Marya let her Awakened power fade. The Grim Reapers dissolved into wisps of shadow, her halo flickered out, and her hair settled back into its natural raven state. She stood alone in her leather jacket and shorts, just a young woman facing a god of acoustic ruin.
Tot Musica flexed, the air screaming in protest around its form. It lunged, a tidal wave of pure, destructive sound meant to erase her from existence.
Marya's jaw ticked, a tiny, almost imperceptible sign of immense strain. She didn't raise Eternal Eclipse in a flashy stance. Instead, she simply channeled everything—every ounce of her will, her focus, her refusal to yield—into the obsidian blade. The crimson runes along its length flared like newborn stars.
Uta, the empty vessel, swayed on her feet, a marionette with its strings cut.
As Tot Musica descended, Marya swung. It wasn't a slash that split the sky, but a precise, concentrated arc of pitch-black Haki that shot from her blade. It didn't make a sound. It was the absence of sound, a void that consumed the demon's roaring charge. The two forces met—the ultimate expression of chaotic sound against the absolute negation of will.
For a heartbeat, they held, a silent struggle between creation and oblivion.
Then, Tot Musica vanished. Not with an explosion, but with a final, choked whisper of static, its form unraveling into nothingness.
The sudden silence was deafening.
Uta collapsed, a small, broken heap on the scorched and cracked ground.
"NO!" Gordon wailed, his voice the only sound in the void left behind.
The magical staffs holding Gordon, Atlas, Jelly, and Vesta flickered and dissolved into motes of fading light, dropping them unceremoniously to the earth.
Marya was moving before they hit the ground, a black blur closing the distance to Uta. She slid to her knees, gathering the songstress into her arms. Uta was feather-light, her breath a labored, rattling thing that barely stirred the air.
"Why, Uta?" Marya whispered, her usual stoicism shattered, revealing the raw, pained confusion beneath. She cradled her cousin's head. "I can take you wherever you want to go. Anywhere. I can even take you to Shanks."
Uta's eyes fluttered open, a dim echo of their former vibrance. She swallowed, a painful, dry sound. A ghost of a smile touched her lips, then faded. The light in her eyes, that fierce, passionate fire that had defined her, guttered and went out. The life slipped from her body, leaving a terrifying stillness in Marya's arms.
Marya blinked, once, twice, as if refusing to process the reality she held. The weight in her arms was absolute.
Atlas and Vesta rushed over. Vesta gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, tears streaking through the dust on her cheeks. "Oh, no… no…"
Gordon fell to his knees, sobbing. "Uta… my Uta…"
The moment was shattered by the sound of frantic footsteps. Jannali, Galit, and Eliane skidded into the courtyard, buckling over and panting, their faces flushed with exertion.
"About time you got here!" Atlas snapped, his voice rough with grief and tension. "Where have you been, anyway?"
Jannali straightened up, a hand on her hip as she fought for breath. "We got here as fast as we could, mate! Had a real party with the local wildlife in the tunnels. What's everyone fussing about?" Her eyes then landed on Marya holding the limp form of Uta. Her bravado faltered.
Vesta, wiping tears from her eyes, couldn't form the words. "Uta, she's… she's…"
Galit, his sharp eyes analyzing the scene—the grieving Marya, the sobbing Gordon, the defeated demon—finally caught his breath. His voice was calm, certain, cutting through the emotion like a knife. "That," he announced, pointing at the body in Marya's arms, "is not Uta."
Marya's head snapped around, her golden eyes, wide with shock and a dawning, terrifying hope, locking onto him. "What?"
Galit's gaze shifted to Gordon, who had stopped sobbing and was now slowly, carefully, trying to edge away. "And that," Galit continued, his tone dripping with disdain, "is well… I don't really know what that is. Maybe the demon king's favorite puppet.
Marya's entire body went rigid. She looked down at the form in her arms, then back at Gordon, her expression hardening into something deadly. "Explain," she commanded, her voice low and cold as the depths of the North Blue.
Eliane, overwhelmed by the drama and bursting to share their discovery, piped up. "Well, you see, we found this lab and it has a whole lot of Utas and Gordons and there is this one Uta that is in the middle and she's asleep and the ghost captain said—"
Jannali placed a gentle but firm hand on the young chef's shoulder. "We should just show you, love. It's a real eye-opener."
Gordon spun, his face a mask of frantic panic. "NO! That place isn't meant to be known! You'll ruin everything!"
Slowly, reverently, Marya laid the lifeless form of the Uta-clone on the ground. She stood, every movement filled with a terrifying, controlled fury. She didn't even look at Gordon as she gave the order to Atlas.
"Deal with him."
A feral grin spread across the lynx Mink's face, a flash of his old self returning. "My pleasure."
Blue-white electricity crackled around his fist. He didn't aim at Gordon directly. Instead, he slammed his fist into the ground. A web of lightning erupted from the point of impact, snaking across the courtyard with impossible speed. It reached Gordon, who had time for one short, sharp scream before the current seized his body, jolting him violently. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious and smoking slightly.
The air hung heavy with the smell of singed air and unanswered questions. Marya's gaze was already fixed on the tunnel from which the others had come, her path clear. The real Uta was waiting.
---
The air in the subterranean lab was cold, carrying the sterile scent of chemicals and old metal, a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere of the battle above. Their footsteps echoed in the vast chamber as the group moved past the towering, crystalline cylinders, each one a monument to a horrific, repeating failure.
Marya's sharp, golden eyes scanned the rows, her mind cataloging the silent, floating forms of Uta—dozens of them, their features peaceful in artificial sleep, their identical white-and-crimson hair drifting in the viscous fluid. Then her gaze snagged on a row of pods that were different. They were dark, empty, their glass scarred from the inside as if something had violently struggled to get out. She paused, her brow furrowing. "Why are these empty?" she muttered, a cold knot tightening in her stomach.
"This way, love! Don't get lost in the gallery of horrors," Jannali called back, her voice cutting through the low, mechanical thrum. She led them deeper, to the heart of the chamber where a single, massive cylinder stood as a central pillar.
They stopped before it. Inside, suspended in the glowing green solution, was Uta. But this was different. This wasn't the vibrant performer or the rage-filled puppet they had just fought. This Uta seemed younger, her face etched with a profound and permanent sorrow even in sleep. This was the original. The source.
Marya stood frozen, blinking in disbelief. The finality of it, the sheer violation, was a physical blow.
Vesta let out a small whimper, her hands clutching the straps of her guitar, Mikasi. "Why?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "Why would anyone do something like this to a person?"
Marya's lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. Her analytical mind, a shield against the rising tide of anger for her cousin, began piecing it together. "She lacks stamina," Marya stated, her voice flat.
Galit looked over, his long neck craning. "For what?"
"Uta was adopted by Shanks," Marya explained, her eyes never leaving the sleeping form. "She isn't his daughter by blood. Haki abilities, particularly the more potent, specialized forms, are often passed down through lineages. Everyone has the potential, but true mastery… some tiers are inherited." She finally turned her gaze to the group, her expression grim. "If I were to guess, she doesn't possess the innate, constitutional Haki needed to sustainably control that demon king, or to safely ascend her Devil Fruit powers to their next level."
Galit's sharp eyes widened in understanding. "So this facility… it's an attempt to try and create a clone that can. A version of Uta with a stronger spiritual foundation."
Marya shook her head, a gesture of absolute certainty. "But it won't work. A clone is still a copy. You can refine the vessel, but you cannot replicate a soul. The spark that ignites true Conqueror's Haki, the endurance for Armament… it's not just in the blood. It's in the will that the blood carries. A copy will always lack the original's essence."
"Oh, hey there!"
The voice, bright and cheerful, echoed through the chamber. Everyone spun around.
There, standing near the entrance to the lab as if she'd just popped in for a visit, was Uta. She waved, a brilliant, familiar smile on her face. "Looks like we got a little carried away, huh?"
Jannali cursed, her hand instinctively going to the collapsed spear at her hip. "You remember what just happened, then?"
Uta cocked her head, her smile not faltering. "Of course I do! Why wouldn't I?" She looked around the lab, her nose wrinkling in playful distaste. "This place is so gloomy. We should go somewhere with a better atmosphere! The music hall, maybe?"
Marya, Galit, Atlas, Jannali, Eliane, Jelly and Vesta all exchanged a single, unified look of deep, profound suspicion. Eliane's small hand found Jannali's, holding on tightly. Jelly, who had been perched on Marya's shoulder, gave a worried wobble and bounced down to hide behind her boots.
Uta turned on her heels, her dress swishing. "Come on, guys! Don't be such spoilsports. Maybe we can try singing together again! For real this time!"
As she skipped ahead, Jannali's face lost all its color. "That's right," she breathed.
"What?" Atlas asked, his ears flat against his head.
"The ghosts," Jannali said, her voice low and urgent. "They're gone. Now, there's nothing to keep her from singing. Nothing to jam the signal."
Vesta swallowed hard, her own dream of a duet now a terrifying prospect. "Well, yeah… we broke the curse."
Jannali shook her head, her expression grave. "No, mate. That wasn't a curse. That was the old natives—Korsakov and his crew—protecting the island."
Eliane, her voice small, looked up. "What do you think they were protecting the island from?"
It was Marya who answered, her gaze fixed on Uta's retreating back, her voice cold and clear. "They weren't protecting the island." She looked back at the central capsule, at the real Uta trapped in an endless sleep. "They were preventing the demon king from being able to spread its influence beyond this rock." The horrifying truth settled over them like a shroud. "And now…"
Galit finished the thought, his usual confidence replaced by a sickened realization. "We just released it from its cage. We played right into its hands."
Atlas groaned, running a hand over his face. "So what's the play, boss?"
Without another word, Marya began to follow Uta out of the lab, her boots echoing with purpose on the metal floor. She took one last, long look at the rows upon rows of her cousin's copies, a gallery of stolen lives and twisted ambition. Her jaw set, her eyes hardened with a resolve that had seen the depths of the void and returned.
"We have a little talk," Marya announced, the words a quiet promise of a confrontation that could no longer be avoided.
*****
The relative quiet inside the Mule Freighter was a fragile thing, broken only by the ship's own gentle hum and the distant, ever-present industrial thunder of Káto Lávyrinthos. The Lunar-Titanium Alloys, delivered as promised, sat in neat, heavy crates in the hold. Bianca, her hands smudged with fresh grease, had already cracked one open, her engineer's soul needing to verify the quality. She ran a finger over a cool, silvery sheet, nodding in approval before moving to the hidden panels and secret hatches, her multitool making soft clicking sounds as she ensured nothing had been tampered with.
At the small navigational station, Emily Nary stared at a slate, her storm-grey eyes tracing a course she'd plotted—a winding path through the Cluster's dangers back to the relative safety of Orphan's End. The lines on the screen felt like threads connecting her to an inevitable departure.
Charlie Leonard Wooley, however, could find no such focus. He paced the length of the common area, his polished explorer boots wearing a path on the worn deck plating. His cargo vest, overloaded with scrolls and notebooks, rustled with every agitated turn.
Bianca looked up from an access panel she was resealing. "So, like, you are going to wear a hole in the floor. The Nutter brothers will, like, invoice us for damages."
Charlie stopped, shaking his head, his round glasses catching the light. "How do we know he is going to deliver this core? Or that he will not demand further, even more ludicrous 'services' for it? AND!" he exclaimed, waving a finger, "How do we even verify the core is in functional condition? It could be a salvaged, unstable wreck!"
Bianca clicked the panel back into place. "We, like, don't. But we also don't have any other leads either. We can't just, like, not try." She stood, wiping her hands on her already-stained overalls.
"I don't like it!" Charlie insisted, resuming his pacing. "We are here without any backup, without any contingency! We are placing our fate in the hands of a… a crime lord with a menacing cane!"
Bianca cut her eyes at him while pulling a spanner from her tool belt. "Like, chill. There isn't, like, anything we can do right now. And why would anyone want to hurt us anyway?"
Charlie threw his hands up in the air, his voice rising in pitch. "This is a volatile and unstable situation! Anything could happen! How can you be so infuriatingly casual?!"
Bianca shrugged, focusing on tightening a loose conduit. "Guess I'm, like, getting used to it. Like, what's the benefit of double-crossing us and stuff?"
"You heard the man with his creepy skull cane!" Charlie waved his arms dramatically. "We have the 'ability' to attract the Typhon! We are walking bait! That is not an asset; it is a death sentence!"
Bianca let her hands fall into her lap, actually considering this. "Yeah, but, like, think about it. It isn't like all the time. I mean, the goddess moth-person said they were, like, trying to bring back balance and stuff. Maybe as long as we are working to do the same, then, like, the Typhon are all chill? Because, shouldn't they, like, be tracking us down right now if we were just a snack?"
Emily looked up from her slate, her voice small. "Once you have the core…" she began, then trailed off as both Bianca and Charlie turned to her. She looked down, sheepish. "How long will it take you to repair your vessel?"
Bianca sighed, understanding the real question buried beneath the technical one. "Like, a few days. The core is, like, our main power source. I'll need to make some adaptations; it should operate like our Mother Flame. But, like, all the other parts we've scavenged are in good working order, so, like, all I have to do is swap them out and stuff."
Emily nodded, her gaze distant. "A few days," she muttered, the words heavy with finality.
Bianca, noticing the far-off, pained expression on Emily's face, softened her tone. "So, like, what are you thinking?"
Emily shook her head, a single tear escaping and tracing a path through the fine, silvery lines on her temple. "I don't know. I hadn't really planned on…." Her voice broke.
Charlie, too wrapped in his own spiral of anxiety, misinterpreted the somber mood. "WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!" he exploded, stomping his foot. "LOVE IS NOT THE ANSWER! AND WE ARE POTENTIALLY MOMENTS FROM BEING BETRAYED OR EATEN!"
Bianca snapped her head toward him, her eyes flashing. "Like, what the hell!" She stood, glaring. "She might have to say goodbye to the love of her life in, like, a few days! Show a little, like, empathy, you walking encyclopedia!"
Emily sniffled, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand as she stood. "Excuse me…" she whispered, her voice thick, and before anyone could say another word, she spun on her heel and hurried toward the cockpit.
Bianca shot one last, furious look at Charlie. "Like, nice going." She then turned and followed Emily, leaving Charlie alone in the common area. He stared after them, threw his hands up in a final gesture of exasperation, and stomped off down the ramp into the dusty gloom of the docking bay, muttering about "illogical emotional variables."
In the cockpit, Emily sat in the pilot's chair, her shoulders trembling as she silently wiped tears away. Bianca entered quietly and slid into the co-pilot's seat.
"Like, don't listen to him," Bianca said softly. "It's, like, a really big deal."
Emily nodded, sniffling. "I know. It's okay. It's me who should be apologizing. It isn't like I didn't know you were eventually going to leave. It's just that…" She gestured helplessly at the viewport, at the oppressive rock of the moon that had come to feel, strangely, like a crossroads.
Bianca nodded, placing a consoling hand on her shoulder. "Like, you didn't think it would be so soon."
Emily nodded again, a fresh wave of tears welling up. "Yes."
"Well," Bianca said, trying to inject a note of hope into her voice. "Like, maybe there's some sort of solution we haven't, like, thought of yet."
Emily looked up, her luminous eyes hopeful. "Really? Like what?"
Bianca offered a lopsided, reassuring smirk. "Like, I don't know. Because we haven't, like, thought of it yet."
A small, wet chuckle escaped Emily. "Right."
Bianca was about to suggest they raid the Nutter brothers' secret stash of real citrus fruit when a sharp, insistent chime echoed through the cockpit. A light on the comms console began flashing a steady, urgent yellow. Both women turned their attention to it, the moment of shared sadness broken by the outside world.
Bianca reached over and pushed the button. "Like, this is the JFF freighter Mule. Come in."
A familiar, slightly grainy voice crackled through the speaker, laced with a mix of relief and static. "Bianca? Is that you?"
A genuine smile spread across Bianca's face for the first time in hours. "Like, yeah! Caden, is that you?"
"Hell yeah, it is!" the voice of Caden 'The Ghost' Arashi replied. "We've been looking all over the place for you. What are your coordinates? We'll come get you."
Bianca's smile widened. "Like, cool. We're at Káto Lávyrinthos."
There was a long, heavy pause on the other end. The silence was more telling than any warning siren. "Bianca," Caden's voice came back, serious and low. "You know where…"
Bianca cut him off, her tone shifting to one of weary experience. "Yeah. Like, we know. Just, like, get here and I can catch you up."
Another beat of static, then a resolved, "Copy that. Be there in a few."
The channel closed, leaving the cockpit in a new kind of silence, filled not with personal grief, but with the looming anticipation of reunited allies and the complications they would inevitably bring.
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