Jannali's spear whirls in a silver arc, deflecting three arrows that would have found her chest. She curses, her voice cutting through the howling wind. "This is a total dog's breakfast! We need to sort this out!"
Law's blade sings as he slices through a volley, shattering arrows into splinters. "I'm open to suggestions!"
Kaburo splits two arrows in half with a single stroke, his jaw tight. "It might help if we knew where they were coming from!"
Atlas swings Stormclaw, the mace crackling with residual Electro as he deflects a cluster of projectiles. "I can smell someone on the wind." He gestures with his chin toward a distant ridge. "That way."
Bō-Zak's sickles flash, his teeth chattering but his grin fierce. "I'm pretty sure this has to be more than one person. We're surrounded—"
Atlas cuts him off. "I only smell one person."
Jannali yells over the din, "I reckon we do this idea!"
Law's voice is sharp. "What is it?"
Jannali's spear spins, deflecting another volley. "If it's just the one bloke, I can get inside his head—but"
"But what?" Law demands.
Jannali's eyes lock onto his. "You'll have to keep me out of the crossfire, mate."
Law glares at her over his shoulder. Jannali's face twists in defiance. "What are you lookin' at?"
Atlas interjects, his voice strained. "Don't you need to be able to see them?"
Jannali shakes her head, swinging her spear. "Nah, look, I've been practisin'. If I can get a handle on their mind, I'm right in their head."
Law opens his mouth to snap a retort—then his head snaps around, his eyes widening. A grin spreads across his face.
Bō-Zak notices. "What are you so happy about?"
"It's Marya," Law says, his voice carrying relief. "She's close."
Atlas perks up, his ears standing tall. "The boss?" His head swivels, searching the sky. "Where is she? I told you some cold water wouldn't stop her!"
Law jerks his head upward. "She's up."
Kaburo's voice is flat. "How did she get up there?"
Bō-Zak adds, "Better yet, how are you able to tell?"
Law glares at him. Bō-Zak smirks, unrepentant.
Jannali's voice cuts through the banter. "Focus, ya bastards! She'll be right. We won't though if we get pinned by arrows." She looks at the group, her eyes fierce. "Watch my back, mates?"
Atlas nods, his claws ready. "Yeah, just do it!"
Jannali secures her spear, the weapon collapsing into its compact form. She reaches up and removes her headscarf, revealing the third eye on her forehead. The eye is closed, its lid pale and smooth.
She stands completely still.
Her two visible eyes close.
The third eye opens.
---
Marya falls through the sky, the frozen ground rushing toward her with terrifying speed. Her leather jacket whips against her body, her raven hair streaming behind her like a banner of midnight. She channels her Haki, reaching out with her senses—
There. She finds them. Law, Jannali, Atlas, Bō-Zak, Kaburo. Their presences burn like beacons in the storm.
She grins.
Her head turns, her golden-ringed eyes finding the source of the arrows. Shaka Saði stands atop a ridge, her snow-white hair whipping in the wind, her bow drawn. She releases one arrow into the sky—and when it arcs to its apex, it multiplies into hundreds, raining down on the group below.
Marya adjusts her body, angling her fall toward the ridge.
Shaka Saði senses her incoming presence. The frost goddess's ice-blue eyes narrow, and a grim smile curls across her lips.
"A worthy challenger," she mutters to herself.
She sniffles—a sharp, derisive sound—and knocks three arrows. She draws, holds, and releases. The arrows hover for a moment, suspended in the air, then fall in succession—each one multiplying into hundreds, falling in waves toward the group below.
Marya uses her Haki, her body twisting in the air. She turns her fall into a controlled descent, her boots hitting the snow with a thunderous crack that sends a shockwave rippling across the ridge.
Shaka Saði turns, stowing her bow, and draws her blade—a long, slim sword of ice so clear it's almost invisible, its edge frosted with ancient rime.
Her eyes narrow as she glares at Marya.
"You have been with him."
Marya raises an eyebrow, her hand finding Nisshoku's hilt. "Who?"
Shaka's jaw flexes, her voice cold as the wind. "My husband. He has gifted you."
Marya's brow furrows. "What of it?"
Shaka Saði's face twists with fury. She charges with a battle cry that echoes across the frozen valley, her blade singing through the air.
Marya raises Nisshoku, blocking the strike. The blades lock—ice against obsidian, cold against shadow.
Shaka leans in, her ice-blue eyes blazing. "We will see how worthy the one he has chosen truly is!"
Marya's eyes narrow. She presses against the blade, her muscles straining, her Haki flaring.
The fight explodes into motion.
Shaka Saði is a whirlwind of frost and fury. Her blade moves with the speed of a blizzard, each strike carrying the weight of a thousand winters. She drives Marya back across the ridge, her attacks relentless—high, low, feint, thrust—each one a lesson in pain.
Marya moves like water around stone. Her feet find perfect purchase on the ice, her body flowing with effortless grace. She ducks under a horizontal slash, feeling the wind of the blade's passage against her hair. She pivots, her left hand coming up to deflect a follow-up strike while Nisshoku carves a counter-arc toward Shaka's ribs.
Shaka twists, the tip of Marya's blade scoring a line across her tunic. She hisses, her eyes blazing with cold fire, and presses forward with renewed fury.
"You are fast," Shaka admits, her voice strained. "But speed is nothing against the endurance of winter!"
Marya's answer is a thrust that would have taken Shaka's eye—if the goddess hadn't thrown herself backward, snow spraying from her heels.
"Winter ends," Marya says, her voice calm. "Spring always comes."
Shaka's jaw tightens. She launches forward, her blade a blur of silver and frost. Marya meets her, steel against ice, Nisshoku singing its dark song.
---
Arrows rain down on Law, Jannali, Atlas, Bō-Zak, and Kaburo.
Law's blade is a silver blur, deflecting projectiles from every angle. Atlas's claws tear through the air, his body a white streak of motion. Bō-Zak's sickles flash, carving patterns of defense around the group. Kaburo stands like a monument, Kalamaru a dark blur of inevitability.
And in the center, Jannali stands still.
Her third eye is open, its pupil dilated, its surface rippling with energy. Her body is motionless, her breath shallow, her consciousness stretched across the frozen landscape like a spider's web.
The world around her dissolves into monochrome.
The snow becomes grey. The sky becomes white. The shadows become black. Everything loses its color, its warmth, its vibrancy. The landscape rushes past her in a blur of shifting greys—the jagged peaks of mountains, the frozen valleys, the swirling snow that looks like static on an ancient screen.
She moves through this grey world like a ghost, her consciousness flowing through the monochrome landscape. She feels the cold, but it's distant. She feels the wind, but it's muffled. She feels the presence of her friends behind her—Law's sharp determination, Atlas's fierce loyalty, Bō-Zak's easy confidence, Kaburo's grim resolve. They're anchors in the grey, points of warmth in the frozen nothing.
And then she finds it.
A mind. Cold and ancient and furious. It burns like a frozen star in the distance, its presence overwhelming, its edges sharp as broken glass.
She pushes forward, her third eye blazing with power, and—
Law, Atlas, Bō-Zak, and Kaburo surround her, their bodies a shield against the falling death.
Law calls out, "What's happening?"
Atlas snaps back, "How the hell should we know? Just keep the arrows off her!"
"What do you think I'm doing?" Law's voice is sharp with frustration.
Bō-Zak's sickles flash as he deflects a volley. "Have you considered counseling? You seem really stressed."
"This is no time for jokes!" Law's blade shatters three arrows in a single stroke.
Kaburo's voice is flat. "Nor is it time to lose your focus. Our crew is not lacking in strength. You must learn to trust."
Law's jaw flexes. "I know that!"
Bō-Zak's grin is infuriatingly relaxed. "Then relax and let them work."
Atlas's claws tear through a cluster of arrows. "Are we done with the therapy session? Because we have another barrage incoming!"
"We're just trying to help," Bō-Zak says, his voice carrying a hint of mock innocence.
"I don't need your help," Law snaps.
Kaburo's voice is dry. "Acceptance is the first step."
Law groans, sending out an arc of Haki that deflects a wave of arrows.
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