Vivi on the Run

Jete's body reacted before his mind did, throwing itself with all its strength to the side and back while he desperately hardened that pitifully thin layer of Armament Haki over the vital areas of his vest.

First, a scorching blast of air swept across his back. His clothes instantly turned to rags, and his skin flared with searing pain. Then came the shockwave, sending Jete flying like a rag doll.

He tumbled through the air, his ears filled with his companions' brief, abruptly cut-off screams and the tearing sounds of wind blades slicing through buildings and ground alike.

His back slammed heavily into the roof of a wooden shack. He crashed through it and fell amid a pile of empty wine barrels. Agonizing pain shot through his ribs; one or two might have been broken. His mouth was full of blood. But he was still alive.

"Haki... Thank you, Lord Crocodile..."

The thought, mixed with the tremors of surviving disaster and piercing pain, filled his mind.

He had no time to feel even the slightest grief for his dead companions. All he felt was near-ecstatic relief—relief that he had once, like the lowliest stray dog, licked this life-saving scrap from between the fingers of the Desert King.

Struggling to his feet, he staggered into the narrow alley behind the shack. He had to leave. Right now. Immediately!

In the town across the river, the moonlight seemed brighter. The buildings were low and the streets narrow. Jete supported himself against the walls as he limped forward. Every step left half a bloody footprint on the rough stone road.

He needed to find somewhere to tend to his wounds, then... then what? He didn't know. Maybe he should contact Lord Crocodile immediately?

No. The mission had failed, and so many men had