Paradise Found: Part 3

The light pitter-patter of rain drummed a steady, comforting beat in the back of Graham's mind as he sat at the table. With rustic bowl of surprisingly tasty stew was at his right, and a peculiar text recounting the history of a place called "South Blue" open to his left. As the storm intensified, Joshua spared a glance at the slowly building downpour.

Having been born and raised in the harsh Utah badlands, seeing so much rain just fall and fall for what seemed like hours was spellbinding to the tribal man. Were it not for his burns, Joshua gladly would've stepped out into the storm and simply let it all run down him.

Drawing his attention back to the pages of his novel, Graham spent the next hour or so taking in the rise of the Briss Kingdom and it's noble yet bloody lineage. Curiously, Graham found that the book suddenly stopped after the titular St. Briss and his family relocated to this "Holy Land" of Marijoa, only to continue onwards exactly a century later as if nothing had changed.

It gave him pause, but considering his world had its own "Dark Age" of history brought about via lack of reliable sources, he supposed it was far from the strangest thing he'd seen thus far. Still, the lack of a mention, or even mere speculation from historians on the goings on during this seemingly lost century puzzled the former Legate more than it probably should have.

His musings were interrupted by the cabin door flying open, briefly letting in the cold whipping winds of the storm before a sopping wet Kurt slammed it shut once more.

"Kizaru's balls that storm hit fast…" Kurt started after he caught his breath. Turning his attention towards his guest, he let out a chuckle. "Well, guess that's Grand Line weather for ya, changes on a dime around here."

Looking out the window once more, Joshua saw that the raging storm was already beginning to clear. With only a few scant clouds still pouring down a light drizzle that, combined with the newly free sun, formed a breathtaking rainbow.

Seeing something Joshua previously had only seen in grimy pre-war pictures or described to him by better traveled caravanners, a phenomenon so rare as to be virtually extinct in the arid deserts of the American southwest…

He could only describe it as a miracle.

Kurt continued as he made his way over to the cellar, hauling a sack of mysterious meat that Joshua assumed had come from the traps.

"Got a decent haul today! Hope you like beef though, 'cause that's probably all we'll be eatin' for the next week or so."

"Why?"

Kurt gave him a confused look.

"Well… I usually use the fresh stuff as fast as I can, and save the preserv-"

The mustached man was cut off from his ramblings by the Legate's hoarse voice.

"Why did you help me? Why do you keep helping me? I could be dangerous; I could be a monster. What could I have done to deserve this kindness?"

The food, the bandages, the rainbow, the fact that he was even alive and not just a smoldering smear at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, none of the small miracles that had kept him afloat thus far had felt deserved to the older man.

Not a second went by that he didn't ask why he'd landed in these strange alien lands, and why he wasn't currently burning in hell for his uncountable sins.

Hearing the immense regret and anguish in his guest's voice gave Kurt a moment's pause, before a sympathetic smile spread across his face. Pulling up a chair, he took a seat directly across from the burned man and started his story.

"I always wanted to see the world. Unfortunately, dreams like that always need more money than they give. Money that my struggling parents didn't have, and that my poor grades weren't gonna earn."

Kurt's eyes fell slightly at the mention of his parents, but he managed to continue without missing a beat.

"So, I did the only thing I reasonably could do without just givin' up whole-cloth and settlin' for the hand life'd delt me: Join the military, become a marine."

Taking a deep breath, Kurt looked around at the various intricately painted landscapes that lined the walls of his small cozy cabin. Some were pleasant; a small coastal village dwarfed by the snow-topped mountains in the background, a quaint seafaring restaurant with a fish shaped figurehead.

Some were breathtaking; giant mangroves dwarfing even the ruins of pre-war skyscrapers in their majesty, surrounded by dazzling bubbles that gleamed like liquid diamond. A ginormous fin breaching the ocean surface like a misplaced mountain peak, dwarfing even the mighty galleon that bobbed helplessly to its left.

Some were horrifying.

An incomplete, ocean-spanning bridge of unfathomable size built upon a foundation of human bones. A group of strange fish/human hybrids that amusingly reminded Joshua of Lakelurks. Far less amusing was the open-air slave market they clearly inhabited, with an entire crowd of people bidding and buying like kids in a candy store while the Fishfolk dejectedly sat; seemingly resigned to their chains.

By far the most haunting painting was also the largest. Placed, in some sense of irony Joshua supposed, right above the fireplace was undoubtedly Kurt's masterwork: An entire island ablaze. The smoldering ruins of a once vibrant community, and a large hollowed out tree collapsing in on itself leaving little more than a heap of ash-soaked bark were the only landmarks Joshua could make out through the inky blaze. All else seemed to already have been devoured by the insatiable inferno's never-ending hunt for kindling. When he squinted, the Legate found that he could make out small silhouettes in the blaze, their writhing, blackened forms chilling Joshua to his very core.

Inwardly he wondered if this was the fate God had placed upon Sodom and Gomorrah, or if the Good Lord had been more merciful than man that day.

Kurt's hollow voice snapped the holy man from his musings.

"I always wanted to see the world, and I guess I saw it."

His eyes stayed trained on that burning island longer than all the rest, but eventually he could no longer meet its gaze.

"I want to say that's all I did, sit back with my brush and watch as the world showed me it's seedy underbelly, but being a soldier means that you have to get your hands dirty sometimes…"

Determined to stop beating around the bush, Kurt steeled himself for this next part and looked Graham dead in the eye.

"My career could be best summed up as a two-decade long cruise around the seas, paid for in full by blood that wasn't mine. I've done terrible things to good people, and not a day goes by that I don't wish that I'd have just shut my damn mouth and stayed put at home with my family. But no matter how much I wish it didn't happen, ignoring it won't just make it all go away. The only thing to do now is to try and make it right, whenever and however I can."

Despite the subject matter, the former Marine felt a smile creep up onto his face.

"Sorry if I got long winded there, ain't talked about this stuff in… A long time now. But hopefully that clears up any confusion."

Outwardly, the only response the former marine received was a slow but unmistakable nod. While internally, the Legate had hung to the man's every syllable. To hear that the man who had bandaged, fed, and housed him; the man who had shown him such kindness he hadn't known since he was a boy shared a burden not too dissimilar to his own?

It gave him hope.

After fixing himself a bowl of the now thoroughly simmered soup, Kurt once more sat down at the table and, eager to chase away the wet chill the storm left him with, dug in with gusto while Joshua merely continued to pick at his own bowl.

After a minute of comfortable silence, Joshua spoke up.

"There is still one question I've yet to find an answer for…"

Kurt, mouth still filled with soup, only eyed him curiously before motioning for the bandaged man to continue.

"I still could've been dangerous. You've seen my gun and my wounds, why take that sort of risk for a simple stranger?"

Swallowing the savory liquid, Kurt stifled a chuckle.

"No offense to you friend, but I am a veteran; I still know a thing or two about defending myself."

Slightly embarrassed he'd overlooked that obvious detail; Kurt gave him a cheeky smirk before continuing.

"Besides, even if you were this "dangerous, monstrous stranger" who could kill me in my sleep without even batting an eye, fact remains that you still needed help."

The Marine's mischievous visage shifted with his next thought, the humor in his eyes giving way to a more somber expression as he spoke his next words.

"I try to give most folk the benefit of the doubt these days, no matter how shady or duplicitous they may appear. Figure if I try and look to the goodness, the inner humanity underneath the rough exterior, then maybe they'll find it in them to do the same for me."

Glancing at his guest, Kurt found him shooting the veteran an almost bewildered stare as if what he'd said had been utterly alien to the man's ears. Stranger still was what came after, something Kurt'd never expected to see from his mysterious, ever-stoic patient:

He laughed.

It was a small laugh, barely more than a chuckle that was near immediately punctuated by a dry wheeze, but it nonetheless got the former marine to raise his eyebrows in surprise before joining in with a chortle of his own.

"Yeah, I suppose it was a bit silly…"

Joshua shook his head, his newly shining eyes conveying a smile hidden beneath layers of cloth and gauze.

"No, it was wonderful."

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The forest stirred. Leaves and bushels rustling as a frantic set of limbs burst through them, the rest of the sweat soaked man swiftly following suit, sprinting forward as fast as they could. He didn't need to look back, he could still hear its mighty footfalls rapidly gaining on him, feel the Beast's hot breath on his back, but it didn't matter.

Just a little closer… Just a couple more seconds of this mad dash and he would-

"Duck!"

The panicked man barely had enough time to hear the word before what sounded like a door being slammed rang out, followed immediately by wet squelches and a loud thud from behind.

Curiously, the man noticed above all else, he could no longer feel his once racing heart.

Reaching to frantically pat the left side of his chest, it wasn't until he felt nothing but open air before he chanced a look down.

Where the left half of his ribcage should've been, was an impressively clean circle punching straight through his chest cavity. Were it not for the blood and viscera dripping from it one would've been able to see straight through him like a living window.

"Huh, wonder where it w…" was all the man got out before he collapsed in a heap, revealing the lifeless, schooner-sized lion behind him. A crossbow bolt the size of a javelin resting snugly between the beast's newly empty eyes.

From the small clearing just shy of the tree line, two figures observed their handy work. The smaller one, a man in a stained and disheveled tuxedo and an ill-fitting powdered wig, wrinkled his nose as the larger man went to inspect his kills.

"Excellent shot my liege, but was it necessary for you to shoot the help as well? If I recall, that makes this our fifth self-inflicted casualty this week."

The larger figure, a veritable giant of a man standing almost fifteen feet tall with limbs the size of tree trunks and clutching a crossbow taller than most men, simply shrugged.

"Told 'em to duck, didn't I? Not my fault the idiot had cotton in his ears."

Clad in a specially made plaid button-up, with sturdy blue jeans and high leather boots one would almost think the outfit normal aside from its size. However, the long flowing cloak made from the furs and hides of God knows how many animals quickly dispelled all notions of normalcy, with the intricately carved wooden crown resting atop the giant's dark, matted mop of hair only adding to its strangeness.

The giant man didn't even spare a glance for the smaller corpse, unceremoniously stepping over it; his eyes never leaving the true prize of the day.

After yanking the bolt from the beast's skull and inspecting it for damage, the crowned man wiped it of blood and bone fragments before dumping it back into the quiver.

"Besides…"

The giant started as his calloused hands tightly gripped the Lion's stark-white mane. Then slowly, yet forcefully the panther's head started turning, and turning, and turning until a sickening crack echoed all throughout the forest. But the giant didn't stop. Not until several more cracks later when the beast's head had done a complete three-sixty rotation right back to where it started.

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Then with one last mighty yank the lions head was ripped clean from its shoulders, staining both the forest and the man with a small river of blood and viscera. If the giant cared he didn't show it, as his main focus seemed to be marveling at his newest trophy before turning towards his servant; the beast's newly severed skull held up right next to his own.

"…When you're stuck between beasts like these? Your fate was sealed as soon as you started running!"

The cloaked man's full-belly laughter rumbled throughout the forest, as the tux-wearing manservant simply covered his ears and grit his teeth.

Yep, just another day in the Timber King's paradise. Only, something wasn't quite right.

In all of Marcel's eight years as an unwitting steward he'd never seen Jean-Paul lash out like this. Oh sure, he'd killed men for petty reasons often enough, he ran the place after all; who was gonna stop him? The World Government that had left the island to rot? The Four Emperors half a world away? They didn't even have to worry about rival pirate crews, as they were so distracted by the allure of the One Piece that some nowhere log pose rest stop like Lost Ark wouldn't even register to most.

Suffice it to say the Timber Kings rein was absolute, but he'd always attempted at least a veneer of fairness no matter how thin. Now it seemed that all who came within eyeshot were fair game for his wrath. Were it not for Jean-Paul's insistence that a proper king required a steward then Marcel would've jumped ship a week ago when his homicidal temper-tantrum began.

Coincidentally, he noted, it had been a little over a week since Jean-Paul's prized golden bull Babe (who so far had been the only animal The Timber King did not prey upon, people included) had seemingly vanished without a trace after a typical afternoon grazing.

He had sent people into the Great Wood looking for the beast, but after a week of distracting himself through hunts and stewing in his directionless rage, The Timber King had become more than a little restless. Still, the giant found solace in the methodical skinning of his newest kill, a fine new addition to his Cloak of Conquests.

As the monarch breathed in the satisfying metallic smell of a successful hunt, something else managed to worm its way through his nostrils; something that caused the giant to stop in his tracks.

The smell of rotting, decaying flesh was in the air, and it was close.

Marcel, seeing the king's pause, cautiously waddled up to his side.

"Sire? Is something-"

"Hold this."

Suddenly the sword-sized bowie knife the caped man had been butchering with descended upon Marcel like a guillotine as his liege stormed off deeper into the great wood. The smaller man would've been decapitated had he not lunged backwards; the pocket claymore instead bisecting the unfortunate corpse of their lion-bait; the poor man's heart problems now the least of his worries.

Sighing at his close shave, he pulled a cigarette from its crumpled package and took a drag before marching off to wherever the monarch had wandered.

During Marcel's 8-year tenure as a steward to the brute he had grown accustomed to the "occupational hazards" Jean-Paul seemed to draw towards him like flies to the largest pile of shit ever stacked.

'A bit too accustomed now that I think on it…'

The wigged man thought with resigned bitterness as he took another hit of his vice of choice. Briefly, he contemplated if his liege was in a homicidal enough mood that he'd kill the little man on the spot if he dared ask for a raise.

Marcel was squarely shunted from that line of thought as he collided with a solid wall of denim, that on second look revealed itself to be nonother than the king himself. His gargantuan body stiff as the wood surrounding them, yet seemingly frozen in place as he looked upon the ground before him in abject shock. His king's massive frame hiding whatever had disturbed him so from the steward's prying eyes.

"Sire? Is everythin-"

"That son of a bitch…"

It was soft; so soft it barely carried down to the wig-wearing man's ears, yet the devastation it held rang through clear as the afternoon sky. Marcel felt both his curiosity and dread reach their respective peaks as he carefully tip-toed around his master; moving slowly as to not draw attention to himself, lest his liege decided to vent these intense emotions on the closest body unfortunate enough to face his wrath.

However, once he'd made his way past Jean-Paul's tree trunk of a leg, the servant felt a chill run down his spine that left him just as stiff and frozen as his king.

Splayed before the both of them, left to rot on the forest floor was the desecrated corpse of a massive golden bull, the splitting image of the Timber King's prized Babe. His lustrous sun-kissed fur still shimmering in the rays of the setting sun despite the crimson that'd seeped down to the root.

The cadaver looked to be a little over a week old and had already begun to show signs of advanced decomposition, but even still the signs of butchering and cleaning had not yet vanished. Coupled with the small yet clear gunshot wounds dotting the aurochs' stomach and the picture suddenly became clear.

This hadn't been some accident or territorial dispute; this was a hunt, and in this neck of the woods there was only one suspect who'd fit the bill.

"THAT SON OF A BITCH!"

With a final roar of rage and sorrow, Jean-Paul turned his back on the body of his only friend and stormed off deeper into the Great Wood; not caring who or what he trampled underfoot in his maddened march towards revenge.

Marcel took one last look at the cow's corpse, crushed the butt of his cigarette under his heel, and started following the path of destruction left in his liege's wake toward Kurt Ross' cabin.

Yep, just another day in the Timber King's paradise…

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He was still getting used to wearing clothes. What had once been a mindless task, effortless even, was now proving to be a minor hurdle as the cloth and fabrics agitated his bandages and tugged at his wounded flesh in a myriad of uncomfortable ways. Still, as Joshua finished tying the knots on his leather boots and tugged at the collar of his white button up shirt, he found he could tune out the discomfort; send it to the back of his mind while focusing on the task at hand.

Speaking of which, he turned his attention back to the almost overstuffed backpack before him; triple checking all its nooks and crannies to make sure he was properly prepared to depart.

It had been a little under a week since Kurt had nursed the former preacher back to some semblance of health. He was still far from healed; his body creaked and ached from one end to the other, his right arm still unable to move with the swiftness it once had, and of course there was the feeling of burning that even still never quite went away…

But still, it was time to move on. Kurt's hospitality had been truly wonderful, which was all the more reason for him not to take advantage of it. Kurt was a self-sufficient man no doubt, but he also lived within his means; means that had doubtless been strained by the stresses and needs of a whole other person living alongside him.

He suspected Kurt knew this as well, as upon informing the man of his planned departure he seemed saddened but didn't attempt to sway his mind. In fact, he had seemed oddly eager and supportive of the bandaged man's desire to get going. It puzzled Graham, as Kurt seemed like a fairly lonely man and had outwardly enjoyed the time that they'd spent together. His only worry had come from asking the former Legate what he planned to do next.

Joshua had answered truthfully: He didn't know.

He was stuck in a world that wasn't the one he had known, where everything from the continents, the civilizations, his entire faith and the very God he worshiped was a distant flame kept alive through his memories alone. Kurt's limited library had given him glimpses, windows to the wider world beyond Lost Ark, but even still it was going to take a long time to learn the inner workings of this strange new reality. The only thing he did know was that whatever he ended up doing with his life after this, he'd make sure it made the world a better place. Kurt's words that first night had been a lighthouse for his soul, as where hopelessness and self-loathing had previously reined, he now found in their place a strength and determination to make up for his many past misdeeds or die trying.

"So, you're about ready then?"

Graham looked up from his preparations and saw his host standing beside him, his hands behind his back and his face decorated with a pained yet genuine smile.

Graham nodded. "I can move well enough, and my wounds are no longer a life-threatening concern. All thanks to you of course."

The marine let out a bashful chortle. "Please, all I did was remember what my drill sergeant… well drilled into me during basic. But 'fore you go, I got something for ya. Little parting gift I've been fixin' up since you washed ashore here."

Bringing his hands in front of him, Kurt revealed a battered Kevlar vest lined with pockets and sporting a familiar 'SLCPD' spelled out on its shoulder in blocky white letters. Joshua took it in his hands and stared down at the vest in wonder.

He was sure that Kurt'd thrown it out after peeling it off his charred, blackened body with the rest of his ruined uniform.

"Was hell to clean, but it was in better condition than I expected. All it took was a little sewing and elbow grease on the straps and it was back in business."

Joshua continued to stare for a moment, before bringing it to his chest like you would embrace a forgotten friend. The joy of not having to part with one of his only links back to his homeland momentarily overwhelming him. Eventually he spoke.

"Thank you, you've given me back apart of myself I thought lost forever. I'll never be able to repay that debt."

He truly meant that, in more ways than the marine knew. But Kurt just waved it off as usual.

"You can repay me by living your best life, and making sure others can do the same."

Graham gave the man a nod before offering his arm for a farewell shake, which Kurt reluctantly took. Even though the contact caused a flare of pain for Graham, he still made it as firm as he could, as well as giving the veteran a small half hug with his other arm; burns be damned Joshua was determined to show as much gratitude as he could give to the man who'd practically saved his soul.

Their brief goodbye was interrupted by a booming knock on the cabin's sturdy door.

Joshua glanced at it curiously. For all his weeklong stay in Kurt's Cabin, he'd never once seen or even heard hide nor hair of anyone other than its two residents. His only evidence that Lost Ark even had other inhabitants was stories of a harbor on the island's eastern coast.

He looked to Kurt to try and clear up his confusion but found the man's face contorted into an expression of shock, bordering on horror. His body tense and frozen like a hare in the sights of a predator, his eyes never leaving the door's crude brass handle.

Feeling his eyes narrow, Joshua untangled himself from the still scared stiff man's embrace before methodically walking towards the door's primitive peephole; his left hand unholstering his pistol as he drew ever closer. The knocks steadily getting louder and more impatient as he did so.

Right as he was about to bring his eye toward the hole, Kurt snapped out of his shock. A desperate cry to halt coming out half a second too late as the loudest knock so far kicked the door off its hinges and slammed it into Joshua, sending the both of them careening back deeper into the cabin. Their flight was slowed by the dining room table, but only stopped by the halting force of the cabin's sturdy brick wall.

"KURTIS ROSS YOU BACKSTABBING SACK OF SHIT! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE BEFORE I TEAR THIS DOLLHOUSE DOWN BRICK BY FUCKING BRICK YOU HEAR ME! BRICK BY BRICK!"

Said sack of shit gave Joshua a panicked glance, but seeing the former legate still breathing brought some form of relief. Shooting Graham an apologetic look; the former marine put a finger up to his lips and signaled for him to be quiet, to stay down and let him do the talking.

With that done, Kurt steeled himself with a deep breath in and out before marching to meet the monarch outside his home.

"Jean-Paul, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Kurt said with fake hospitality, sporting an even faker smile. One the king did not return, instead looking only like he wanted to rip out his spine and shove it so far down his throat his calves grew a backbone. Beside him was the steward, Marcel; looking at him with a mix of pity and annoyance at making him hoof it all the way to his shack in the middle of nowhere.

"Don't play stupid with me you rock-brained hick! You and I both know exactly what you did, we found the body… Or what was left of it."

A guttural growl escaped the Timber King's throat as he thrust a meaty finger into Kurt's face.

"ONE RULE! I let you live here, on MY land rent free and all I asked of you were whatever pelts you got from hunting, and a singular goddamned rule: DON'T! TOUCH! MY! FUCKING! BULL!"

He punctuated each word on that last shouting spree with a jab of his mighty index finger into Kurt's ribcage, each one carrying enough force to bruise but failing to get a reaction from the veteran. Kurt instead stood puzzled, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he seemingly searched his memory for whatever Jean-Paul had bothered him with this evening, his brow unfurrowing and his fingers snapping as he found what he'd mentally searched for.

"Oh right, that. Well, not sure what to tell ya; times are tough, fish ain't biting, sometimes ya gotta do whatever it takes to survive. You understand, I'm sure."

He casually gestured to his cabin behind him.

"I think there's still some beef in the cellar, I could fetch it for ya. Y'know, if you're lookin' for a memento, or a meal I guess."

Jean-Paul, for his part, was left sputtering with rage at the audacity of this imbecile to not only admit his guilt but in the same breath taunt him with the flesh of his only friend! He was simply stupefied by the brazenness of it, the gall! Even Marcel felt his cigarette fall from his lips at the death wish the man displayed.

Chuckling at the two's dumbfounded expression, Kurt reached for something in his back pocket as he spat out his next words.

"Oh yeah, and just for the record; I always hated waking up everyday knowing you and I shared an island you opportunistic piece of cow shit."

The gun was out before the giant had a chance to react. The small, almost derringer looking weapon staring Jean-Paul directly in the face. He barely had time to blink before the weapon went off, and for a brief moment the world went still.

He didn't get a chance to fire the second one.

Just before Kurt could pull the trigger and double tap the giant with both of the gun's barrels, a massive hand wrapped around his own and swiftly snapped his hand at the wrist; the gun dropping from his now limp fingers. A second hand gripped tightly around his windpipe, lifting him off his feet and bringing him eye level with the giant. His one saving grace being the front row seat he got to the king's newly oozing puncture wound, the entrance hole burrowing through the bottom of his chin and the exit hole resting square on his cheek.

'Figures…' Kurt thought to himself with a grim, choked chuckle. 'Always was a terrible shot.'

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Joshua heard the gunshot outside and redoubled his efforts to unpin himself from the floor; the well-made door and ruined dining table doing an impressive job of holding the burned man down. Helped even less by his freshly reopened wounds that sent blood seeping through his bandages, further hindering his already hobbled movement.

As he frantically limped his way to the door frame, he prayed he wasn't too late. While he hadn't heard everything, it wasn't hard to piece together what had happened from what little he'd been able to catch beneath the rubble. Hearing whoever had been outside screaming their lungs out over a bull had been the one and only piece he'd needed to know that whatever was going on out there was his fault, and the gunshot had told him that Kurt wasn't going to let him take the blame.

As he got to the doorway and propped himself up on what was left of its frame, he saw what he'd feared most: The only friend he knew in this world, the one who saved both his body and soul, limply hanging from the arms of a beast. His neck twisted and crooked in a way necks were not supposed to bend.

He didn't know how long he stood there, staring at the swaying corpse of his companion, but he was jarred back to reality by that same corpse being thrown into the doorway, impacting him in the torso and sending him right back into the ruined living room.

His own body thankfully shielded Kurt's mangled body from the impact of landing. As Joshua slowly sat up from the heap he'd collapsed into, he cradled Kurt's still warm body in his arms. He couldn't tear his eyes from the visage of peace and contentment that rested on the dead man's face. Throughout his short stay with the man, this was the only time he'd seen the man truly at peace; the only time his humor and optimistic nature hadn't been twinged with guilt and sorrow.

He wished more than anything he could've seen it while the man lived, just once.

While the former legate mourned his fallen comrade, the timber king was nursing his wound while mourning a good time lost.

"You know, after we found Babe's body, I was almost looking forward to ripping the shmuck limb from limb while he watched; taking my time and really enjoying myself… But now I just want to get the hell outta here and never think about today ever again.

For once, Marcel found himself agreeing with his boss. Letting out a hum of approval as Jean-Paul gestured toward his overstuffed pack.

"Booze, the flammable stuff."

Marcel gave a small nod before handing the monarch an oversized bottle, which he quickly downed half of before spewing forth a veritable rainstorm down onto the cabin's wooden roof. Not even a second later he was sent down onto one knee cradling his shot-to-hell jaw as searing pain coursed through both his entrance and exit wounds.

"FUCK ME THAT BURNS!"

The disheveled steward rolled his eyes at his liege's idiocy, before he took out his box of matches and struck one; staring into the open flame before tossing it and setting the cabin ablaze. The pair sat there for a minute, watching the blaze, before Marcel awkwardly scratched at his chin.

"Mayhaps we should go now sire? The sun is starting to set after all…"

The Timber King kept his gaze on the flames as they made their way down and began consuming the rest of the home, before giving a reluctant nod.

After the two had left the cabin far behind, Jean-Paul turned to look one last time and his eyes widened as he caught someone staring back at him.

There, silhouetted against the now roaring inferno at his back, was a near mummified man in a bulletproof vest. The limp body of the latest thorn in the king's side cradled in his arms. Even from this far he could make out the sharp piercing blue of the figure's eyes staring deep into his very soul.

They stared, and they hated what they saw; Jean-Paul could feel it down to his marrow that whatever he was locking eyes with wouldn't rest until he joined the body in his arms.

Even after Marcel had tugged at his sleeve and torn his view from the blaze to the path ahead, the piercing blue eyes never left his mind's eye.